#( crack. ) i never want to be the bigger person again. we can both go to hell.

[heedeungism]

𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨.

•°. *࿐ PAIRING ― riki nishimura x fem!reader •°. *࿐ SYNOPSIS ― in which riki is smitten with you and your sharp tongue. •°. *࿐ GENRE ― one-shot, ????-to-lovers, fake dating, angst, fluff, crack, rich kid au, highschool lacrosse au •°. *࿐ WORD COUNT ― 22k •°. *࿐ CONTENT WARNING(S) ― violence(one fight) and threats of it, lots of tension, mc is a horndog what's new, i meant to make this slow like the first part but im a weak woman, weed, mc is her own worst enemy, mc is stupid before she is smart <3, attempted unwanted touching, riki is the jealous type but in a green flag way, don’t ask where the teachers are, riki has bigger hands than mc, kissing(many a time), once i got the angst out of the way it turned into crack js •°. *࿐ EXTRA NOTES ― thank you all for being so kind and giving me such helpful feedback and love! shoutout to my hg @1ntaks for once again holding my hand and basically beta reading this for me, you're the best queen. •°. *࿐ SOUNDTRACK ― busy woman by sabrina carpenter, don’t smile by sabrina carpenter, big girls don’t cry by fergie, better than me by doja cat, diet pepsi by addison rae, what a girl wants by christina aguilera, positions by ariana grande, he could be the one by hannah montana, bmf by sza

part one.

AT THE BEGINNING OF FEBRUARY you realized how easy it was to get over Eunseok at the same moment that it sinks in that you can’t get over Riki.

Maybe it's the fact that he’s still friendly despite the ‘breakup’, or that he still makes sweet comments that feel too genuine to be taken as flirting anymore. He hasn’t changed much of his behavior at all since the end of January, actually.

The news of the short-lived relationship spread around school. Though it was clear that you both were still friends, most of the rumors were dispelled. However, some were still infuriatingly present.

Now, you’re not the type of person who gives a shit about what other people think of you—especially not a bunch of pubescent teenagers with so little going on in their own lives that they find entertainment in yours. But your patience is wearing thin. If you hear another freshman whisper about you not being over your cheating ex, you are going to go insane. (Despite your reputation, you are above throwing hands with 14 year-olds.)

“So you want something like this, right?” Julie taps on her phone screen from across from you, showing the nail inspiration photo you had sent her just last week. When you only nod, she tilts her head with a curious raise of her brows, “We can do something different, hon’.”

Quickly, you shake your head and straighten your posture in the chair across from her, “No, sorry. I just—I’m just thinking about shit. I still want a set like that.” You force a soft laugh, and she nods with a soft ‘okay’.

“So? Anything new?” She asks with a pretty smile as she plugs in her nail drill and turns on the dust collector.

You lay your hands onto the rest between the two of you, humming and then sighing, “I’m still single.”

Julie begins working at removing her work from three weeks ago with the drill, though the pink mask keeping her from inhaling the dust doesn’t hide her face of baffled confusion, “I thought you were dating that lacrosse guy, though.”

The sound of the drill and fan are like white noise to the both of you as you sigh and drop your head forward, “Didn’t work out.”

Julie gasps softly, clearly upset for you, “What’d he do?”

While you love that her first instinct was to ask what he did and not what you did, the latter is more fitting for the situation. “He was too perfect and I got scared?” You admit softly with a guilty shrug.

Julie pauses in her work and deadpans at you, “Ho.”

“I know!” You whine softly as she resumes, using your free hand to grab the chilled can of Dr Pepper she’d grabbed for you before your appointment started, sipping from the pink straw before you continue to whine, “I fucked up.”

“I never got to see a photo last time, either.” Julie recalls as she progresses to removing the hard-gel off your other hand, “You hadn’t picked anyone for your little plan, yet.”

Julie knowing about your genius plan to ruin Eunseok and Nayeon’s day, everyday, with your tall, hot, and sweet ‘boyfriend’ was inevitable. She had dropped the traitorous bitch as a client the moment you and Belle told her about it, equally as disgusted by Nayeon as the both of you. Not to mention, Belle always yapped her pretty head off during her appointments, so as previously stated, it was inevitable.

“You’re gonna hate me,” You say, grabbing your phone with your now dusty and bare fingers to quickly tap to a photo of Riki that Jake had sent you. He’s got his helmet tucked under his arm and seemed to be captured in a heated argument with another boy on the team. The first thing you noticed was his hands, though.

When she pauses to look at your screen, she looks at you again and sighs like a disappointed mother, shaking her head and turning the drill back on. You whine, “Don’t sigh at me, I’m in mourning.”

“I thought you said you weren’t worried about catching feelings.” She reminds you, and you roll your eyes.

“Bitch, look at him.” You sass, picking up your phone to show the still-lit screen before placing it facedown in your lap again, “and he was just so—sweet. And he liked when I was mean to him.”

“As he should.”

“—and his smile made me want to stick my head in an oven Sylvia Plath style.” You say with a soft pout on your lips, “It was so much so suddenly, and I freaked out.”

Julie turns off the drill and grabs the brush to clean off the dust from your hands as she nods slightly to what you’re saying, “And Eunseok was so recent.”

“—And Eunseok was so recent!” You repeat in vehement agreement, groaning up at the ceiling as you slump slightly, “Why do boys ruin everything?”

You spend the next few hours of your nail appointment ranting about everything. Riki, your ex, your ex best friend, your dad (who had texted you a long message after you left him that you promptly responded to with a ‘that doesn’t look like an apology so im not reading that’).

mommy dearest 🩷: can you pick up some groceries for me? just a few things

The text from your mom as you swipe your card on Julie’s reader is paired with a chime you recognize as your bank app. Your new nails tap on your screen as you open the notification, grinning at the sight of a hefty transfer of funds into your account. 

The small list your mother sends doesn’t come close to costing the amount she sent you to pay for it, so you decide to stop at Sephora while you’re out too.

You choose the highest percentage to tip and sign her phone screen with your knuckle before bidding her a happy farewell and exiting the salon. The drive to the strip center is barely ten minutes long, your BMW filled with Christina Aguilera and the trip slightly delayed by your admiration of your new nails at every red light. 

When you get into the Sephora, which you decided to visit first since your mom’s list included produce, you b-line to the skincare section. 

You’re debating between oil cleansers when you’re tapped on the shoulder. 

The woman before you looks around your mother’s age, a bit shorter than you but with a beautiful smile on her face. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you Y/n?”

You blink, caught off guard, but nod.

Her grin widens. “I’m Riki’s mom!”

Your stomach drops. Every instinct screams at you to panic, but instead, you paint a pretty smile on your face, the kind your mother taught you to perfect at charity galas. “Oh my god, hi!”

Before you can react, she pulls you into a hug, warm and tight, smelling faintly of lavender and vanilla. You reciprocate, though your arms are stiff and hesitant.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she gushes, pulling back to hold you at arm’s length. Her eyes, as sharp and bright as Riki’s, scan you with something between approval and curiosity. “You’re just as lovely as he said.”

“Thank you,” you manage, your voice light despite the whirlwind in your chest at the sudden and  information that Riki talks about you at home. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“I can’t believe I ran into you like this!” she says, her excitement bubbling over. “You’re like a doll, honey. The photos he’s shown me don’t do you justice.”

Your brain short-circuits at the word photos. Plural.

“Oh?” you manage, keeping your smile intact even as your heart feels like it’s trying to escape the confines of your chest.

“Of course! He’s always talking about you,” she continues, as if she didn’t just drop a bomb on you in the middle of Sephora. “He showed me the cutest one of you two at the bowling alley—said it was his favorite night in a long time.”

Your breath catches, but you quickly cover it with a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s so sweet of him.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She beams like she’s talking about a national treasure instead of her son. “He’s always been so shy when it comes to girls, but with you, it’s different. I can tell you mean a lot to him.”

The words land like a stone in your chest, heavy and impossible to ignore. You can’t tell if she’s trying to hint at something or if she’s just being a proud mom, but either way, you suddenly feel very out of your depth.

“That’s nice to hear,” you say lightly, though your throat feels tight. “He’s a great guy.”

She places a hand on your arm, her touch gentle but firm. “You’re good for him, you know. He’s happier these days, more confident.”

Your mind flashes to Riki’s easy smiles, the way he leans into you during conversations, the soft look in his eyes when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You swallow hard.

“Thank you, Mrs. Nishimura,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel . “That really means a lot.”

Her smile softens, and she gives your arm a little squeeze. “Oh, call me Rin, honey. And if you ever want to come over for dinner, just let me know. I’d love to have you.”

“Dinner sounds lovely,” you say with a polite smile, already running on autopilot. “I’ll have to check with Riki, but I’m sure he’d love that too.”

“Oh, good! I’ll talk to him about it tonight,” Rin says brightly, her excitement only adding to the internal chaos brewing in your chest. “You two are so sweet together—I can’t believe he didn’t tell me you were this gorgeous in person.”

You blink, momentarily stunned, and force out a soft laugh. “That’s really kind of you to say.”

“I mean it.” She gives you an approving once-over before leaning in conspiratorially. “You know, he’s usually so tight-lipped about his personal life. I had to drag it out of him that you two were dating in the first place.”

The air leaves your lungs like you’ve been punched. He hadn’t told her.

“He—uh—didn’t mention that we’re…” you start, the words catching in your throat.

“Together?” she finishes for you with a knowing smile. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t embarrass him too much about it. I just want him to be happy, and it’s so obvious you make him happy.”

You feel your face flush, your carefully constructed composure threatening to crack. But instead of correcting her, you nod, your smile tighter now. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”

She reaches out and pats your arm warmly. “It was so nice meeting you, sweetheart. I’ll let you get back to your shopping. Tell Riki I said hi, okay?”

“I will,” you promise, your voice light despite the storm in your head.

As soon as she disappears down another aisle, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Reaching for the oil cleansers again, you try to steady yourself, replaying her words over and over.

He didn’t tell her.

A part of you is…warm with the information. The other part wants to puke your guts out. 

You stare blankly at the oil cleansers in front of you, your grip tightening around the bottle in your hand. The woman’s words replay in your mind like a broken record, each one sharper than the last.

“He’s happier these days, more confident.”

“It’s so obvious you make him happy.”

“He didn’t tell me you were this gorgeous in person.”

Your chest tightens, a mix of guilt and something softer—but no less overwhelming—clawing its way up your throat. The whole point of fake dating was to not make things messy. Yet here you are, feeling like a lead character in a rom-com whose life is falling apart. Right now would be an amazing time for Matthew McConaughey to come out and sweep you off your feet. 

(You realize with borderline humiliating speed that you would much prefer if Riki swept you off your feet. Seriously, there must be something wrong with you.)

The bottle trembles slightly in your hand, and you force yourself to set it back on the shelf with a shaky exhale. You’re not the kind of girl who lets this sort of thing get to her. You’re confident, decisive, in control. Except when it comes to him.

The thought makes you pause, your fingers brushing absently over your nails as the memory of his smile creeps in—the one he reserved just for you, warm and easy and dangerous.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing the Sulwhasoo cleanser you were debating spending so much on and beginning to mindlessly fill the black Sephora tote as you walk through the aisles. Real therapy has nothing on retail therapy considering you know what your problems are and how to fix them. Paying someone to tell you those things seems counterproductive when you can make yourself feel better by treating yourself.

By all accounts, it’s been a good day for you. Getting out of the school parking lot was exceptionally easy despite the traffic you encounter more often than not. You got your nails done and love how they turned out. You’re currently splurging at Sephora. And now you have reason to believe Riki doesn’t secretly hate you for breaking his heart.

riki 🙈: just got out of practice

riki 🙈: are you coming to the game tomorrow?

You look at your phone as you tap your card on the reader and accept the large black and white striped bag from the girl at the counter.  Thanking her with a smile before beginning to make your way out to your car again. When you settle into the driver’s seat, the heat turns on as you place the bag into the passenger seat.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, nails tapping against your case as your phone automatically hooks up to the bluetooth, ‘After Hours’ by The Weeknd beginning to play. “Oh, shut up.” You sigh as you pause the music and finally muster up the right response.

pretty girl 🪩: depends on how nice you are to me tomorrow

riki 🙈: i’ll bring you a gift rn

pretty girl 🪩: im not home

As soon as the text is marked as Read, your screen is replaced by his caller ID, a photo of him at age ten in a Michael Jackson costume lighting up your screen. You can’t help but chuckle before pressing the green button, reaching to turn the volume up as you ask with a playfully suspicious tone, “Can I help you?”

“Mhm, where are you?” His deep voice and hum makes you bite your fist.

You begin pulling out of the parking lot to make it across the street to the grocery store, “Getting groceries, why?”

“I wanna see you.” 

Lord have mercy—

“You sure you don’t just miss Gus?“ You hesitate to mention the revelations made by his very kind mother in Sephora, but decide to hold off.

“Oh, I do miss Gus, but I miss his mom more.”

Oh, you hate the soft laughter that leaves your mouth the moment you hear it, “I won’t be long at the store, it’s just a few things.”

There’s a shuffle on the other side, then he says, “What store?”

“Riki, it’s literally like four things.” You laugh at his shameless eagerness, “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

He chuckles softly before humming again, “Okay, bye pretty.”

“Bye.” A beat passes and ‘What a Girl Wants’ by Christina Aguilera blares through the speakers so loud you jump, “Jesus Christ.”

By the time you pull into the grocery store parking lot, you’ve replayed his voice in your head at least five times. I wanna see you. It wasn’t just what he said, but the way he said it—soft, easy, like he wasn’t asking for anything out of the ordinary. Like it was natural for him to want to be around you, and for you to want the same. You’re...friends. 

You curse the thought away as you grab your keys and step into the cold evening air, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. You don’t need to be thinking about Riki Nishimura and his stupid, perfect face and voice the whole time.

The grocery run is quick—milk, eggs, a few vegetables, and a bag of Gus’s favorite treats because you can’t resist—and you’re back in your car in record time. You text Riki that you're on the way home and find yourself smiling when he loves the message. It drops a second later when you realize what you’re doing and curse again, tossing your phone into the cup holder like it’s on fire and covering your face to self-reflect.

When you pull into the driveway of your home, it isn’t hard to spot Riki’s black Jeep parked at the curb. What is hard is hiding the grin that forms on your lips as you park your car and get out to grab the groceries in your trunk. The lacrosse player is already exiting his own vehicle and jogging over to help you.

“You didn’t have to come,” you say as he reaches for the bag of vegetables in your hands, but there’s no bite to your words.

“You said you’d text me when you were home,” he replies, his voice light and teasing as he takes the other bags with ease. “I figured I’d save you the trouble.”

You shake your head, grabbing your Sephora bag and locking your car. “So damn impatient.”

“Only when it comes to you.” His response is so casual, so effortless, it knocks the air from your lungs. You glance at him, but he’s already halfway up the path, waiting for you at the door like he hadn’t just said something that made your knees weak.

When you catch up, you unlock the door with the code and nudge it open with your foot, paising once you’re inside to shut it behind him. You kick off your shoes and pass Riki to get to the kitchen, placing your Sephora bag on one of the island’s chairs and watching him place the few grocery bags on the counter. 

“Gus~” You call out as you begin to unpack the paper bags, and there’s a soft warbled meow in response in the direction of your room. The plump tuxedo cat appears around the corner, rubbing his body against the wall with another soft cry for attention that has Riki cooing and lowering himself to the ground to oblige him.

Once you’ve got groceries put away, you watch the 6’ something lacrosse player pet your cat with gentle scratches under his chin that he leans into with slow blinks, “Are you happy?”

Your softly giggled question has Riki smiling up at you, “So happy.”

With a soft huff of amusement, you grab your Sephora bag and walk in the direction of your room, choosing not to glance behind you to see if he’s following. Just act natural, bitch.

You leave your door open as you enter your room, thanking the lord that the cleaning lady had visited while you were out and your room isn’t as dirty as you left it this morning. Walking into your bathroom to start putting away your new skincare, you ignore the sound of him entering your room. 

“You have a lot of perfume.” You hear him comment, glancing over your shoulder to see him admiring the organized collection on your open vanity.

“Yeah, I...have a problem” You say with a soft laugh of slight embarrassment at your habit of buying yourself anything pretty or relatively cutesy. “I have more in my closet.”

Riki whistles lowly, seemingly a bit impressed, “Which one’s your favorite?”

With a hum of thought, you step out of your bathroom to walk to your closet. You don’t mind the open door as you enter, reaching the island in the center working double as storage and where you keep your perfumes. Riki follows just to the doorway, leaning against it as his eyes move from you to the expanse of your walk-in closet. The floor-to-ceiling shelves in the back displaying heels and boots of different luxury brands, the pretty runner rug beneath your feet, it all screams you.

You’re plucking your favorite bottle from the display when his eyes land on the corner of something flat and white hidden behind a woven hamper. The easy smile on your face drops the moment you see him pull it out from its hiding spot, a boyish grin on his face. “You sneaky fuck.” 

He laughs at your immediate cursing, holding the white board out of your reach as you hasten towards him to take it from him, “Pros and Cons?”

“Oh my god.” You give up on taking it from him, hands moving to try and cover his eyes, “Riki!”

“It’s about me, pretty girl.” he argues playfully, still laughing while trying to dodge your hands, “C’mon, just a peek!”

“Boys aren’t allowed to peek—Riki!” You fight laughter as his arm hooks around your head, his hand covering your face as he begins to read out the words you wish you had erased when you had the chance.

“‘Nickname kinda dumb’, you think my nicknames dumb?” He asks in an offended tone, laughter seeping into his words.

“That wasn’t me, that was Jongseob—“

“Cut his hair—Why is cutting my hair a con?” He asks incredulously, finally letting you push his hand away from your face to look down at you. Your back is still half-pressed to his chest, and the moment you can look up at him your heart skips like it’s playing hopscotch in your chest.

You catch the glance his eyes take down below your nose and find yourself pulling away quickly, grabbing the whiteboard from him to haphazardly use your sleeve to wipe the marker off, ignoring his laughed ‘hey!’ and sighing in relief when you erase enough for the rest of its contents to look like random pink lines across its surface.

When you spin around with a playfully pointed finger to curse him out, your words catch in your throat at the look in his eyes. 

How a look could be both heavy and so soft, you do not know, but it's the best way you can describe Riki’s gaze.

“Wh—“ You stammer with hesitation, face heating up as his soft smile turns into a smirk of amusement, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“How am I looking at you?” He questions in a light tone, almost soft. If you didn’t know better you’d think him genuine in his innocence, but the slight twitch of the corner of his lips and the way his eyes flit to yours gives it away.

“Riki.”

His name leaving your lips draws his gaze away from them, and his smirk turns into one more wry. “I left your gift in my car.” 

Your chest clenches painfully as he turns to exit your closet, your lips parting yet no words leaving them as he walks out. You follow after him, abandoning your perfume on the closest surface, “Riki, wait—“

“It’s okay—” he starts, turning just in time to stop you from crashing into him. His hands find your forearms instinctively, steadying you, but the sudden proximity freezes you both in place.

You blink up at him, startled, your breath hitching at the closeness. His fingers are warm through the fabric of your sweater, his touch gentle, like he’s afraid to hold on too tight.

“I—” You start to say something, anything, but your voice falters when you meet his gaze. There’s something there, something unspoken and unbearably soft that makes your chest ache. 

Your words catch in your throat when he gently steps back, his hands slipping away as though he’s suddenly aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you. “It’s fine,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. His voice is soft, but there’s a distance in it that wasn’t there before, and it only makes the knot in your chest tighten. “I’ll go grab it.” 

You take a step forward before you can stop yourself, “Riki, I didn’t mean—”

“Really, don’t worry about it.” His voice is light, too light, as he cuts you off with a small wave of his hand. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

You hesitate, watching as he turns toward the hallway, his movements just a little too deliberate. His usual ease is gone, replaced by something quieter, more careful.

Your heart sinks. Is he upset with you? He doesn’t seem angry, but there’s a tension in the way he carries himself that wasn’t there before.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” you blurt out, desperate to bridge the gap forming between you.

He pauses mid-step, his back still to you. For a moment, it seems like he might say something, but instead, he exhales quietly and turns just enough to glance over his shoulder.

“You didn’t,” he says, his tone softer now, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—regret? Frustration? “It’s not you. I just… I need a second. That’s all.”

His mother’s words ring in your head again, “It’s so obvious you make him happy.”

Yet, you feel like the opposite is all you can see. You ask him to be your fake boyfriend to make your ex mad, not even considering his feelings. You tell him you can’t date him despite him treating you with more respect and care than Eunseok ever did. You let him kiss you. You kissed back.

Clearly, you have royally fucked up a few times now.

Confronting him about not telling his mother felt like it would only make things worse between the two of you. Maybe, it’d be better for him to hear it from his mother instead of you.

Your stomach twists, guilt gnawing at you even though his words tell you otherwise. You nod, unsure what else to say, and he offers a faint, almost apologetic smile before disappearing down the hall.

“And then what?” Belle questions with a vehemence that startles you slightly. Eunchae, Hiyyih, and Jongseob are all listening intently from their normal spots in your room, your oldest friend of the four standing with her hands on her hips.

When you had informed the group chat you were staying home the next day, you definitely did not expect the four to show up to your house after piling into an Uber. One look at your tear-streaked face was enough for them to ask the questions that brought you to now.

You stammer slightly, “He—He came back with the gift and made up an excuse to leave.”

“You let him leave?” Belle asks incredulously, and you shrink under her gaze, “Bitch.”

“I don’t know, okay!” You say with your face in your hands, frustrated tears burning your eyes again as you groan, “It’s all so complicated.”

Jongseob raises his hand, waiting for Belle to motion for him to speak before he asks, “Do you like him? Also, is this a bad time to say I have a joint in my bag?”

Eunchae punches his arm, and your hands slide off your face, mind too preoccupied by your current dilemma to even insult the only boy in the friend group for his lack of ability to read the room as usual. Hiyyih leans forward to let the youngest reach over her to get to him, “That was a good question until you ruined it.” 

”Do you like him, though?” Eunchae asks once Jongseob’s arm is surely to bruise and his hands are up in surrender.

You look up from your hands, “I don’t know—“

“You’re pissing me off.” Belle sighs, palm moving to her forehead, and while you know she means well. “You like him.”

“I can’t.” You argue, voice shaking as you fight tears. Eunchae moves from her bean bag to sit next to you. “All that shit with Eunseok was barely a month ago—“

“Who gives a shit about Eunseok anymore?” Belle snaps, throwing her hands up in frustration, “Just because you dated that asshole for two years doesn’t mean it’ll take that long for you to move on.”

“It still feels like I’m using him.” You finally let the tears fall, and her frustration seems to dissipate. She sighs softly, kneeling in front of your sitting form at the edge of your bed.

Her hands move to cover yours, “Do you still have feelings for Eunseok?” The face you make answers her question and she adds, “Do you still think of Riki as a way to get back at him?”

“Of course not.“

“Then you aren’t using him.” She finishes. “He went into this knowing your plan, and you said he even told you it wasn’t you that was the problem.”

You shake your head, tears falling as you blink them away, “He looked upset—“

“Then that’s his problem.” She argues again, “It’s his job to communicate how he feels if he likes you.”

“He does communicate. I’m the issue!” You cry pitifully, “I don’t want him to think I’m not over Eunseok because—I’m still so angry.”

“He cheated on you with your best friend, you don’t have to forgive him to be able to move on to a healthy relationship.” She states.

“But it feels—“ You can’t find words for why it feels wrong to want to date Riki, because the thought of it makes your heart race, “I don’t know! I’ve known him for barely a month and I just—“

“You like him and feel like it’s not real because it happened too fast?” She reads you like a damn book, but you’re almost thankful for it.

“Yes!” You cry, “And he deserves better than that.”

“So, you like Riki?” She repeats her question, her tone matching yours.

You find yourself answering before you can even think, “Yes!”

Your stomach drops as Belle stands like her work here is done. 

It isn’t you realizing you like Riki that has your stomach filling with dread and guilt, it's the fact that you like him more than you have ever liked anyone. 

You liked Eunseok, even told him you loved him, but that seed hadn’t grown in your chest no matter how many times it left your mouth in the form of ‘I love you.’

Yet, you imagine yourself with Riki—loving him—and it all sounds so…easy. The mundanity you dreaded having to live with Eunseok sounded like a dream with Riki. Falling in love with him sounded like something you wouldn’t mind experiencing. 

Which, all things considered, is fucking terrifying to you.

Hiyyih, who had been silently watching the interaction, pats the shoulder of the boy beside her, “I think she’s gonna need that joint now, Seob.”

The shaggy-haired producer straightens up, nodding and quickly reaching for his bag to pull the baggy from the front pocket.

Belle moves toward your closet, “Manchae, Hiyyih, help her wipe her face while I find her an outfit for the game tonight.”

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head in a panicked way that makes Belle grab your face in her hands, uncaring of the fact she’s squishing your cheeks, “Do you want Riki to be your boyfriend, yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are going to this game, and you are going to look hot.” She walks you through it like she’s talking to a child, “And when he scores the winning home run, you’re going to run onto that field and jump him, got it?”

Jongseob raises his hand again, though doesn't wait to be called on as he interjects, “Home runs are baseball—“

“That isn't the point, dipshit.” Eunchae sasses before turning her attention back to you, “Can I ask what the gift he got you was?”

You nod as Belle releases your face, sniffling softly as you hold up your hand to showcase the charm bracelet on your wrist. Two charms hang from it, your birthstone and a tiny lacrosse stick. “He said he got it before…everything happened.”

“He bought you a charm bracelet after a week of knowing you?” Jongseob asks in a suspicious tone, and when the three girls besides you shoot him a dirty look, he holds his hands up in surrender, “Sorry—it’s just I think I’ve…connected some dots.”

“You haven’t connected shit.” Eunchae says, before promptly adding, “I just wanted to say that, you can continue.”

Jongseob shoots her an annoyed look, before looking at you and beginning, “Well, I was talking to Soul the other day—y’know the one that goes to music club with me— and he said he and Riki were friends in Freshman year.”

His hesitant pause has you looking at him and saying, “What does that mean to me?”

He continues, “He mentioned him having a huge crush on a girl then—“

“Why would I want to know this, Seob?” You question with exasperation.

“Let me finish!” He insists, and you sigh, motioning for him to land the damn plane, “I did some digging—aka asking his teammates about it—and while most of them didn’t know or wouldn’t tell me, Jake kind of insinuated it was you.”

You blink, “How did he insinuate it was me?”

“Well, I asked him what he thought about your breakup and he got all weepy about it. Said he was rooting for you guys to be endgame.” Typical Jake. “Then, I mentioned you guys not knowing each other for long and it sounded like he almost said that Riki’s been into you for years.”

The four of you blink at the boy’s retelling of events, and Belle is the first to snap out of her surprise, “And why didn’t you tell us this when you found out?”

“You guys never let me talk. Plus, that seemed like the last thing she wanted to hear.” He argues, then motions to you, and none of the girls in the room can really argue back. He doesn’t seem all that bothered about the truth of his own statement, though, as he holds up the bagged joint once more. “Now, are we smoking this or not?”

Parking your car has never left you with such a dreadful feeling in your gut, which Jongseob swore a hit of his shitty joint would ease, yet all it did was jumble your thoughts more. 

The temperature sensor reads a biting 30°F, and as you zip up the thick teddy puffer jacket you shiver with pure nerves. “Fuck.” 

Flipping down the sun visor, you check your reflection in its mirror. The warm light reflects off the gloss on your lips, which you fuss over with the pad of your finger even though it’s as perfect as it was when you applied it. 

Stalling. You’re stalling.

With a deep breath, you snap the visor shut and cut the engine, grabbing your purse and phone before stepping into the biting cold. The frigid air slashes through the layers of your outfit, your jacket doing little to stop the chill. You already regret picking the cuter option over something more practical, but you’d made your bed. Now you had to lie in it.

Ain't that the truth.

The field is already alive with movement and muted chatter. Teams are warming up, their voices cutting through the chilly air as balls thud against lacrosse sticks and cleats crunch on frosted grass. You can’t see Riki yet, but the sight of the players in their jerseys stirs the knot in your chest.

Decelis Demons v. YG Pirates

As you near the bleachers, a familiar voice calling your name stops you in your tracks. 

“Over here!” 

You turn, spotting Riki’s mom waving at you with a warm smile, flanked by two young girls bundled in matching puffer jackets. His sisters. The younger one is tugging impatiently at her scarf, while the older stands with her arms crossed, looking vaguely unimpressed by the entire ordeal.

“Mrs. Nishimura, hi!” you manage once you’ve climbed the bleachers to join her side, hoping your smile doesn’t betray the whirlwind of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she says, her voice as kind as you remember. “Riki didn’t mention anything, but I figured you’d be here for him.”

Your face heats at her words, but you force a nod, gripping the strap of your purse tighter and attempting to ignore the cold nipping at your fingers. “Of course, even if it's colder than a Yeti’s ass out here.” 

You almost regret your colorful language before the older girl snorts softly, “Preach.” 

Mrs. Nishimura chuckles, “It is freezing,” she agrees. “I told Riki he should’ve picked an indoor sport, but you know how stubborn he is.” She jests, and then proceeds to add, “Oh, and these are my daughters, Maki and Runa

You smile at the two of them, Maki’s a bit more subdued but Runa’s bright as she waves. At the mention of Riki, your eyes scan the field for a glimpse of his number. The players are still warming up, running drills and shouting plays back and forth.

And then you see him.

Riki stands near the goalpost, casually balancing his stick across his shoulders as he chats with a teammate. Even in the midst of the pregame chaos, he moves with the same effortless confidence that always draws attention, his tall frame impossible to miss.

The sight of him stirs something unfamiliar and electric in your chest. It’s not the usual comfort you’ve come to associate with him—it’s sharper, more restless, like an itch you can’t quite get to.

You tear your gaze away from him when you hear your name called once again, finding Gaeul quickly climbing the steps of the bleachers to get to you, her free gloved hand catching your arm happily, “I was hoping you’d be here!”

You smile, part of you relieved that she isn’t acting differently despite everything, and your eyes fall on the poster board in her other hand, “Is that for Jay?”

She follows your gaze and nods, unrolling it to reveal ‘Go Jay!’ with a big 19 under it, which you assume is his jersey number. The dark red sweatshirt under her puffer reads the same number as well. “Cute, right?”

“Very cute.” You reply with a soft laugh, smoothing a crease from the corner of the poster board as you add, “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“He better,” Gaeul huffs in a mock seriousness, “M’freezing my ass off for him.”

Mrs. Nishimura, who seems to have been listening in from her spot beside you, chimes in with a knowing smile, “He still insists you come to every game?”

You momentary confusion is quickly shaken off as you remind yourself that Gaeul and Jay have been dating since sophomore year, of course Riki’s mom knows her, and the girl in question nods fondly, “He says I’m his good luck charm—“ She gasps, and you blink, “—I forgot to kiss him before I left earlier!”

Your brief panic induced by her gasp subsides as you giggle softly, “Oh, no!”

She playfully smacks your arm and grabs it, “You’re coming with me for that.”

Your laughter doesn’t subside, only grows, as she motions to the Nishimura’s that you’ll ‘be right back’ and begins tugging you along down the bleachers, “Where are we going?”

“To kiss my man.” She answers, but pauses in her step to look at you and clarify, “I’m kissing him, you…can kiss Riki.”

“I will not be doing that, but I respect the effort.”

She groans melodramatically as the both of you continue walking down the bleachers, “Aww, c’mon, you guys were so cute together!”

You thank the lord that it’s too loud for Rin and her daughters to hear the girl from this distance, both for your sake and Riki’s, but laugh softly, “I don’t think kissing him a week after breaking his heart is the right move to get him back.”

Gaeul pauses on the last step to look at you with an unhinged jaw as soon as you realize your mistake, opening your mouth to deny before the accusations leave her pink lips, “You want him back?” 

Her words are shrill with excitement and you have the sudden urge to shrink into nothingness as you hover a cold shivering hand over her mouth and avoid the gazes of those around you both, “Bitch, shut up!”

She flattens her lips in an attempt to compose herself but fails to muffle the excited squeal and bounce of her gait as she tugs you down the side steps of the bleachers to get to the field.

The lacrosse field feels bigger up close, the expanse of frosted grass sprawling out under the big lights on either side of it. Gaeul marches ahead with purpose, her poster now tucked under her arm as she scans for Jay. You lag behind slightly, your thoughts still buzzing from the last few minutes.

“Gaeul, slow down,” you mutter, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as the cold nips at your ears.

She ignores you, her focus locked on a cluster of players by the bench. You spot Jay among them, laughing at something one of his teammates says. Gaeul picks up her pace, her excitement palpable, leaving you to follow at a more hesitant shuffle.

You scan the group of players, not recognizing any of them as Riki. When you do find him, you exhale heavily at the sight of him deep in conversation with Jungkook, the coach clearly getting on his ass for something.

“Hey there,” a voice calls out, smooth and laced with a confidence that plants a murky feeling in your gut. You glance up to see a guy in a YG Pirates jersey standing in front of you, his helmet tucked under his arm and a cocky grin on his face. 32 is bold and dark green on his chest.

“Lost, sweetheart?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock concern.

You take a step back instinctively, your eyes narrowing. “Do I know you?”

He raises a brow, his grin widening as if you’ve said something amusing. “Feisty, huh? Just my type.”

Your stomach twists at his boldness, irritation bubbling under your skin. You glance over his shoulder, hoping to spot Gaeul, but she’s already halfway to Jay, oblivious to your predicament. “Ew,” you blanch curtly, trying to sidestep him, but he shifts to block your path again.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” he presses, leaning in slightly. “I’m just trying to be friendly. What’s your name?”

Before you can muster a surely bitchy reply—or a curse—a presence appears behind you.

“I don’t think this is your side of the field,” a familiar voice cuts in, light yet edged with authority. You glance up to see Heeseung standing at your side now, his lacrosse stick casually balanced over his shoulder, his expression calm but his gaze sharp. “Can’t you tell by the colors, dude?”

The opposing player stiffens slightly, his grin faltering as he sizes up Heeseung. “Just talkin’, man,” he mutters, his tone defensive now.

Heeseung doesn’t flinch, his smile remaining intact as he tilts his head slightly. “Right. And now you’re done.”

The player hesitates for a moment before shrugging and backing away, muttering something under his breath as he turns and jogs off. Once he’s gone, Heeseung turns to you, his easy smile returning. “You good?”

You refuse to utter ‘that was hot,’ so you settle for a, “Yeah. Thanks for that, though.”

Heeseung shakes his head, “Nah, you had that handled.”

You barely miss a beat with your response, “Yeah, but it was sweet of you.”

He shrugs with his hand up and that same grin, “What can I say?”

You make a face, “Not that.“

He goes to defend himself, but Gaeul appears with smeared lipgloss and a pretty grin to happily say, “Coach is kicking us off the field.”

“Joyful.” You say with a playfully stiff smile that has Heeseung whining. A soft giggle from you has his frown turning into a grin again and he shoots you a salute.

“I’ll tell Riki you wished him good luck, ma’am.”

“Don’t get concussed, say that too.” You call back as Gaeul tugs you back toward the bleachers, poster under her arm creased. She’s beaming, and you giggle at her glowing smile, “I think I know what you and Jay got up to while I was harassed.”

Her smile drops as she gasps with concern, “Harassed? What happened?” 

“It’s not that serious.” You quickly assure her, “Heeseung kinda scared him off, he was a guy on the YG team.”

“Ew.” She makes a face as you both arrive at the bleachers, and you nod.

“That’s what I said.” 

As you both arrive back to your seats, and you gasp and happily accept a hot chocolate Rin had thoughtfully gotten for you with a sweet side hug. God you hope Riki still wants you and you can keep this saint of a woman in your life.

As if on cue, the referee blows a sharp whistle, and the players jog to their respective side of the field. Riki is dismissed by Jungkook and pulls his helmet from under his arm as the other members of the team crowd around the coach, his head turning just enough to scan the bleachers.

Your heart skips as his gaze locks onto yours for a fleeting moment.

He doesn’t smile, not exactly—but his expression softens, his eyes warming like he’s relieved to see you there. The corner of his mouth twitches just enough to feel like a secret, like something meant only for you.

And then he pulls his helmet over his head and focuses on Jungkook’s words, it almost feels like a shock to your system but the lingering warmth in your chest makes it hard to feel the cold anymore.

You watch the team huddle, Jungkook’s game face amusing enough to you that you snicker softly before your attention falls back to Riki. Heeseung, who if your memory serves you right is 01, catches Riki’s shoulder in a brotherly way. 

Your brows furrow as you see Riki’s head tilt slightly at what Heeseung says, glancing in your direction and then the opposing teams, and you assume his eyes search for a jersey that reads 32.

The players move onto the field with another whistle, and you watch with dread as two opposing jerseys approach the center of the field. 10 and 32.

Now, you know very little about lacrosse despite it being your school’s biggest sport and your brother playing it, but you know that Riki is a midfielder. You know this through his excited play-by-plays of practice to you on the phone whenever he was finally out, as well as the basic knowledge of how a lacrosse game starts. Two midfielders wrestling for the ball. 

It couldn’t be called wrestling, however. Riki swipes it barely millisecond after the ref blows his whistle, tossing the ball to 05. 

You gasp softly as his shoulder slams into 32s chest hard enough to send him stumbling back, but his body moves quickly toward the opposing defense and away from the startled enemy. If you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was only doing so to keep him off Jake’s back. “Geez, what did you feed him?”

You ask Rin softly, eyes trained on her son and your brain attempting to wrap itself around the difference in his body language and…aggression on-field, when he had barely risen above a loud speaking volume in your presence. She chuckles, “Would you believe me if I said his diet largely consisted of taiyaki and ramen growing up?”

“No.” You awe at her words, eyes still on him but flitting to meet hers for a brief second, “That’s just unfair.”

“Tell me about it,” The elder of his sisters huffs, “I ate my vegetables and have glasses an inch thick, but he gets to eat sweets all his life and has perfect vision.”

“That’s your fathers genetics, not mine.” Rin clarifies, offering you an explanation like it’s second nature already, “That man can’t see something coming straight at his face until it’s already hit him.”

“My brother has horrible vision, too.” You snicker softly, your eyes rarely leaving Riki but only doing so to look between the three Nishimuras, “Refused to wear contacts, even for lacrosse.” You motion in the general direction of the field, and the older woman seems intrigued.

“Your brother plays?”

You shake your head with a soft laugh at your brother’s expense, “Not since highschool, and he was benched most games because he couldn’t see the ball,” your words have Rin laughing and Maki snorting, “plus he generally sucked. He really only joined because his friend was on the team.”

Jake scores a goal and the crowd around you goes wild with cheers, mainly higher in pitch. You let out a supportive cheer and immediately act like you didn’t when his helmeted head turns your way. You’re almost positive a shit-eating grin has formed behind his helmet.

The game continues, the scoreboard leaning toward Decelis’ victory as the first two quarters come to a close and half-time ensues. 

“No.” You reject Gaeul’s suggestion almost as soon as it leaves her mouth.

“Aww, c’mon!” She whines, tugging your arm closest to her, “His face would be so funny!”

“He’s wearing a helmet, you can’t see his face. And it’s small enough for you to hold up by yourself.” You point at the poster-board in his hands, which she had happily held up for a good portion of the game until her arms got tired.

“But my arms are gonna fall off.” She groans melodramatically, “Please?”

“Buy me another cocoa and I’ll think about it.”

As half-time comes to a close, your right arm is screaming for relief while you hold your side of the poster up and nurse a cup of steaming cocoa in the other hand. Gaeul shamelessly screams in support of her boyfriend, who you see hunch over slightly like he’s holding back laughter of amusement.

Your hand feels like it’s about to fall off, and you curse yourself for refusing the mittens Eunchae had offered in favor of showing off your new nails. ‘They’re too pretty to cover up,’ you had whined, yet now you wouldn’t be surprised if your fingers started breaking off like a vampire’s from Twilight.

The scoreboard reads heavily in the home team’s favor, and you pray to every deity that the game finally ends for your arm’s sake (and your crippling anxiety). Though, watching Riki slice through YG’s defense and score points like they're nothing doesn’t look like it’ll be getting old for you anytime soon. 

“You’re drooling.” Gaeul teases as you suck in a sharp breath at the sight of Riki once again shoulder 32 off balance, hard enough for him to fall onto his ass this time. Tensions are high as the time counts down, though part of you’s hoping this never ends. 

“I don’t drool.” You retort in a soft grumble, yet you rub the side of your wrist over the corners of your mouth self-consciously. “I’m a fucking lady.”

“Right…” Gaeul agrees with playful doubt in her tone that’s punctuated by giggles as you playfully shove her shoulder.

The final whistle slices through the winter air as Riki launches the ball into the goal, accompanied by an uproar of cheers and groans from the crowd. Decelis has won, 12-7, the scoreboard glowing with the decisive win. The players pour onto the field, some celebrating, others trudging off in defeat. Your eyes dart instinctively toward Riki, helmet under his arm, hair damp with sweat as he exchanges fist bumps and quick words with his teammates. The way his expression softens to a grin when Jake slings an arm around his shoulders makes your stomach twist.

You clutch your empty cocoa cup, suddenly desperate to find a reason to approach him. Before you can muster up a plan, the chaos swallows him—players crowding, parents flooding in from the sidelines, and Gaeul’s excited tug on your sleeve pulling you back to the moment.

“Let’s go find Jay!” she beams, and you immediately look toward Rin, Maki, and Runa.

The woman smiles warmly and pats your shoulder, “We always wait in the parking lot for him. You two can have a moment.”

Gaeul is dragging you down the bleachers the moment you softly thank the woman. Your heart thrums as you scan the chaos for Riki, but he’s nowhere to be found. Gaeul bounces ahead, her attention locked on her boyfriend. 

Her hand slips from your arm as you’re both swept into the excitement, and her curls disappear in the crowd. 

The field feels like a warzone, buzzing with shouts, laughter, and the rhythmic stomp of cleats against frozen grass. You’re jostled in every direction, bodies pressing and colliding as parents swarm to congratulate their kids, and the players themselves disappear into the fray. Your fingers curl around the half-empty cocoa cup as if it might ground you, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Where is he?

You catch glimpses of Riki’s teammates—Jake’s unmistakable blonde head bobbing as he jokes with Heeseung, Sunghoon hoisted onto someone’s shoulders—but Riki remains elusive, swallowed by the tide of bodies.

“Riki!” His name slips out, barely audible over the noise, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. What are you even doing? Someone brushes past you, hard enough to make you stumble. “Watch it,” you mutter, turning to see a player in a YG jersey, helmet off and grin too familiar.

32.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just gives you a once-over that makes your skin crawl. His shoulder brushes yours again as he angles toward you, his smirk sharper now. “Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he drawls, voice low enough that it’s almost lost in the noise.

You make a face of disdain, like speaking to him both disgusts you and is beneath you, “Is that supposed to be cute?”

“C’mon,” He says, tone dripping with what you assume is his attempt at charm, “Don’t be like that. You’ve been watchin’ me the whole game.”

“I don’t even know you.” You respond with the same look on your face that reads you’d rather be anywhere else than where you are, listening to him.

He steps closer, undeterred by your tone and clear disgust, “That can be remedied,” His voice is low, and you see his hand move from his side to reach for your waist.

Your anger takes over your motor control, and the half-empty, long chilled cocoa in your hand splatters over the front of his jersey, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

The cocoa splashes onto his jersey in a satisfying arc, the dark liquid seeping into the white fabric. His grin falters for a moment, replaced by a stunned look that quickly twists into irritation. “Are you fucking serious?” he snaps, brushing at the stain, but it’s a futile effort.

“Yeah, I’m fucking serious,” You retort, mirroring his tone, “Who the fuck told you that you could fucking touch me?” 

The players around you have started to notice the commotion, a few stopping to watch as Number 32 bites back, “You’re not even worth half of what that bitch offered me.”

If what boiled within you was anger, then what it morphs into at the player’s statement must be seething fury, “Excuse me?”

“What’s goin’ on here?” A hand clasps over your shoulder but the voice calms any volatile reaction brewing in your gut, Jungkook stepping between you and the YG player.

Jungkook’s presence immediately shifts the energy around you. His broad frame looms between you and Number 32, the way his body blocks out the other player like a wall of stone, calm yet unyielding. The cocky grin fades from the YG player’s face as he holds up his hands in mock surrender, shooting a glare at Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t even glance at the YG player, his focus entirely on you as he steps closer, his gaze softening slightly when he sees the tension in your shoulders and the shift in your jaw. “You okay?” he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle in the midst of the chaos.

You nod, even though the heat of anger still lingers in your chest. “I’m fine,” you say, but your voice shakes just enough that Jungkook catches it.

His eyes flick briefly to the YG player, who’s clearly not in the mood to test Jungkook’s patience any further. “Walk with me,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. You want to protest, to stay and search for Riki, but something about the way Jungkook stands there—tall, unshakable—tells you it’s not worth resisting.

He guides you through the crowd and off the field with his hands on your shoulders. When the two of you arrive at the edge of the field where the bleachers drop off and the parking lot comes into view, he releases you. “Do I need to go talk to that kid’s coach? Or parents?”

“No, I think the shit-colored stain on his jersey says enough.” You retort swiftly, the implications of his words stick with you, though. ‘You’re not even worth half of what that bitch offered me.’

It isn’t as if you woke up yesterday, you know he’s talking about Nayeon. Whether it be some kind of intuition or you’re just that fucking familiar with her thought process from years of what you had thought was friendship, you know it. 

“Hey.” Jungkook’s gruff but somewhat gentle call snaps you out of your stewing, and you blink at him, “Don’t do anything I’m gonna hear about, okay?”

Your immature response is interrupted by the loud cheers and chatter morphing into shouts and hollers of a more alarmed tone that has the both of you looking in the direction of the field. Jungkook doesn't seem eager to let you involve yourself in whatever it is that’s going down on the field, you know this because he’s shooing you off toward your car in a dismissive but authoritative tone. 

If you cared at all about anything except beating Nayeon’s face in at the moment you would be protesting and following after him as he jogs toward the commotion, but you don’t. Instead, you walk to your car, toss your Prada bag into the passenger seat as it begins to warm up, and plot.

Watching your friend group’s grins fall while learning that you did not, in fact, kiss Riki after the game but left without even speaking to him in a fit of blind rage was not how you wanted to start your weekend. You blame their soured moods for the fact that all four of them were avidly against your plan to beat Nayeon’s face in the next time you see her, but begrudgingly decided to not jump to conclusions.

The only proof you have that Nayeon was the one to sic that cretin on you may be his words, which aren’t worth much, but you refuse to believe anything else.

Monday arrives with not a singular text or call from Riki, and while Belle has already talked you off of the metaphorical ledge about it, you feel the urge to disappear off the face of the Earth every time you imagine seeing him again after leaving the game he asked you to attend without so much as a word.

Part of you figures the silence on his end is payback, or him deciding to finally let his alleged crush on you go. The other part of you really hopes he was just busy.

Jake is…silent in your second period. Not that you’d mind the silence on any other day, but it’s definitely not normal. Well, he’s silent until he catches sight of the charm bracelet on your wrist as it clinks softly on the desk. His grin is back in seconds and he takes his phone out.

“Want a picture?” You offer sarcastically. When Jake eagerly nods and holds his phone up for the picture, you shoot it a mock smile and manicured middle finger as your charm bracelet catches the light above.

With giddy giggles, Jake takes the photo and practically bounces in his seat in joy as he taps his thumbs on his screen hastily. You’re rolling your eyes and looking down at your worksheet when he asks, “Wanna know who I’m texting?”

“If I wanted to know I’d ask.” You respond swiftly, tapping the eraser-end of your pencil on the desk absentmindedly.

“It’s Riki.” He states with a smugness that pisses you off.

Looking up from the paper, you raise your brows, “Okay?”

“He needed proof,” He adds on with his arms crossed as he leans back in his seat, “Wanna know why?”

“I feel like you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

He’s still smirking as he proves you right, “He thinks you hate him.”

You blink, annoyed nonchalance pushed aside by genuine confusion, “Why would he think that?”

Jake shrugs, though his face seems anything but clueless and you hate that he knows more than you do, “Maybe ‘cause you left the game without saying anything to him.”

“Jungkook made me get off the field.” 

“You could’ve waited with his family in the parking lot.”

“Well, I didn’t.” You snap, growing frustrated with the conversation despite it being your own damn fault, “Why are you telling me this, Jake?”

“‘Cause he’s my friend and he’s been miserable.”

“Then he should talk to me.” You retort with a sigh, guilt filling your gut despite your defensive words, and he tilts his head with a nod of agreement, “If I hated him he’d know. I don’t exactly keep that shit a secret.”

Jake, who had bore witness to your fight with Jaclyn Delvacchio in junior year, hums, “Well, can you do us all a favor and talk to him, please?”

“We have fifth period, I’m not gonna ignore him for an hour when he sits next to me.” You roll your eyes and focus back down at your worksheet.

By the time the bell rings, you’re halfway between plotting your own demise and debating if you should actually try to talk to Riki. The idea makes your stomach twist. What if Jake was wrong, and Riki doesn’t want to hear from you? What if your silence solidified something in him—pushed him away for good?

But then you remember how he smiled at you that day in the hallway, the soft tug of his lips like he couldn’t stop himself, and how his eyes lit up when you agreed to come to the bowling date. You remember the way his voice faltered ever-so-slightly when he asked you, like he was bracing himself for rejection but couldn’t bear not to try.

The thought makes your stomach hurt and your chest heavy, and you realize something that makes you want to kick yourself: you don’t want to lose that. You don’t want to lose him.

Yet, you so easily brushed him aside in your list of priorities to stew in your anger about someone who shouldn’t even be a thought in your mind at this point. 

You screwed up. Again. 

At this point, you feel like you’re winning the losing game. Not only do you hate losing, but you hate the feeling in your chest and gut that makes you want to go home and rot until Riki forgets you ever existed. Belle’s voice screams in your head to talk to him, to make the effort to speak to him and throw away your pride.

So, instead of staying in your old Latin teacher’s class for fourth period grading papers, you persuade her to let you spend your fourth period ‘at lunch with your friends’. 

Your friends all share the same lunch period; sixth, when you’ve already gone home. So you lied, yes.

But Riki has fourth period lunch.

You slip through the cafeteria doors, the clang of trays and the murmur of conversation fading as you scan the room for him. The place is packed, and your heart beats louder than the chatter around you. It’s ridiculous—Riki isn’t hard to find. But your anxiety builds anyway, sending a slight tremble through your hands.

You spot him by the window, his profile framed by sunlight, his usual quiet demeanor marking him as an island in the chaos of the cafeteria. His friends surround him, but they’re not your focus. Your eyes zero in on him, his long sleeves pulled up to his elbows, his hair messy and covering his forehead like he didn’t feel like styling it this morning, the rings on his hands that glint in the cafeteria light.

But before you can make your way over, the sound of a voice you loathe cuts through the air, sharper than glass.

“A couple hundred bucks and he was practically my dog.” Nayeon muses at the two girls you barely recognize that sit across from her at a table not far from you, “Sucks that he failed, though. Would have spent my money on someone else.”

“So you…had him hit on her?” The girl on the left asks, a bit confused as she exchanges a look with the girl beside her.

Nayeon seems eager to relay the details, “I told him she liked playing hard to get,” She shrugs disinterested, yet you see a sliver of the smirk on her face from your angle, “made him all the more eager to knock her down a peg.”

The two girls seem peeved by what she says, like any sane person would be, but anything either wants to say dies on their tongue as they catch sight of you. “Girl…”

One trails off as you begin your approach, the same lightness in your gut that has your vision clouded with seething fury.

She looks over her shoulder just enough for you to see her smirk drop into wide-eyed fear.

Your hand catches the back of her head, slamming the side of her face into the table with little care for the eyes that immediately find you, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you, bitch. What was that?” There’s ‘ooo’s and ‘oh shit’s from the wuickly forming crowd as you pull her up by her hair, launching the flailing girl onto the ground. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

She scrambles off the ground, immediately getting in your face as she hisses, “You don’t deserve him.” 

“Oh, fuck you.” You curse as your hand meets her face, and she shrieks as her head snaps to side. 

Nayeon recoils for a moment, eyes wide with shock, but the anger on her face quickly replaces any hesitation. "You think I'm scared of you?" She spits, moving toward you with a snarl. She may not have expected this, but now that it's happening, she seems desperate to prove herself.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, you shove her into one of the metal chairs, the clattering sound of it screeching across the floor as she stumbles backward. The two girls hasten to get out of the way, faces a mix of fear and ‘oh shit’. 

Nayeon picks herself up with blind fury guiding her actions, hands flying out as she lunges forward to shove you back. Your hands grasp her hair again, and the crowd surrounding the scene roars.

Her nails claw at your wrist as you yank her forward. She’s small, but her anger makes her stronger than she has any right to be. The fight is a mess of hair pulling and shoving, curses from you and shrieks from her.

You shove her hard into the table again, the force sending a tray of half-eaten food crashing to the floor, and the crowd goes wild, hooting and cheering. The heat in your chest ignites with every movement. The adrenaline rush is undeniable.

Nayeon's attempts to push you back only seem to fuel your anger further. Her breath is ragged, and you can practically taste the bitterness she's been carrying since the moment you stepped into her world. Every movement of hers is desperate, like she's trying to claw her way back to a victory she's long since lost.

"Get the fuck off me!" she yells, her voice barely audible over the chaos. But you don't listen. You slam her against the chair again, hard enough that she falls onto her ass, eyes wide with disbelief. Nayeon's face contorts in pure anger as you approach again, her hands flying up in a futile attempt to strike you. Her nails scratch at your arms, but the pain barely registers.

But then, someone grabs your waist, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. The world tilts as you're pulled off of Nayeon, feet leaving the ground. For the split second that you’re struggling against them, thinking it’s one of her friends or a teacher, you curse at them too.

Then the cologne hits your nose and the voice hits your ears, “Alright, that’s enough, pretty girl.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as Riki’s voice cuts through the frenzy, low and soft in your ear, but with a sharp edge of firmness that you’ve never heard from him before. His grip on you doesn’t waver, and despite the anger still coursing through your veins, you freeze for a second, thrown off by the ease he had pulling you off of that traitorous bitch—who’s being held back by Jake and Jungwon.

“Skank!” Nayeon shrieks, clawing at Jake and Jungwon’s arms that keep her from lunging at you again.

Any calm that Riki’s presence brought you is washed away, but he pulls you back by the waist as you move to have a go at Nayeon again. His arms wrapping around you to keep your arms at your sides as you bite back,  “Says you, bitch.”

“Easy, easy,” He eases, your back hitting his chest as your jerky and angry movements force him to pick you up again, “Cool it, baby. You got her good.”

“Get her out of here before the teachers get here,” Heeseung orders in a hushed tone as the other members of the lacrosse team grab at phones and shove the crowd back.

“I’m not—hey!” Your defiant statement is interrupted by the arm around your waist tightening and your feet lifting off the floor once more. “Riki!”

“I know, I know.” Riki’s hold is firm as you struggle weakly against him, his voice deep and low like he’s easing a wild animal, his touch warm. You can’t bring yourself to fight back the way you did with Nayeon as he walks you out of the cafeteria building. His presence, the warmth of his chest against your back, it all has your defense mechanisms easing up and your anger softening to a low simmer.

When he finally sets you back down, the cool chill of the air eased only by the sunlight hitting the two of you, you turn to face him with a charged glare, “I can walk.”

He holds his hands up in good faith, or maybe an attempt to calm you down, “I know, baby.”

“And she deserved that.”

“I know, baby.”

The way he repeats himself so softly, how he’s letting you take out the remnants of your anger on him, it only makes the ache in your chest worsen. You exhale sharply, “Stop that.”

“Okay.” He says, voice soft but no pain or hurt to be detected in his voice, only in his eyes.

Your own sting almost automatically with both frustration and anger at yourself and no one else, “No, not—“ Taking a deep breath, your hands move to your face, “This is all wrong.”

“What is?” You try not to notice how he doesn’t attach ‘pretty girl’ or ‘baby’ to the end of his question. You fail.

“Everything.” You mutter, exhaling another soft, “Fuck.”

“You’re bleeding.” He points out, his hands pulling yours from your face to examine the scratches up your arms. 

“Nails are intact, though.” You mumble softly, trying to make yourself feel better. Riki looks at you in slight disapproval, brows furrowing, and you add, “I’m okay.”

He sighs, shaking his head, “There’s a first-aid kit in the locker room, let me clean you up.”

“Ew, I’m not going into the boys locker room.” You reject his offer with an obstinance that would usually amuse him, yet he shows a sliver of frustration in his body language. “And I told you, I’m fine.”

“Okay, you can either walk or I can carry you.”

“As if.” 

Your challenge is met with him raising his eyebrows and lunging for you a second later. You flinch and swat at his hands, “Okay, fine!” He pulls back again with a ‘that’s what i thought’ look, “I’ll walk.” you add with a defiant ‘hmph’ as you walk past him.

He doesn’t press the issue, following you towards the athletics building and holding the door open for you to enter first, to your utter fury of course. Stupid boys. Stupid emotions.

When you find the boys locker room, you pause as he pushes the door open, “I’m not going in there.”

He sighs with a nod like he expected as such, “I’ll be right back, stay here.”   

You sigh and cross your arms, rolling your eyes and leaning back against the wall across the locker room entrance.

Riki returns with a first aid kit and his hoodie, “Let’s go to the bleachers, no one’s got practice today.” You assume the hoodie is for you, and you’re proved correct when he tosses it into your face and snickers when you curse at him. “C’mon.”

You begrudgingly walk with him out of the athletics building to the school field not a far walk from the entrance. 

You hear the bell ring from where you sit on the bleachers minutes later as your chilled fingers are tended to by the lacrosse player, “You’ll be late, you know.”

“We’ll both be. It’s fifth period now.” He states as he delicately cleans the raw skin streaking up your wrist with an alcohol wipe.

“Ow.” You mumble, and he tsks with a growing smile.

“Don’t be a baby.” He teases, and you mock his words in a higher pitched voice back to him.

“Fuck you.”

He snickers softly, gently rotating your hand in his to clean the visible lines tainting the delicate flesh, “Baby.”

His statement isn’t the beckon or fond coo you wish it’d be, but it causes flutters in your gut all the same. You mock him again and he huffs softly in amusement, refraining from continuing the back and forth to focus on your scratched up wrists and forearms. 

As he moves to your right hand, his touch lingers on the charm bracelet hanging off your wrist as he dabs at the skin. The metal chain catches the sunlight, twinkling faintly against your wrist as Riki pauses. His thumb brushes over one of the charms absentmindedly before he speaks, voice softer than you expected. “You’re wearing it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you reply, trying to sound casual despite the way your pulse stutters. His touch, even as fleeting as it is, sends a warm shiver through you.

“I just…” he trails off, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly, his gaze filled with something tender. “I wasn’t sure if it was your style.”

“Why’s that?” You ask with a slight furrow of your brows, and he snickers softly.

“I’m sure it’s not the luxury you’re accustomed to.” 

“Everything I wear isn’t expensive. I’m not a snob.” You huff in slight offense, though he finds it amusing.

“Never said you were a snob, princess.” He clarifies, discarding the alcohol wipe to grab the ointment from the kit, “Nothing wrong with being spoiled.”

“I’m not—“ you go to argue, but the amusement on his face has the words dying on your tongue as you look away from him, “You’re such an ass.”

“Aww, I’m wounded.” He pouts softly, before it turns into that pretty smile again and he laughs softly, “It looks good on you.”

It takes a half-second for you to remember he’s talking about the bracelet, and your instinctive reply comes in the form of a weak, “Fuck off.”

His head falls forward as he laughs at your weakly aggressive statement. His touch is still gentle as he continues, hands unbelievably warm around yours. How unfair.

“Your hands are freezing.” He states softly, tube of ointment placed aside in favor of engulfing your hands in his. You watch him rub at them, your nails clicking against his rings with every movement until they catch his attention, “These are nice.”

“I know.”

He huffs in amusement, biting his bottom lip before he says, “‘Course you do.”

The tension between the two of you shifts, delicate and tenuous, like a thread stretched too tight. Riki’s touch is warm and steady, and you hate how easy it would be to let yourself relax into it. His thumbs keep brushing over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, and your chest tightens with every pass.

You clear your throat, trying to focus anywhere but his hands, but when you look up, his gaze is already on you. It’s not intense, exactly. Not piercing or overwhelming. Just…soft. Patient, even. The kind of look that has your fight or flight instincts kicking in to protect the 

“What?” you snap, defensive and unsure, your voice sharper than you mean for it to be. You regret it instantly when his brow furrows slightly, though his hands don’t pull away.

“Nothing,” he replies softly, his voice steady. “Just glad you’re okay.”

The simplicity of it almost knocks the wind out of you. You blink, trying to find a reply that won’t give you away, but the words stick in your throat. All you can manage is a mumbled, “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone carrying a gentleness that makes you ache. “But I worry about you anyway.”

You don’t know what to do with that—how to handle the sincerity in his voice or the way his touch lingers like he’s afraid to let go. It feels like too much and not enough all at once.

“You shouldn’t,” you mutter, trying to pull your hands back, but he holds them lightly, just enough to keep you there without forcing you.

“Can’t really help it, pretty girl.” His lips curve into a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Especially when you’re getting into fights.”

Your stomach twists, a cocktail of guilt and frustration bubbling to the surface. You want to tell him it wasn’t just a fight. That it was Nayeon, that she deserved it, that you were defending yourself in more ways than one. But that isn’t the truth, is it? Not really.

“I—” You start, then stop, swallowing down the lump rising in your throat. “I don’t—” Your voice wavers, and you hate it. “Riki, I can’t—I’m not good at this.”

“At what?” his hands grasp yours tighter as he leans forward with his gaze so…so attentive. 

“This.” You motion vaguely between the two of you, trying to not cry in front of him. You’re failing horribly. “Us. You. Me. God, fuck.”

“Talk to me, pretty girl.” He pleas softly, and your chest feels as warm as your hands are in his.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” You exhale, head dropping back in an attempt to keep your frustrated tears from falling, “And I keep fucking up everything good in my life, and I just—“

His neck cranes slightly to meet your gaze as you avert it to his hands around yours, waiting for you to continue. Listening.

You take a deep breath, “I like you, I really do,” his thumbs slow to a stop against your knuckles, but you don’t look at him, “and you’re so—perfect and I’m not—“

“Don’t say that—“

“I’m not.” You insist, and one of his hands moves to your cheek as you continue, thumb gently wiping away a stray tear, “I’m…messy and mean-“

“I don’t care about that.” He argues gently, but you’re not done.

“-and I can’t even handle my own shit in a mature way so why should I be able to give you anything better—“

You don’t get to finish as his lips press against yours, cutting off your spiraling words with a kiss so sudden and deliberate it steals every thought from your head. 

His hand on your cheek tilts your head up toward him, his other remains holding yours. It’s not a hesitant kiss. There’s nothing unsure or tentative about it, not like the first one he gave you. He isn’t suffocating you, or doing anything more than moving his lips against yours like it’s all he’s wanted to do for years but knows to take his time savoring it instead of rushing in with teeth and tongue.

All you know is that you’re leaning into him, your anger, frustration, and self-doubt melting away under the weight of his touch. It’s a good kiss—better than good. It’s consuming, overwhelming, and entirely too much, yet you feel like more wouldn’t be all that bad.

When he pulls back it isn’t far, his forehead resting against yours. You’re breathless, your lips tingling in the aftermath and brain foggier than you’d like to admit. His nose brushes against your as he says, “I don’t care about any of that,” his voice is low and hoarse, “I just want you.”

You exhale shakily, feeling his words hit you lips, “Riki—“ 

“I’ll wait.” He promises softly, a hint of desperation in his words that has something in your gut fluttering, “However long it takes for you to be ready, I’ll wait.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you shake your head weakly, looking down at your lap. “That’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t care about fair, pretty girl.” He responds with a slight smile, hand moving from your cheek to tilt your chin up and make you look at him. His gaze flits between your eyes and lingers below your nose, a pattern that mirrors your own. “I can wait.”

His words are soft, spoken like an oath as his eyes find your lips again and decide to stay there a while.

“Why?” You ask, barely a whisper.

Riki lifts his gaze to look you in the eyes, a soft smile on his lips as he says, “‘Cause I like you more.”

You roll your eyes, “Is it a competition?”

He hums low, as if apprehensive, “Not much of one.” Your jaw drops slightly as if offended and he laughs softly, “I mean, I have you completely outmatched, pretty girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” You challenge with a slight laugh, “How so?”

He shifts closer as he hums again in thought, “Well, you’ve liked me for how long? A few weeks?” The question is more of a statement, and he seems unbothered by the short time-span with the smile on his face, “Yeah, I’ve got you beat.”

“You didn’t know me until recently, so it doesn’t count.” You argue with defiance, and he raises his brows.

“Are you invalidating my feelings for you right now?” He asks in a mock-offended tone, hand moving to his chest.

You scoff with playful annoyance, looking away from him briefly before your gaze finds him all over again, like a moth to a flame, “How long?”

His smile turns shier, and he chuckles awkwardly, “Nah, it’s not a competition. You’re right.”

“Nuh-uh, you started it,” You laugh, shoving his sturdy chest weakly, “C’mon, I already know. I just wanna hear it.”

Your smug words paired with the shrug you give have his eyes narrowing, “You know?”

You nod, “Jake ratted you out.” 

Riki’s eyes widen slightly and he groans, head dropping forward in embarrassment, “I’m gonna kill him.”

Riki lifts his head, still chuckling under his breath as he finally relents, “Alright, fine.” His eyes meet yours again, warm and steady, even as a blush creeps across his cheeks and ears. “Since freshman year. Happy now?”

Despite you being the one to force it out of him, you hold back the urge to giggle and turn away from him. “Very.” You answer with a slightly blissful grin on your face.

“You gonna hold that over my head?” He asks playfully, leaning closer like he wants to kiss you again.

You fight every impulse telling you to close the distance yourself, but let your eyes move between his eyes and smirking lips freely, “I might.”

“Yeah?” He jests softly. 

You hum, deciding to be a little mean. “I could also hold over your head that your mom still thinks we’re dating.”

His eyes shut and the hand creeping towards yours again freezes. His head falls forward and you panic for a moment thinking you went too far before you realize his shoulders are shaking and you can hear soft wheezing. “You’re mean.”

His muffled whine makes you snicker gleefully, and you add, “She said I’m good for you.”

You don’t realize the joy behind those words until he raises his head with a teasing but genuine (and flirty) grin on his face as he asks, “You’re happy about that, huh baby?”

You find yourself teasing him back instead of getting hostile at his flirty tone, probably due to the boost he gave your ego, “Mmm, not as happy as you seem to be with me as your girlfriend. According to your mom, anyway.”

Before he can reply, a familiar voice cuts through the moment.

“Nishimura.”

Both of you whip your heads toward the source of the sound. Standing at the bottom of the bleachers with his arms crossed and an exasperated expression is Jungkook. He’s wearing a hoodie and joggers, looking like he just came from the gym with his curls in a bun, but his sharp eyes land squarely on Riki first, then shift to you.

“What the hell are you two doing up there?” Jungkook asks, though there’s no real heat in his tone.

Riki straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just…taking care of something, Coach.”

Jungkook’s brows rise, and he gestures toward the field. “And why aren’t you in class?”

“I—uh—” Riki stammers before Jungkook waves a hand dismissively.

“Save it. I don’t need the whole story. Just get your ass to class before I have you running suicides until next week.” His gaze softens slightly as it flicks to you. “And you? ”

You shrink a little under his stare, mumbling, “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Jungkook lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You—” He shakes his head before gesturing toward the parking lot. “Go home, kid. And no more fights, please—or distracting my team.”

“Alright, alright,” you mumble as you stand. You glance at Riki, who’s already grinning like this whole thing is hilarious, and shoot him a glare. “Stop smiling, you ass.”

Riki just snickers, his grin growing wider as he stands. “I’ll walk you to your car, pretty girl.”

Jungkook shakes his head, muttering something about teenagers and their hormones. “She can walk herself, get to class.” 

Any complaint Riki wants to make is silenced by the pointed finger Jungkook sends him, and he sighs. Your cheeks burn as he leans down to press a kiss to one of them with a soft, “See you later, pretty girl.” 

Riki averts his eyes from Jungkook’s judgmental gaze as his star midfielder jogs down the bleacher steps, offering a respectful bow of his head as he passes.

Jungkook then looks over at you, and you’re already arguing, “I have to get my bag from my locker.” 

He deadpans, clearly unimpressed as he says, “Ask one of your friends to get it for you.” 

Unable to argue with his reasoning, you let out a soft huff and begin patting your pockets for your phone. A relieved sigh escapes your gloss-smudged lips when your fingers brush against the device through a layer of fabric. Silently, you thank whichever of your spirit guides prompted you to button your back pocket before entering the cafeteria.

You suddenly remember another reason to stay a bit longer, “My keys are in my bag!”

Jungkook sighs, “If I see you in the halls in 10 minutes you’re getting banned from my field.”

You grin, bouncing down the steps with a happy, “Thanks, Coach Jeon.”

He makes a face of disgust, hand gently pushing the side of your head as you walk by, “Get out of here.”

It’s almost laughable how quickly the situation disappears, like it never happened. No one snitches—not one person. Even the crowd of students who saw everything miraculously forget when teachers start asking questions. It’s the lacrosse team who spins the story, their collective loyalty so seamless you almost believe they rehearsed it. Nayeon threw the first punch, they all swear. You didn’t fight back. You defended yourself.

The only video evidence of the fight are clips of Nayeon lunging for you and blurry photos, another thing you’re sure the lacrosse team took care of, so the school really have nothing to go off of. By the time the dust settles, it’s like the cafeteria incident is just another school rumor, one of those things everyone knows happened yet every retelling of events sounds skewed in some way.

Your mother hadn’t been informed by the school of the issue, thankfully, but you had endured a scathing voicemail from your father about the ‘stunt’ you pulled with Eunseok’s ‘bright and good’ girlfriend while eating Chinese takeout with Belle Tuesday night. She sat there munching on an eggroll and snatching small pieces of your sweet-fire chicken while your father’s angry ramble drew on and on for a few long minutes before he ended it with a, ‘call me back.’ The laughing fit you and Belle had over that one has become a bit of an inside joke now.

Thursday evening finds you in the kitchen of your home following your Aunt’s slutty brownie recipe with Riki on FaceTime propped up against the egg carton. “Butter, butter, butter…” You mumble to yourself as you reach for the ingredient, making a face as some of the softened dairy gets on your thumb. Riki, who had been silently observing you through the screen, snickers softly. You send a pointed look to the camera, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“M’not, you're just cute.”

“Fuck you.” You lose the fight against the smile forming on your face as you unfold the waxy wrapping of the butter and tip it into the mixing bowl, “I’m always cute.”

He only hums low with that same smirk on his face as he rests his chin on his arm, watching you switch on the mixer and grab a brownie pan from the cabinet beside the stove. A beat passes and he asks, “You don’t have to, you know?”

You glance away from pressing your knuckles into the cookie dough to flatten it along the bottom of the greased pan, “I know, but I don’t want your friends to have anything over me.”

Your joke is received with a soft laugh, “I wouldn’t let them hold it over you.”

“While I would like to see that, this is much easier.” You dismiss as you move to the sink to wash your hands and grab the pack of oreos. “Plus, Jungkook loves slutty brownies so maybe he’ll take the stick out of his ass if he gets one.”

Riki snorts softly on the other end, his bangs messily covering his forehead and eyes, “It’s game day, I don’t think the stick will come out.”

You hum in defeat, shrugging slightly as you begin to place the layer of oreos into the pan, “A sweet treat for good graces then.” 

Once you finish the layer of oreos, pour the brownie batter over it, and stick it in the oven, you sigh loudly. Fanning yourself and pulling your hair off your neck as you move toward your phone to grab it. “Jesus Christ, it’s hot.”

“It’s 30° outside.” 

“I’m not outside, I’m inside.” You sass with a ‘duh’ look on your face as you hold the phone angled up at your face as you walk toward the living room. “And how dare you try to contradict me.”

“Sorry, pretty girl. It won’t happen again.” He responds after a light chuckle.

You feign another roll of your eyes as you fail to fight the smile growing on your lips once again. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

The next morning, you arrive at school earlier than you’d like—especially with how fucking cold it is. Still, you look cute and feel it too, with a new lip gloss on your lips and a pair of pearls on your ears to match the ones on your eyes.

Exiting your car, you hasten your trek to the field. The bags rustle at your sides as you chant a soft tune of “I’m so fucking cold” under your breath. Your hands are, once again, not protected by gloves as you so vehemently refuse to cover up Julie’s masterpiece. She was very pleased that her hard work stayed intact during the fight, but recommended you treat your hands with care if you want them to last as long as they usually do. 

Jungkook notices your approach, tipped off by the high-pitched shiver that escapes your lips as you finally arrive on the field—a sound that doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team either. They seem to all slowly get distracted by your figure’s approach, eyes drawn to either the bags at your sides or cute way you’re walking in the cold.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook snaps in annoyance, his tone almost dismissive.

“Jesus Christ, this violates the Geneva Conventions in some way, I'm sure.” You huff softly, holding up the bags as you arrive at his side, “I made slutty brownies.”

Jungkook’s frown softens as the team parrots your words hopefully, and he then barks, “Single file, maggots.”

You’re almost too cold to enjoy the spectacle the team provides racing to get first in line, yet keeping a respectful distance ahead of you. You snicker softly as you set the bags down, bending with a shiver to grab them to pass out before the one in front of the line protests. 

“You’re cold?” Kai asks with worry from the front of the line, and the one behind him, Taehyun, steps out of line with his arms held out.

“I’ll pass them out, you need to warm up.” He fusses with a slight scolding tone, “There are hot-packs over there.” He cocks his head toward the bleachers as he takes your place in front of the bags.

You’re left standing there in confusion as Taehyun takes over your current job, walking towards the bleachers in search of the stated hotpacks before a warm object is pressed to your cheek and you startle. 

Riki snickers softly as you look at him in disgust before realizing it’s him, and your face softens to an eyeroll with a soft ‘fuck off’ muttered under your breath. You move to grab the hotpack from him, but he cheekily holds it out of your reach with a boyish giggle. 

The look you give him has him flattening his lips to hold back a grin as he silently hands the heat pack to you with a muttered apology. 

“Why aren’t you in line?” You question, and he has that same smirk on his face.

He shrugs, “Wanted to talk to my girl first.” You give him a look and he groans, “Can’t you just let me indulge for a second?”

“Patience is a virtue, Riki.” You muse as you cross your arms to tuck your hands away with a hotpack in each hand. “Plus, you said you’d wait.”

“And I will—I am.” He confirms with a shake of his head and a lighthearted grin, “But you could be a little more forgiving, pretty girl.”

“I don’t believe in forgiveness.” You retort with a shrug and a pretty smile.

“Niki!” Jake calls out from the line a few yards away, he’s a few players behind with a grin on his face as he says, “Don’t worry about getting in line, I’ll get you one!”

“Yeah, keep talkin’ to your girlfriend~.” Sunghoon teases, causing most of the team to snicker or whistle.

Riki’s ears go red, but when you point it out with a giggle, his hand immediately shoots to one of the red appendages and he shakes his head, “It’s the cold.”

“Niki, our shy boy!” Heeseung coos from the line, and the rest are all too eager to join in.

“Wow, Niki, you're so cute!”

“Niki, kiss her!”

“It’s giving Romeo!”

Riki groans softly, hands covering his face from your vision as you laugh, a warmth blooming in your chest that eases the chill in your bones. “I’m gonna kill them.”

He’s about to say something else when Taki takes a bite of the brownie in his hand and grunts something sounding like “oh yeah” with his words garbled by the mouthful he’s chewing. 

You watch the scene unfold with amusement, leaning back on your heels as the team collectively loses their minds over a baked good. Taki, still mid-chew, looks like he’s having a near-spiritual experience, while Jungkook shouts something about chewing with his mouth closed.

Riki uses the distraction to lower his hands from his face, a grin breaking through his earlier embarrassment as he watches you watching them. His voice cuts through the chaos, low and teasing: “You seem happy.”

Your gaze moves to him, “Is that an issue?”

“Not at all.” He responds smoothly, “You look good when you’re happy.”

“I always look good.” You retort out of habit. 

He seems to have expected it, nodding along in agreement before he asks, “So, if I asked you to wear my jersey instead of whatever cute shirt you were gonna wear tonight, would you?”

“Look good? Yes.” You answer with a light, teasing tone, “Agree? Mmm, maybe.”

“You’re killing me, baby.”

“Sweet names will get you nowhere.”

“So, you like it when I call you that?” He asks, stepping closer with a cheeky grin.

You remain defiant, arms crossed as you instinctively lean away from him with a laugh, “I never said that.”

“You didn’t deny it either.” He retorts swiftly, his head tilting and his eyes moving over your face with a smugness that pisses you off.

“No, I didn’t.” You agree, and his eyes narrow slightly at the almost flirty smile on your lips as you turn away from him to make your way back to Taehyun. 

You fight the giddy feeling in your chest as you feel his gaze on you, deciding against sparing a glance back as you hear the crunch of his steps following after you.

As always, you’re right. Riki’s spare jersey looks adorable on you.

“He’s gonna die.” Gaeul practically squeals at the sight of you. It’s a bit warmer than the morning had been when you arrive at the opposing school’s stadium, the long sleeved fleece-lined undershirt protecting you from the chilled breeze. “Bitch, your ass looks fantastic.”

A grin brightens your face and laugh leaves your glossy lips as she fawns over your look, “Right?” You turn slightly to give her a better view of your behind purely out of excitement, because yeah, your ass looks good in these jeans. 

“It’s smiling at me,” She gasps, smacking your butt lightly with a laugh before hooking her arm with yours and beginning to tug you along. “I didn’t know if you’d come tonight with everything that happened last game.” 

“Why?” You ask a bit cluelessly, before remembering the event clearer and shaking your head, “Oh, that weird guy? No, I’m fine.”

She hums with a slight frown as the two of you get to the concessions, “I’m so sorry for leaving you in all the chaos, I didn’t realize you weren’t behind me until I got to Jay.”

Sensing the remorse behind her words, you find yourself quickly saying, “Don’t feel bad, I’m okay.”

“Ugh, I need your number! That’s been eating me alive all week!” She huffs softly as the line moves up, “I tried to find you at school but you kept evading me.”

“You couldn’t ask Belle? Don’t you two share a class?” You question with a slight tilt of your head and her jaw slacks.

“Why did I not think of that?” She mutters to herself as you both reach the front of the line and she orders herself a soft pretzel before looking over at you, “My treat, an apology.”

You aren’t one to reject free food when offered, so you look at the concession worker and say, “A Dr Pepper and another soft pretzel, please.” 

Gaeul pays and a worker in the back pulls out two warm pretzels as another grabs the familiar maroon bottle from a cooler. She starts speaking again the moment the food and drinks are in your hands.

“Food isn’t allowed on the field, but I already gave Jay a kiss before he went on the bus.” 

Her smile is suggestive, and you make a face that has her whining, “C’mon, I’ll hold your food while you go—“ She shimmies her shoulders and purses her lips into a kissy face that has you letting out a shrill ‘ew, stop!’

“That’s deplorable.” Your words contradict the laughter seeping into your speech, “I am not going down there.”

“Boring.” She groans, but her face brightens suddenly and she waves ahead. When you follow her gaze and find Mrs Nishimura approaching, you internally freak out until she smiles at you and you remember how lovely of a woman she is. 

A lovely woman who seems to zero in on the jersey you wear the moment she’s within arms reach, “Oh, don’t you look darling!”

She pulls you into a warm hug and you accept it keenly, “Thank you! Are Maki and Runa with you?”

Your question comes as she pulls away, keeping you at arms-length as she shakes her head, “No, they stayed home with their father, neither wanted to make the trip.”

The trip being about an hour long car ride to the other side of town, which is fair. Feels shorter when you’re driving, though. You got through SZA’s new album on the way, too.

The three of you make it to the bleachers, finding a spot to watch the game as the ref whistles and the teams start to huddle. The board reads:

STARSHIP ALIENS v. DECELIS DEMONS

You sporadically tear pieces off of your soft pretzel as your eyes follow Riki the entire game, catching his eye at multiple points and having to act like you don’t see he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face under that face-guard.

The Demon’s win 12-8 long past sunset, a chill nipping your nose and the empty paper your pretzel came in crumbled into a ball in your hand. Rin sends you the same look as the last game before retreating toward the parking lot.

The moment you step foot on the field after releasing Gaeul’s arm, Jake appears in your view with a big grin, “Didja see the weaving I did? I looked cool, right?”

You debate breaking it to the boy that you may have entirely forgotten he was even on the team, too focused on his teammate to even notice him.

“I don’t think she was watching you.” Heeseung appears with his helmet off and his sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead. He moves to throw an arm around your shoulder and you quickly dodge with an ‘eugh’.

“You’re sweaty and you stink.” You grumble with a grimace on your face, and Heeseung seems ready to complain before he grins again at something behind you and a second later arms engulf you from behind. 

“You’re cute from the back too, pretty girl.” Riki muses into your ear, lifting you up held against his chest with his arms wrapped around you. 

“Riki, you sweaty bastard, let me go!” You whine, struggling against him as he lets your feet touch the ground again.

He giggles boyishly as he obeys, and as you turn to give him a piece of your mind you find the curses dying on your tongue at the grin on his face.

His smile is wide and unapologetically smug, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your chest feel like your heart is trying to claw its way out. His helmet dangles loosely in his hand now, his hair a damp mess but somehow still looking good.

“You can’t just pick people up like that,” you say, trying to sound annoyed but betraying yourself when your lips twitch upward. “It’s rude.”

He leans forward slightly, closing the gap between you as if he can’t keep himself away. “Oh? You didn’t like it?”

You roll your eyes, stepping back to put some space between you, but Riki matches your movement with an exaggerated pout, clearly enjoying himself. Before you can fire back with something probably aggressive or mean, another voice cuts in.

“Alright, Romeo, stop flirting and help us pack up,” Jungwon calls, dragging the duffel bags of gear toward the bus. He tosses a water bottle at Riki, who catches it without really looking.

“I’ll see you in a minute,” Riki says softly, his grin softening into something warmer that sends an entirely different kind of shiver through you. He leans down and kisses your cheek before jogging off to join his teammates. 

Holy fuck.

Your heart is racing in your chest like an old woman whose heart is about to give out, and your long sleeve undershirt is suddenly too damn hot. 

You barely manage to pull yourself together before Gaeul pops up next to you, a knowing smirk spread across her face as she loops her arm around yours. “He kissed you~,” she sing-songs, her tone just low enough not to draw attention, but her amusement is blatant.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, pressing a hand to your cheek like it’ll somehow stop the warmth there from spreading like the grin in your face. You hope the shadows cast by the stadium lights are enough to hide your flustered state.

Gaeul doesn’t let up as the two of you wander toward the edge of the field, her giggles like little daggers stabbing at your already tattered dignity. “He picked you up. And got touchy.”

“I’m aware,” You huff, “I experienced it.”

“I mean, I don’t think you get how big a deal this is,” she practically rambles, “Riki’s never been this…confident!”

“Oh?” You question with your brows furrowed slightly.

She nods with an eager hum, “Riki’s shy! At least he was when I first met him.” Everything up to this point hadn’t pointed you in that direction regarding Riki’s personality, too familiar with the smug smiles and nonchalance, “I mean, he’s like a different person now that you’re around.”

“That’s…good, right?” You question hesitantly, “I mean, he wasn’t weird or anything, right?”

Your voice must have failed to convey the jesting tone you intended because Gaeul quickly begins to backtrack as you approach the bus. Jungkook is at the driver's seat of the bus while some of the team boards it with their duffles hanging from their shoulders and others are loading the luggage compartment with gear, free of their shoulder pads and helmets. 

Even without the padding, Riki’s back is broad, jersey hanging off muscle. You can barely see Jake past him, who's on the other side of the compartment helping organize it. 

You forget about any questions on your tongue when the shorter male cheekily points out your approach from behind and he looks over his shoulder for you with the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen.

Beautiful bastard.

He wastes no time in loading the equipment bag in his hands into the compartment before stepping away from the bus, jogging toward you with that grin. Gaeul begins to pull away with a grin, but leans in to speak quietly enough for him to not hear, “I’ll give you guys a second.”

She shoots a wink at you as she and Riki pass each other, a soft snicker leaving you as she calls out happily for Jay, who’s just stepped off the bus.

Riki slows as he reaches you, his smile turning slightly sheepish now that it’s just the two of you. He lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, his other hand gripping the hem of his jersey. “You’re not mad about earlier, right?”

You ignore the fact his movements cause the jersey to ride up, revealing a sliver of his abdomen that makes you feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

“I haven’t decided yet.” You respond with a nonchalant shrug and a thoughtful tilt of your head. 

He chuckles softly, his hand dropping from his nape as he steps closer with the same magnetism as before, like he doesn’t want to be too far, “C’mon, I was happy you’re here.”

“And you just had to pick me up?”

His laugh is warm and full, the sound washing over you and melting away any annoyance you could have pretended to feel. “Yes.” he says with a nod, his eyes crinkling at the corners again as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

This time, you roll your eyes and half-fight the smile naturally growing on your face, “Fine, but that’s your first strike.”

His brows raise in curiosity, his grin turning to a smirk as he asks, “First strike? How many do I get?”

“Three. Duh.” You sass, and he seems to find that just as amusing as your very serious strike system, though you find it kinda hot that he didn’t question the logic behind it. (The answer: if Sheldon Cooper can have a strike system, so can you.)

“And what happens after three?” He asks, leaning closer with intrigue and that stupid smile.

“Let’s hope you never find out.” You retort, having an idea of what to say but not sure if ‘flogging’ is too far. (You know Belle would laugh, though.)

“Nishimura!” Jungkook barks from the open doors of the bus. The last of the team is filing onto the bus, probably eager to get home. “Stop lollygagging and get on the damn bus.”

You snort softly at the word choice, but find that you aren’t safe from the Coach’s annoyance, “You too, go home. Don’t make me tell them about Shadow.” 

The gasp that leaves your lips is one of pure betrayal. The audacity. The nerve. “You—”

He raises his brows in a ‘do it, i dare you’ way and your lips fall shut.

Riki is unable to move past the Shadow thing. “Shadow? Like the Hedgehog?”

“No, like my cat.” You snap sarcastically, “Get on that damn bus.”

Your gaze moves to the vehicle in question, and you find the eyes of the Decelis lacrosse team trained on you and Riki. Through an open window, you hear a voice you think is Kai’s saying, “I thought her cat’s name was Gus.”

“Baby, you have to tell me now.” He laughs breathlessly, like he’s not sure whether to let it out or keep it in for your sake.

“It will never leave my mouth, and I swore him—“ Your words shift from defiant to angry as your finger shoots out to point at the tattooed man impatiently waiting at the bus’ door, “—to secrecy!”

Your words are full of betrayal as you vehemently continue with your manicured finger still pointed, “You took the Unbreakable Vow!

“You were eight.” The Coach retorts. “You used a Crayola marker. It was pink.”

You want to argue, but hold yourself back for everyone’s sake as you look back at a heavily amused Riki and say, “Get on the bus.”

“I’m not letting this go.” He warns with pure joy on his face and a laugh in his voice as he begins to slowly walk back.

You simply shake your head and cross your arms defiantly, “I’m not gonna tell you.”

He only tilts his head with ‘really?’ look, too smug for his own good, the bastard. 

Jay and Gaeul appear, her lipgloss smudged on his lips and messy on her own. Jungkook notices them with a disgusted frown and chilling glare. Jay mutters a ‘sorry Coach’ after kissing Gaeul goodbye, and she happily begins to approach your side.

Riki takes the brief moment of time to circle back and ask you quickly, “Are you free tomorrow? Or tonight?” 

You blink, mindful of Gaeul’s approach but finding his impulsivity endearing, nodding instead of saying something you’ll cringe at later.

His grin stretches wide, lighting up his face like you’ve just made his entire night. “Cool. I’ll text you,” he says casually, though there’s a spark of excitement in his voice that betrays him. Before you can respond, he jogs back toward the bus, shooting you one last look over his shoulder as he climbs the steps.

Gaeul sidles up to you, her arm sliding through yours with practiced ease, the grin on her face telling you she heard the exchange, “Ready to go?”

You’re thankful she doesn’t tease you again, nodding as the both of you begin to walk toward the visitor parking. 

With your back turned, you don’t see one of the slightly ajar windows sliding open more, or the boy that pops his head out of it until he calls out, “Hey!”

You stop mid-step, glancing back over your shoulder to find Riki leaning halfway out the window, his hair messy and damp but looking entirely too perfect for someone who just played an entire game.

You raise a brow in silent question.

“You look good in my jersey!” he calls out, his tone playful but tinged with something softer—something that makes your heart skip.

Your cheeks heat instantly, and you can’t fight the smile breaking across your face. Gaeul snorts next to you, gripping your arm like she’s about to combust.

“I know!” you shout back, doing your best to sound casual, though the warmth in your voice betrays you.

His grin widens, impossibly charming, and he shoots you a two-fingered salute before disappearing back into the bus as the vehicle begins to roll away. Gaeul finally releases her pent-up laughter, practically bouncing on her toes.

“You know?” she echoes, mimicking your response and clutching her stomach. “Girl, you’re gonna kill him one day with that play.”

You start walking toward the parking lot again, tugging her along to keep her from lingering. “I wasn’t playing anything,” you say, though the warmth in your cheeks tells a different story. “I do look good in his jersey. That’s just reality.”

“Sure, sure,” she teases, bumping her shoulder into yours. “But you could’ve just said thank you. Or blushed. Like a normal person.”

“Showing that he affects me is embarrassing.” You grumble softly, “I’ll die before I boost a man’s ego like that.”

(Though, you did cry in front of him about how much you like him, so maybe that argument isn’t valid anymore.)

She cackles at that, nearly stumbling over her own feet as you reach your car. “But, seriously, I’ve never seen him like that. He’s so…” Her voice trails off as she unlocks her own car a few spaces down, but the twinkle in her eye says enough.

“So what?” you press, opening your car door but pausing before you get in.

Gaeul grins knowingly, pointing at you with her keys. “So gone for you.”

You spend the next minute acting like the thought of him being ‘gone’ for you, as Gaeul put it, doesn’t make you want to squeal into a pillow and kick your feet, and when the two of you part ways that feeling remains.

The hour drive home feels longer with Riki on your mind, but maybe it’s the fact you aren’t sure if seeing him again tonight is the best idea. 

Something you’ve realized about yourself since meeting Riki is that you suck at impulse control. You preach self-control yet the moment he’s around you—or even mentioned—you find yourself wanting to act on every impulse the chemicals in your brain fire.

When you get home, pulling into the garage as your parents were once again out of town, you read a text Riki had sent not ten minutes prior.

A beat passes before he responds and you huff in disbelief.

The response comes in the form of a phone call. His contact photo lights up your screen, and you huff softly in amusement before pressing the answer button and bringing it to your ear as you get out of your car, “Yes?”

“Both?” His voice comes through, playful yet tinged with something warmer. You can hear the muffled chatter of his teammates in the background, he must not be home yet. “You’re really not making this easy for me, you know.”

“You asked,” you counter with a soft laugh, locking your car and slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I just gave you the answer.”

“Yeah? Which door should I be knocking on? Front or back?”

“You’re not seriously coming tonight, stupid,” you say, though the idea isn’t unappealing. You reach the door, cursing softly at how loud the garage is as it closes. Your hand wraps around the door handle.

“Why not?”

“Riki,” you start with a laugh, entering your home and flipping on the light.

“What? You said both,” he teases. You can hear the grin in his voice, and you roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Besides, Coach is gonna drop us off at the field to grab our cars anyway. It’s not like I’m going out of my way or anything.”

You hesitate, caught between the thrill of seeing him tonight and the logic of how tired he must be after the game. “Are you sure you don't wanna go to bed?”

“Not really,” he says softly, a bit more serious now, warm. “I’d rather see you.”

Your stomach flips, the sincerity in his voice knocking the wind out of you. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“And you love it,” he shoots back, but there’s a gentleness there that makes you smile despite yourself.

“You better shower before you get here,” You say after a beat, and you swear you hear a whispered ‘yes’ before adding, “Don’t need your stench stinking up my house.”

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles on the other end, a sound that comes through your phone beautifully. “Just don’t fall asleep before I get there.”

“Yeah, yeah, just text me when you’re on the way.” You walk toward the kitchen, dropping your purse on the counter and unzipping it to grab the eyedrops as you say, “Also, do you have a curfew?”

“Why? You tryna keep me for longer, pretty girl?” His teasing words are unfortunately true, but you refuse to admit it.

“Well, it’s already almost 10:00.” You dodge his question as you unscrew the tiny bottle in your hands, “I didn’t know if your mom would want you home sooner rather than later.”

“Nah, she’s fine with it.” He assures you, and then a beat passes and he asks, “What about yours?”

“They’re out of town, so it doesn't really matter.” You shrug, “So to answer your question, the front door is fine.”

You hear shuffling on the other end, a car door opening and closing, “So, you don’t mind if I stay a while?”

You can hear the smile in his words, and with a bite of your nail you say, “I’ll kick you out when I get sick of you.”

He laughs softly on the other end, “I’ll stay till you kick me out, then.”

You exchange a few more words before he hangs up to drive, and you have a window of time to panic(and clean up). 

After a five minute debate with yourself about taking off or keeping on your makeup, you decide the former is the better option with how late it is and your track record of falling asleep without doing so. 

(You also make a promise to yourself that if you fall asleep in front of Riki, death is the only option.)

So, when you get the text that he's arrived and you open the door with a bare face, you half-expect him to comment on it. You had FaceTimed him late enough for the boy to bear witness to your nighttime routine on multiple occasions, but he’d never shown any reaction to it.

The only reaction you get is the same boyish smile as always, the warmth behind his eyes making your heart lurch in your chest.

“Hey,” he greets softly, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he steps inside. He smells like some mélange of citrus and musk, his body wash and cologne you assume, and it makes your head feel funny.

“Hey.” You respond with a light huff of amusement as you step aside for him to enter, closing the door behind him, “I see you showered.”

His damp hair covers his forehead, the same messy style he has everytime he takes off his helmet and sweat saturates each lock, yet a bit frizzy like he towel-dried it before he left.

He chuckles, head shaking lightly in amusement as he lets you lead him toward the kitchen, “I listen.”

His words are playfully defensive, the boyish smile on his face and the way he cranes his neck slightly makes you laugh, “You better.” He hums, dropping himself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, eyes flickering over the space as you move to grab yourself a drink. “You want anything?” 

“Whatever you have.” He shrugs, so you grab two Dr Pepper cans from the fridge and move back to the island.

Riki watches you pull two straws from the drawer in amusement, his elbows on the counter as you pop open the cans with practiced ease and an unhurried leisure. You catch his eyes with a raise of your brow that has him smirking slightly and saying, “Just watchin’.”

“I’d prefer you didn't stare.”

“Can’t help it.”

You roll your eyes at him, but put the straw in and hold the can out toward him anyway. When he takes it with that almost besotted  look in his eyes and his fingers brush yours, you find yourself turning away from him the moment it’s out of your hand, “Are you hungry?” 

Riki shakes his head, tapping his fingers against the can before taking a sip. “Nah, we stopped for food after the game.”

You nod, opening the pantry to browse and distract yourself, but it does nothing to drown out the weight of his gaze. This was a horrible idea. When you glance at him, he’s still watching you, straw between his lips, eyes holding something unreadable.

“Stop it.”

Riki obediently averts his gaze, turning in his stool until he’s no longer facing you—though he playfully overachieves, turning his back to you completely. You can’t help but poorly conceal a laugh at his actions, which prompts him to look back over his shoulder for your smile.

You act like you don’t catch the way his gaze follows you, ignoring the way it forms a knot in your gut. “C’mon, let’s sit in the living room.”

He follows without hesitation, the soft thud of his socks against the floor trailing after you. You settle into the couch, tucking your legs beneath you, and he drops down beside you like he belongs there.

He does it so easily—makes himself at home in your space, in your presence. It should annoy you. Maybe it does, but not for the reasons you wish it did.

Riki sets his drink on the coffee table, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. He doesn’t touch you, but he could. If you shifted even slightly, if he reached just a little further.

You pretend not to notice.

You scroll through the options absentmindedly, hyperaware of Riki’s presence beside you—the way his fingers drum idly against the couch cushion, the way his head tilts slightly in your direction when you stop on a show.

“This good?” You ask, your voice quieter than intended.

“Yeah,” he says softly. You get the feeling he doesn’t really care what’s on.

You settle into the silence, the soft hum of the TV filling the space between you. For a moment, it’s almost comfortable, normal. But the stillness makes your mind race, and it’s impossible not to notice how close he is. You shift slightly, your side brushing against his as you settle deeper into the cushions, and the air feels thicker somehow, heavier.

You steal a glance at him, his eyes fixed on the screen, but there’s a subtle tension in his posture that wasn’t there before. His shoulders are a little tighter, his jaw a little more set, like he’s holding something back.

Like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day, Gus appears around the corner with a sweet trill and takes the attention of both of you away from the movie(and each other).

Riki perks up immediately, his gaze shifting from the screen to the small ball of fur trotting toward the couch. “Oh, hey, buddy,” he greets softly, leaning forward slightly as Gus hops onto the cushions with practiced ease.

You watch with amusement as he settles in Riki’s lap, loafing contentedly and blinking slowly at you from his spot. Unable to bear it, you shift slightly closer to the boy beside you to reach your cat more comfortably, muttering a soft and fond, “Traitor.”

The midfielder laughs softly, ringed fingers gently scratching the tomcat on his head near your own, “He loves me.”

“He’s a lovey cat.” You retort, and though your words are true, you’ve never seen him lay in anyone’s lap this fast, much less a boy. He was never too fond of Eunseok, and doesn’t really care much for Jongseob, yet seeks out affection from Riki every time he comes over. “He likes warm laps.”

“Maybe he just has good taste.”

“Or maybe he’s a cat.” You retort, shifting again in your seat to make sure you’re not too close. He comments this time.

“Am I making you nervous?” He asks teasingly, voice low. 

“Excuse me?” You ask with a judgemental confusion on your face.

He seems undeterred, only motivated by the tone you give him, “You keep fidgeting, baby.”

“What did I say about calling me that?” You lightly smack his side, and he winces playfully.

“My bad,” he concedes, hands lifting from Gus momentarily in mock-surrender, “it won’t happen again.”

“Don’t lie.”

He chuckles, “It’ll happen again.”

A noise begins to play from the other room, and Gus immediately launches himself from Riki’s lap to run off. You laugh softly at Riki’s slight pout, the boy dramatically reaching after the feline longingly, “That was his automatic feeder.”

“Damn.” He sighs, his hands falling back to his sides on the sofa. The tip of his thumb brushes your knee accidentally, and the tension in the air shifts once more.

Both of you seem to zero in on the simple contact, accidental and barely-there yet electric in a way you’d never experienced such minute touches. The tip of his thumb turns into the pad of it, a gentle tracing of circular patterns on your knee. Then, his knuckles join, as if testing the waters.

When you glance at him he's already looking at you, his eyes dark with something unreadable, something intense that makes your stomach flip and your chest explode with warmth. Like an itch, one you know how to quell but the side of your brain dealing with critical thinking tells you it’s probably a bad idea.

His palm flattening against your knee is enough for you to disregard the advice of your logical brain and act on the only impulse your brain can fire at the moment. 

Riki’s other hand moves to your cheek when you’re close enough, long fingers tangling into the hair behind your ear as his thumb brushes your cheekbone. His head tilts to the side, nose brushing yours as he shakes it lightly. He doesn’t use the hand on your cheek to push you away or tease you further, any playfulness gone and replaced by a warmth and desire that makes your chest fill with butterflies. 

Your breaths mix, the sound of the TV drowned out by the sheer madness of him. He looks like the last thing he wants to do is pull away, like it’s a struggle to not close the short distance between your lips and his—to not cross any lines. Then, his forehead presses to yours gently and he says, “We don’t have to. I can wait.” 

His words are soft, nearly whispered, yet his deep voice makes them heavier on your gut than you’d ever admit. You find yourself speaking in a mirrored tone, “I don’t want you to wait anymore.” 

His eyes widen just slightly, and his lips part, just barely, his gaze dropping to your mouth. His thumb continues its delicate path across your cheekbone, his fingers flexing in your hair as if anchoring himself to this moment. You can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, the proximity making your heart race.

“I want you to know,” he begins, his voice a low rumble, “I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said about waiting…I won’t rush you.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, his words a tender weight against your chest. But it doesn’t change what you’re feeling now or how close he is. How easy it would be to just close the gap and kiss him, to let all the tension and uncertainty dissolve with the space between your lips.

“I know.” You say with a slight smile.

Before you can second-guess yourself, your lips find his in a soft and brief kiss. 

Riki’s intentions seem to differ from your own as you move to pull away, the hand on your cheek sliding into your hair as his lips chase yours to pull you back in. There’s no hesitation behind it like before, his lips moving against yours with a building urgency that you can’t help but reciprocate.

You gasp softly against his mouth when the hand on your knee glides up your thigh, fingers pressing into skin and pulling you closer almost desperately. He tilts your head just enough to deepen the kiss, a low sound from his chest setting your blood aflame as you maneuver into his lap.

His hands move as your knees settle on either side of his hips, warm palms splaying over the curve of your waist and fingers digging into flesh to feel you as close as possible. It’s too much, yet somehow not enough.

Your fingers thread into his slightly damp hair, another deep sound escaping his intoxicating lips that has your stomach flipping. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips brushing yours again and again, each kiss deeper than the last. You can feel the way his heart beats beneath your palm, just as fast as yours, and it makes something tighten in your chest.

Riki tilts his head slightly, his nose brushing against your cheek as he exhales softly, his grip on your waist shifting as his hands trail up your spine. He pulls you impossibly closer, a restrained urgency in the way he holds you. He's patient—always—but there's something in the way his fingers press into your skin, in the way his lips part just enough for his breath to mix with yours, that tells you he's feeling this just as intensely as you are.

Pulling away feels like the worst idea in the world, but your lungs ache and something in the back of your mind tells you this is all too soon, too fast. The sound that the disconnect of your lips with Riki’s makes sends a thrill up your spine that the look in his eyes only exacerbates.

His forehead is warm against your own as your breaths mix and his hands slide back down to your waist. His lips ghost yours as you pant softly against him, his head tilting and his nose brushing over your cheek as his lips find the skin there, then your jaw, and your pulse point. You can feel the chastity of his kisses, the type that’s so gentle you’re not sure if you actually felt his lips on you or you just want them there enough to trick your mind into believing it.

“God, pretty girl.” He sighs, burying his nose into your neck to stop himself from kissing you more.

“Riki,” you murmur, unsure of what you want to say, only knowing that you don’t want him to move away just yet.

He hums against your skin, his breath warm, sending a shiver down your spine. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, then exhale softly. “Nothing.”

He chuckles, low and knowing, before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, but there’s something tender in the way they study you, like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory.

His thumb brushes absentmindedly over your waist, his touch light, reverent. “You good?”

You nod, though your heart is hammering in your chest. “Are you?”

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering, then grins—small and lopsided. “Yeah.”

His gaze drops to your lips again, lingering for a beat too long before he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “I should go before I do something stupid.”

The admission has your stomach flipping once more, but you find yourself huffing softly in amusement, “Yeah, you should.”

The moment your hands move to his shoulders and you attempt to dismount his lap, his arms wrap around your waist and his nose returns to its home buried in your neck, “Mmm, in a minute.” 

A laugh escapes you, breathy and light, as your fingers absentmindedly trace the line of his shoulder blades. “You just said you should go.”

“I should,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. “Doesn’t mean I want to.”

You hum softly, deciding against teasing him and instead settling into the security of his embrace. You feel him smile against your skin, slowly pulling his face from the junction between your neck and shoulder.

Then, his hands move, one sliding up your spine while the other lifts to cup your jaw, and he kisses your cheek. Soft. Chaste.

“Okay,” he murmurs, still so close. “Now I’ll go.”

You don’t stop him this time when he loosens his hold, when he gently shifts you off his lap. You don’t say anything as he stands, raking a hand through his already-messy hair(courtesy of your hands, of course), or when he stretches and his hoodie rides up. When he looks down at you, you almost shrink under his gaze before he smiles that warm way you love and he leans forward to grab your hand in his.

You let his fingers slide between your own, your eyes on him as he tugs you gently and prompts you to get off the couch to step closer to him with a soft huff of amusement, “I thought you were going?”

His hand in yours slips out in favor of joining the other on either side of your jaw, thumbs gently brushing your cheeks fondly as he mirthfully smirks down at you. You have no choice but to tilt your head back to look at him at this proximity, and he doesn’t seem all that eager to widen it.

“I am.” His muttered confirmation is contradicted by the way his lips find yours again, soft yet eager, no longer hesitant to join them as often as he’d like with your prior statement. When he pulls away and you chase his kiss, he hums with amusement in his grin, nose nudging yours. “How am I supposed to leave if you keep making me want to kiss you, huh?”

“I didn’t even do anything.” You defend yourself with a soft laugh.

“Mm, you don’t have to.” He groans softly, eyes shutting as he presses his forehead to yours and sighs, “You’re mine now, right?”

The bluntness of his question has your heart skipping but you hum as if apprehensive, “Maybe. You didn’t ask.”

His eyes open and he looks at you with playful disbelief and a whole lot of amusement, “You want me to ask you out, pretty girl?”

“I never said that,” You retort reflexively, ignoring the way his eyebrows quirk up in challenge and entertainment, “But I might be yours if you ask nicely.”

“Nicely. Right….” He nods in mock understanding, and when he leans in to kiss you again, you meet him halfway. “Will you…” He starts with his voice soft and deep in all the best ways as he pulls away between kisses to continue, “be…my girl?”

He pulls away just enough to see your face as you recover from the dizzying way his lips find yours, and your words are softer than you intended as you breathlessly reply, “I’ll have to think about it.”

His shoulders shake with soft laughter as he shakes his head and mutters, “shut up,” under his breath before he closes the distance once more.

𝒇𝒊𝒏.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[starry-hughes]

façade

jack hughes x reader (ex)

summary: jack hughes can’t admit he lost you.

warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST, jack hughes is a LIAR

navigation

Everything was muffled as Jack Hughes stared at his cup. A clear cup full of bubbly champagne. Guests around him, mostly family, all laughing and talking. Jack didn’t like champagne. You didn’t like champagne. It was never kept in the apartment because of the shared dislike for it. It tasted sour in Jack’s mouth.

He broke from his trance as Quinn slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Stop pouting,” his older brother joked. “Your girlfriend had a work trip, you can survive a wedding without her.”

It stung. It really did. You weren’t his girlfriend. You hadn’t been since April. But he hadn’t gotten the courage to tell anyone that the two of you had broken up. And here Jack was, at a cousin’s wedding, lying to every family member who asked him where you were. “Oh she has a work trip, couldn’t make it unfortunately.” The lie came out easier than ever. He had been lying to everyone so it was easy to continue doing so.

His parents. God he felt guilty for lying to them. It was like he was eight years old again, lying that he did his homework already. Except now, the lie was bigger than undone homework. The lie was that every time he looked at his phone, he was texting you. Every time his parents asked about you, he would just say you were busy with work, or make up some story about how you had called earlier and told him about your day. How he made sure he sent flowers or dinner to you since he was away and you weren’t with him. The lie just got bigger and bigger when his dad sat down and gave him the talk about proposing, making sure he asked for permission before proposing, the offer of the family heirloom ring.

His family loved you. Everyone loved you. He barely held himself together when his uncle joked that the next wedding would be Jack’s and yours. Oh if only they knew.

Jack didn’t know where it all went wrong. Everything had seemed perfectly fine. Everything was fine in Jack’s eyes. Then he watched as your stuff had slowly began disappearing from the apartment. You weren’t around as much. When the team had finally allowed Jack to get his surgery, when it was confirmed that the team wouldn’t make playoffs, he was home more.

It seemed fine. And then he finally asked what was wrong.

Luke was on a roadtrip. Jack was recovering from surgery but he asked what was wrong. “What is happening to us?”

The words hit you like a truck. You weren’t ready to have this conversation. It was going to hurt. But you knew you were in the wrong. You had decided to slowly leave without even talking to Jack. And now he knew. “We both know we aren’t happy.”

Your words broke his heart. He swore he felt his heart stop working. He was happy. “I’m happy,” he stuttered. His arm was in a sling but all he wanted to do was hug you. “I’m not, Jack.”

Tears stung his eyes. You were going to break his heart. “I can fix this. Let me fix this!” His voice was breaking. Everything was unraveling before him. He couldn’t play hockey. He was about to lose the one person in the world he was sure he couldn’t live without. This wasn’t fair. “It can’t be fixed!” you snapped back, “I’m not happy here. I’m not happy with you. Or this relationship anymore.”

There it was. His heart shattering. His eyes hurt and hot tears rolled down his cheeks. “What did I do wrong?” his voice cracked. “We are just in different parts of our lives.” How could he not see this coming? How was it such a shock to him? How had he been so stupid to let himself lose you?

“I can fix it, I promise.”

He was pleading, begging. Anything to make you reconsider. He thought about his summers with you and his family, the way you joked around with his brothers, the way you loved talking to his parents, the way you would run around with his youngest cousins. The boat days when you looked pretty his eyes couldn’t be on anything or anyone else. The family reunions where you sat with his grandparents and listened to their stories.

He thought about the winters with you. The winters where you curled around him in bed because you were cold. The game days where you showed up in his jersey. The way you stood in the stands and cheered him on. The time it snowed when you went home with him on Christmas break and watching you stare at the snowflakes in awe. He thought about the autumns with you. The way you loved walks in the city, watching the leaves change colors. The way the air turned cool and you would steal his jackets. The way you and him would curl up, undressed in bed, windows open and the cool autumn air would blow in and give you the need to be closer to him.

The springs with you. The season he bought you flowers every week. The air warming up and watching your wardrobe change back to spring colors and how pretty you looked. The way you would pick a flower from the grass and put it in his hair. How you stared at how the sun reflected his eyes. How he fell in love with you over and over again with the seasons.

And all of it was slipping away in moments.

It was like he was watching three years circle the drain. The love you had for him had drained out of the sink and his was overflowing. Love, like water, spilled on the ground, over the lip of this metaphorical sink, it was filling, it was always full, always overflowing. And he hadn’t even realized that you had pulled the drain on your sink.

“Please.” It was one word. It came out strained. His mouth was dry. Was he about to throw up? How would he have to tell his family? His friends? How would he have to admit he lost the best damn thing that walked into his life? How would he admit that he let it just walk out?

For a second, you stared at him. Memories flashed through your brain. How Jack looked on your first date. How he looked lying next to you in bed at night, sleeping peacefully. Were you really about to give this all up? Yes.

“I’m sorry.”

When Luke returned from his roadtrip, he noticed the apartment was colder. Jack’s bedroom door shut and your stuff was missing. He assumed he would tell him eventually but it never came. Luke watched Jack bite his tongue days later when Nico asked about you, he watched the lie fall out of Jack’s mouth. Something about you having to relocate for your job but you were still dating. Luke knew it was a lie.

Now, Jack stood in the middle of the reception at his cousin’s wedding. At least he wasn’t still at the ceremony, watching two people in love seal their relationship with rings, watching the event that he was sure that you and him would eventually reach. The reception was lovely. And there he was with his glass of champagne that was getting warmer by the second.

Quinn stood on one side of Jack, Luke on the other. “When you and (Y/N) get married do I get to be the best man or does Lukey get to?” Quinn asked. He didn’t mean it to remind Jack that he was a liar. He genuinely had no idea Jack and you weren’t together. Luke stared at Jack, watching his eyes glaze over with tears for a brief second. Luke was hoping, praying, silently begging that Jack would end his own self-inflicted pain.

Jack forced a smile and a laugh, “You two can fight for that position. (Y/N) doesn’t care either way.”

[radioactiveparker]

The Breakfast Club - Eddie Munson X F!Cheerleader!Reader

Part Two - Low Tolerance For Dehydration

Chapter Summary - We begin to learn the truth about why these kids are the way they are. (A retelling of The Breakfast Club, written and directed by John Hughes.)

Chapter Warnings - Characters are all 18+ / Strong Language / Illusions to Abuse/ Abusive Relationship / Dysfunctional Families / Kleptomania / References to Religious Beliefs / Sexual References / Drug References / Stereotyping / Angst

Word Count - 7.2k

(Series Masterlist) (Masterlist)

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five)

-----

Saturday.

October 25th, 1984.

Hawkins High Library.

10:30am.

~~~~~

After that rather thrilling event courtesy of Eddie Munson and Principal Higgins, the next two hours went on forever.

The grinding of gears, the hum of the electric motor, and the movement of the clock's hands invaded the silence. The second hand made a rapid clicking sound. You counted each one. At twenty-second intervals, the minute hand squeaked. The clock sounds became the percussion for a lullaby that almost lulled you to sleep.

Eddie remained seated next to you, spending the better part of an hour sulking that he had just wrecked the rest of his winter. The rest of the time, he spent scratching markings into the table with his car keys (which you immediately told him to stop out of annoyance. He ignored you, of course) and counting all the pictures he can see in the medullary rays of the wood. In his mind, he connected the lines and dots. Before his eyes, they formed the crude outline of a shapely woman with her legs rudely spread apart. He used the notebook paper to cover it up. He did not want to spend the next five and a half hours with a boner he couldn't get rid of. Especially one given to him by something as ridiculous as an imaginary table lady.

Steve was lazily picking off the fuzz of a tennis ball that he found in the lost and found box behind the front desk, piling it up in a small illuminous heap. The bald patches reminded him of principal Higgin's round, balding head. He picked at it harder, really digging his fingernails into the stringy felt like it had personally offended him.

Nancy was trying to write her paper. Normally, the undisturbed silence would be prime time to work on an essay, but she began staring off into space, her mind wondering. All she had managed to write was a title 'Who Am I?', her name, the date, and the time. Each time she would bring herself back to reality, she would check her watch, then erase the time and write the new one. 

Robin was hunched over, hidden in her hair as she scribbled over her cherry red converse. She wrote whatever came to mind; her name, milk duds, a drawing of the top half of a naked woman, a copy of her fingerprint. She kept going until the red had almost disappeared.

You rested your head in your palms, eyes looking up as you counted the tiles on the ceiling. You got to thirty eight when Eddie nudged you. You opened your mouth to scold him for making you lose count, when he slid a sheet of paper over to you. He'd drawn a tic-tac-toe grid and placed an X in the centre square. You grabbed a pencil and drew a circle in the top right corner, deciding to keep him entertained before he starts causing more trouble. He smiled cutely when you slid the paper back to him. 

The two of you played until both sides looked like a gingham tea towel. Much to your distaste, you lost 38 - 43. Eddie pulled tongues as the victor and you decided then to never play tic-tac-toe with Eddie again; you didn't want his head getting bigger than it already was.

The library door swung open and Principal Higgins stood with a scowling face.

"All right. Who has to go to the rest room?"

All hands shot up. 

Higgins gave a single nod, signalling that everyone could get out of their seats. You groaned in relief when your spine cracked, though you still had pins and needles in your left foot and your butt was numb from sitting on it for too long. The Principal lead you all down the hall to the restrooms, where he unlocked them with a jingling of keys.

"Two minutes for the boys. Three minutes for the girls." He stared at his watch like he was already starting the count down.

"How come they get an extra minute?" Eddie complained, pointing at the group of girl who all had their arms crossed, looking at him like the answer was obvious.

"Try and remember your biology, Munson." Principal Higgins rolled his eyes, still staring at his watch.

"Oh, right. Does that mean Harrington gets another minute?"

Annoyed, Steve pushed through into the bathroom. Eddie followed behind, laughing manically. 

The two of them rarely used the schools restroom, even for Eddie who was kind of a slob, they were too disgusting. Students only ever really used them to hide when skipping classes. The walls were covered in graffiti and a few of the tiles were cracked, and there was always something on the floor that made the bottom of their shoes sticky. They didn't even want to try to guess what it was. Steve stood in front of the urinal and unzipped his jeans. Eddie hopped onto the countertop and fished through his hair to retrieve the cigarette from behind his ear.

"You want one?"

Steve took a peek behind him. "Oh yeah, ten of 'em please. I need to prove I'm a man."

"Whatever man." That was the last time Eddie would offer Steve anything ever again.

He fumbled in his pocket, took out a lighter and lit his cigarette.

Meanwhile, the state of the girls bathroom wasn't much better. The floors were less sticky, but there was always tissue all over the place, and a funny smell in the air.

"Is this a drag, or what?" You looked at your tired eyes in the reflection and started complaining about them to the girls. 

Nancy rummaged through her purse, pulling out perfume bottles, make-up, compacts, brushes; an incredible amount of things that she probably didn't need. Nancy very helpfully let you borrow the make-up out of her bag. You were looking as good as new in no time.

"You want one?" Robin pulled out a pack of spearmint gum and stuck one in her mouth.

You looked at her repulsed. "Robin, you can't eat in the bathroom. What if you get VD of the mouth or something!"

She paused like she hadn't thought about that. She quickly walked to the sink and washed her hands. She grabbed a paper towel to dry them and then used it to open the door. She held the door open with her foot, wadded up the paper towel and made a three pointer into the waste bin. A shot that even Steve would find impressive, even if she did surprise herself making it in the first place. She didn't show that though. 

"You're into washing your hands, but you eat inches away from a live toilet?" 

She gave you an offended glare her, and left the bathroom, letting the door close on you and Nancy. You turned to Nancy and gave her a look that said 'I'm not crazy for thinking that am I?'. 

"I mean that was a little disgusting, but you could have worded it a bit nicer."

She walked out, leaving you wondering whose side she was on.

"I didn't mean to upset you." You called after Robin. "I was just reacting to something I thought was seriously weird. I mean, I'll listen if you needed some one to talk to about it." 

Robin didn't give you the time of day, just rolled her eyes to herself. She didn't appreciate the way you worded your apology; like she was the one with the problem.

"Let's go. Shake it off!" Higgins called into the boys bathroom.

Even with the extra minute you were given, the girls still managed to be done before the boys. Eddie opened the door, smelling strongly of tobacco.

"Where's Harrington?"

"Drowned." Eddie said bluntly.

The Principal crossed to the door and peaked his head in. "Alright, Harrington, c'mon. Lets go!"

Steve made a few final adjustments to his hair, raking his fingers through it to position his chestnut curls perfectly on his head. Principal Higgins dragged him out before he could finish.

~~~~~

11:30am

~~~~~

You laid across three chairs as some sort of make shift bed and tucked your coat underneath your head for a pillow. You had planned to take a nap, but Nancy had decided to sharpen her pencil. The winding and grinding of the sharpener grated your ears. She knew she was making a lot of noise, but she couldn't seem to get a good point on her pencil. She took it out of the sharpener, blew the dust from the tip, and examined it before shoving it back in. She had three quarters left of her pencil.

Steve had a straight leg on the front table and reached over to touch his toes, stretching his hamstring. How he did it in those jeans was beyond you. His little grunts of effort and heavy breaths as he switched legs annoyed you almost as much as Nancy's sharpening. Robin was in her same seat, picking at her black, chipped nails in her lap and chewing her gum loudly out of spite. How you had gone from sitting in hours of silence, to a sudden ruckus when you wanted to sleep was just your luck. 

Eddie had chosen to sit in front of you on the table, ripping out pages of textbooks from the history section. 

Nancy winced at each tear. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Princess? I'm vandalising public property." He said it like it was obvious, loudly ripping another page to emphasise his point. "You get off on being stupid, or something?"

"You're such a waste."

Eddie placed the book gently on the table, giving it a few taps for good measure. He sat up straight, hands on his knees like a teachers pet. He nodded sarcastically in agreement. "You're absolutely right. It's wrong to destroy literature. It's such fun."

He jumped down off the desk, kicking up loose pages as he stalked over to his next victim: the card files. He pulls out the entire draw completely and lugged it back over to his spot on the desk. The unexpected slam of it on the table startled you, and you sat up with a huff. There was no way you were getting sleep any time soon.

Nancy scoffed as he began yanking the catalogue cards out and putting them back in a random order, creating a horrible mess for someone to sort out later. She continued to grind the sharpener.

"Big deal." You mocked her, she and the sharpener were really starting to get on your nerves. "It's not like there's anything better to do."

Eddie was impressed. He turned to you. "You grounded tonight?" 

His question threw you off, but you knew there was definitely more to it. "No, why?"

He looked surprised that you weren't, but he didn't know that your parents weren't even aware you were here in the first place. "Reefer Rick is throwing a Halloween party down by Lover's Lake tonight. Wanna come?"

Apparently, all it took was a few games of tic-tac-toe to get into Eddie's good books. There was a part of you that wanted to go. It was another excuse to get away from your parents, but you didn't want to imagine the shit you would get from Carol if she found out you had gone to a party with Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. Then Billy crept back into your mind. Your blood went cold at the thought. You knew he wasn't here, but you expected him to come charging through the doors any second now. You had to make sure he knew you weren't interested in Eddie. You didn't want another repeat of this morning.

"Why would I want to go to that crackhead's place? I'll probably catch a disease."

Eddie looked a little disappointed and a little offended that you had insulted his friend, but he hid it well. So why did you feel kind of bad?

You looked up at him with big eyes. "I mean, my mom doesn't like me going to parties anyway."

"What about your dad?"

"If I do what my mom doesn't want me to it's because my dad says it's okay.  And if I do what my dad doesn't want me to it's because my mom says it's okay. It's like this whole big monster deal. It lasts forever and it's a total drag. It's like any minute: divorce." You hated talking about your parents, but I felt good to get off your chest. Carol and Tommy never cared to ask.

"Who do you like better?"

"Huh?"

"You like your old man better than your mom?"

"They're both screwed." You sighed. You didn't like where this conversation was headed anymore. Nancy had stopped sharpening her pencil and you could feel everyone listening in.

"If you had to pick?"

"I don't know. I mean, they must have loved each other at some point, but I guess I wasn't around for that part. So I don't think any of them really care about me either. They just use me as ammunition in their little wars."

"HA!" Your response had provoked a laugh from Robin. A laugh that let you know she thought you deserved it. She was more offended by that comment in the bathroom than you had thought.

"You're just feeling sorry for yourself." Steve added, shaking out his legs.

You didn't find it very fair that they were ganging up on you all of a sudden. "If I didn't, nobody else would."

"Oh, you're breaking my heart." But Steve didn't sound sincere at all. You weren't enjoying this side of Steve one bit. And it was all because of Billy. 

"Do you get along with your parents?" Eddie sided with you.

"If I say, yes, I'm a real idiot, right?"

"I think you're an idiot anyway. But if you say you get along with your parents, you'll be a liar, too."

"You know something, I've just about had it with you. If we weren't in school, man, I'd wail all over you. They'd have to pick you up with tweezers."

Eddie didn't seem fazed. Eddie got threats like this all the time, it wasn't anything he hadn't already heard before. 

"I don't really get along with my parents." Nancy piped up, trying to get the boys attention away from each other so there wasn't a brawl in the middle of the library.

"Yeah right, you're every parent's wet dream."

"That's the problem." She paused, you saw her eyes glaze over then looked at you. "I don't think my parents ever loved each other either."

Everyone was silent, looking at her like they were waiting for her to burst into tears. She regretted bring it up.

"They must have married for some reason?" Steve asked. Whether it was because he was being nosey, or he was concerned for her, you couldn't tell.

"My mom was younger. My dad was older, but he had a cushy job, money, came from a good family. So they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac and started their nuclear family."

"Screw that."

"Yeah, screw that."

"I could see you not liking them for making you wear those kind of clothes, but, shit, what else would you be doing if you weren't busy making yourself a better citizen?" Eddie clearly hadn't read the room.

"Why do you have to insult everybody?" Eddie was really pushing Steve's limits. You noticed it happened especially when it came to Nancy.

"I'm being honest, asshole. I'd expect you to know the difference." He said it like he had had a similar argument with Steve in the past.

Nancy raised her middle finger at him. 

"Whoa, obscene gestures from such a pristine girl."

"I'm not that pristine." Nancy argued, though she regretted it almost immediately.

She cleared her throat and make her way back to her seat. 

"Are you a virgin?" She caught Steve's eye, they shared a look, but Eddie missed it. "I'll bet you a million dollars that you are."

"Would you take that bet, Robin?"

"Not really."

"That's the last time I call you 'Robin', Buckley."

He continued. "Have you ever been felt up? Over the bra, under the blouse, shoes off...hoping to God your parents don't walk in?" 

Nancy was getting upset. "Do you want me to puke?"

"Over the panties, no bra, blouse unbuttoned, Calvin's in a ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night?"

You squeezed your thighs together. His voice was deep and masculine, sending you off into an alluring day dream. You found yourself in the back seat of a car, a strong man towering over you, rough hands caressing your soft skin. He takes off your bra, exposing your breasts to the cold air of the night, nipples hardening. He's groping them, kissing them, loving on them. Your moaning and he's trailing his lips lower. Your hands thread themselves in his brown, wavy hair. He's pulling your panties down with his teeth, looking up at you with those big brown eyes of his. And suddenly you were in the back of his van, pulling off his patched, demin jacket until he's leaning over you completely naked. He put his lips to your ear, whispering --

"Hey, why don't you leave her alone!" Steve breaks you out of your imagination.

"You gonna make me?"

"Yeah."

"You and whose army?"

"Just me and five of my fingers. I hit you. You hitting floor. Anytime you're ready."

Eddie realised that Steve was being serious, but doesn't believe he is quite capable of making good on his threat. 

"Yeah? You want a black eye to go with that split lip? You couldn't fight Billy Hargrove, what makes you think you can beat me?"

Your chest tightened at his name and your eyes darted to the door. They stayed shut. It calmed you a little, but your heart was still beating against your ribcage. You placed a hand there in case it burst out. You wondered how Eddie knew about the fight at the party, you hadn't seen him there. But then again, word travels fast around Hawkins High. Your breathing became heavy. All this arguing was making you dizzy. You could do without a repeat of last Thursday.

"Try me."

"Eddie." You pleaded him not to retaliate, swallowing down your pride for a second of peace.

He looked at you, and suddenly Eddie was not in the mood to fight Steve. The fear in your eyes scared him a little. You were serious about them not fighting. But luckily for you, Eddie knew when to stop. Besides, there were ladies present, and he was a gentleman.

To some extent.

 "Whatever man, I'm not getting into this with you."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" He paused. He wasn't going to tell Steve he did it for you. "'Cause I'd kill you. It's real simple, you'd die and your fucking parents would sue me and It'd be a big mess and I don't care enough about you to bother. So drop it."

"Chicken."

"You know, you should see a doctor. I think those steroids are frying your brain."

Steve just laughed him off, believing that he had scared Eddie into yielding and he was just giving one last dig to preserve his pride. Eddie looked a Nancy, but she was already staring at him. 

"What is it that makes you act like such a fool?"

"I'm not getting enough vitamin B."

Steve fumed. He wanted his fist to connect with that smartass mouth of his. "Let's end this right now. You don't talk to her...you don't look at her and you don't even think about her! You understand me?"

"I'm trying to help her." He said it like it was as plain as a pikestaff.

"Help me?" Nancy was insulted. "Why don't you work on yourself?"

"I did. I finished last Tuesday. Now I'm working on the rest of the world." He pointed at Steve, who looked about ready to swing. "I could help you, big boy."

"Spare me."

"I can help a lot of people, all they have to do is ask nicely."

"I'll kill you." Steve threatened with a clenched fist.

Eddie looked unmoved. He heard threats like that at least five times a day. "Well, I should just let you and everyone else who wants to kill me fight for the privilege."

There was a rumbling from beyond the library door. In a flurry of panic, everyone got themselves into position, acting like they hadn't moved an inch away from their seats. Eddie sat next to you again, accidently kicking your foot under the table. You kicked it back in annoyance. He did it again, only on purpose this time. 'What a child' you thought. You put your coat on the back of your chair and sat up straight, expecting Principal Higgins to come storming in.

Everybody visibly relaxed when Carl, the janitor, came rumbling in with his music playing quietly from his radio, dragging his cart behind him. He had a face you didn't quite know how to take; he looked friendly enough, but could turn at the snap of your fingers. He was skinny and stood at a height of 5"8, with a limp of a man who worked hard for his living. He smiled everyone, but the only one who seems the acknowledge him was Robin. She returned the smile and gave him a small wave, in hopes of being nice but not letting the others see. He went into the librarians office and grabbed the waste basket.

"Hey Sweetheart, your dad's here." 

You gave him an unamused smile and kicked his shin under the desk once more.

Carl came out of the office and dumped the basket on his cart. He left his cart in the main library and walked down the pathway to grab another trash bin at the back of the room. 

"Hey, Carl?"

Carl paused in surprise that any student here, with the exception of Robin, would talk to him. He turned around, but Eddie still remained facing the front, putting his back to him. 

"How does one become a janitor."

Everyone supressed a giggle, even Steve despite his dislike for Eddie. Only Robin remained silent. She didn't find it very funny.

"You want to become a janitor?" Carl raised an eyebrow.

"No I just wanna know how one becomes a janitor because Steve here, is very interested in perusing a career in the custodial arts."

Steve stopped laughing at that. Carl scratched his head. He knew that they were making fun of him. But Carl wasn't one someone should mess with. He turned off his radio, pulled off his rubber gloves and shoved them in his back pocket.

"You guys think I'm just a lowly janitor. Some fucking untouchable peasant. Maybe so, but following a broom around after shitheads like you for five years, I've learned a few things. I read your notes, I go through your letters. I listen to your conversations. I am the eyes and ears of this institution. I know where you are now and I know where you'll be in the future."

Everyone exchanged worried looks as Carl moved to tower in front of Eddie. "You got ten years, max. Drugs. Rundown trailer in West Texas. Whore wife takes the baby, you shoot a fatal dose. Probable? Maybe not. Possible? Think so."

He turned to you. "You get married to a guy with lots of material success. Corporate position. Big bucks. Black Jag. You have three kids, nobody gives a shit. You get divorced and have a big fuckin' heart attack at thirty-eight, thirty-nine."

Steve was next. "District sales manager for a golf club manufacturer. Shitty little compact company car, twenty-two five a year and a wife as big as a boxcar."

Finally, Nancy. "Six face-lifts and two boob jobs by forty and a husband with more girlfriends than anniversaries."

He stepped back and put on his gloves. The stunned reaction on everybody's faces made him smile. "But I'm just a janitor." He shrugged.

And with that, he grabbed his cart, wheeled it around and headed out. He paused at the door and looked at the clock. 

"By the way, that thing's twenty minutes slow." He winked as he left and everybody groaned. 

~~~~~

12:30pm

~~~~~

Everybody was bored out of their skulls after the shock of Carl's speech had worn off. You took the time to think about what he had said. He had tried to put a downer on you, but the life he had predicted for you sounded like paradise, compared to now. Even if you did only have twenty years left to live. As crazy as it sounded, it gave you a bit of hope. There was a chance that you could work up the courage to leave Billy and meet someone nice, or at least wealthy. You had never given any thought about having kids, especially not with Billy, but now, maybe you could see yourself with a kid. You'd want a boy, and he'd look just like his father; Curly brown hair, big russet eyes, and a toothy smile. What would you name him? Would you name him after his father? Maybe Michael, or Christopher, James. Edward? You liked that name. 

Your eyes flashed to the door as it opened. Principal Higgins strolled in with a frown of his face, even though no one had done anything to upset him yet.

Yet.

"Thirty minutes for lunch." He declared.

"Excuse me Sir, I think the cafeteria would be a more suitable place to eat lunch."

"I don't care what you think, Harrington." 

Steve sunk back into his seat.

"Uh, Dick?" Eddie cleared his throat. "Sorry, Richard. Will milk be made available to us? Someone like Steve could choke to death on a dry sandwich."

"I have a low tolerance for dehydration, Sir." Robin added.

"I've seen her dehydrated, Sir." Steve sat up again. "It's pretty gross."

You wondered if that was true, or if he was just playing along. The things he said about her, you wondered if they knew each other. Probably not, you brushed off the thought. They were on complete opposite ends of the spectrum, there was no way they knew each other.

Principal Higgins scowled.

Eddie stood and raised his hands like he was trying to calm a wild animal. "Relax, I'll get it."

"Ah,ah,ah. Grab some wood there, Munson. You think I was born yesterday? You don't fool me for one minute. I'm not having you roaming these halls."

Eddie plopped back into his seat with a defeated sigh. It was worth a shot.

"You." He pointed at Steve. 

He eyed up the other students, skipping over Eddie as he decided who else was most suitable to leave. You sank into your seat. You did not fancy having some alone time with Steve. Steve stared directly at the Principal before darting his eyes to the right where Nancy was sat, signalling for him to pick her. She sat up to make herself more evident. 

Higgins ignored them and pointed a finger at you. "And you. There's a soft drinks machine in the faculty lunch room."

You broke into a cold sweat. This was going to be the most awkward ten minutes of your life. Either Steve was just going to pretend you didn't exist, or he was going to absolutely grill you. You hoped for the former. 

As you reluctantly got out of your seat, Steve held out a hand to the others for money. Nancy took out a change purse from her bag and handed him fifty cents. Robin does the same with the loose change in her jeans pocket. Eddie fished through his coat pockets. He found some assorted change, crumpled gum wrappers, some loose tobacco and a screw. He handed it all to Steve. 

Steve made his way out, not even looking to see if you're following him. You do, of course, but you lagged behind him, not feeling particularly comfortable being alone with him. You counted your steps as you walked, fiddling with the delicate chain around your neck. It was a simple design: just your name written with gold, cursive lettering. But it was the only jewellery you never took off. Your parents had bought it for you when you had started cheerleading at eight years old. It was a reminder of when life was much more simple, when you believed that your parents actually loved each other, that they loved you. 

A minute passed and you already couldn't stand the silence. You dreaded it, but you knew this would probably be the only opportunity you would get to hash out your grievances.

"Why do you hate me?" A forward start, but at least it's a start.

"You know why."

"Look, what Billy did wasn't my fault --"

"Of course it is. If you hadn't been there in the first place he wouldn't've showed up."

"Hey, I didn't even tell him I was going to that stupid party. He was there anyway. If you hadn't come over and butted into our argument, maybe you wouldn't have that split lip."

"My parties aren't stupid."

"Is that seriously all you took from that?"

"No..." He paused. After hearing your side of the story, he was beginning to feel like a fool. "What were you guys even arguing about?"

You sighed. "Billy and I had plans to go to this drive in movie theatre. I don't think he wanted to watch a movie though, I think he was just hoping to get lucky." The two of you had stopped walking. Steve looked at you intently, encouraging you to carry on. You shifted on your feet. "If I'm being completely honest I didn't really want to go, but then Carol asked me to go to your party and I took it as an excuse not to go with Billy. I knew he would be angry if I cancelled our plans last minute, so I told him I was sick. Biggest fucking mistake of my life."

"So you went to the party and Billy caught you out in your lie."

"Yeah. Turns out one of his friends had asked him to go but he'd declined 'cause we were going on a date. He accepted the offer once I'd cancelled our plans."

Steve started walking again. You followed next to him this time. "I know Billy is a bit of a shitbag, but why didn't you want to go on your date? I mean, it seemed like a good time."

There was no such thing as a 'good time' with Billy. He had his moments, sure, but he was as cranky as a wet hen. Time with him was like trying to swim with rocks on your back. He sucked all the fun out of everything until you started drowning. You didn't tell Steve that though. 

"I just wasn't in the mood to be around him, is all." You brushed him off. "But he's bringing it up all the time, and were arguing all of the time. Even in school."

"Is that why you're here today?"

His question made you pause. He stopped a couple of steps ahead of you and turned around when he saw you weren't next to him anymore. You played it off like you were itching your leg and jogged up to him. The two of you made it to the teacher's lounge. 

The first thing you noticed was that it was very brown. The floor and ceiling had the same white speckled tile that ran throughout the entire school, but everything else was just ... brown. Brown wallpaper, brown leather sofas, brown table, brown countertop. Even the fridge was brown. The vending machine was in the far corner.

"Why are you here?" You asked Steve, hoping he hadn't realised that you hadn't answered his question. 

"Me? I'm here because my father and my coach don't want me to blow my ride." He started feeding the change into the machine. "They think my intensity's for shit. You see, I have a different set of standards. I get treated different because Coach thinks I'm a star. So does my old man. But you know what? I don't care. I'm not a star because I want to be a star, I'm a star because I got good legs and reflexes. I'm like a racehorse. That's about how involved I am in what's happening to me."

You nodded, but you had a suspicion that that wasn't the whole truth. "Yeah, so why are you really here?"

Steve was annoyed that he hadn't managed to persuade you. "Forget it."

You studied the set of lockers on the other side of the room. You walked over to them out of curiosity, trying your luck with one of the doors. To your surprise it opened. 

Steve caught you out of the corner of his eye. "You really shouldn't be doing that."

Inside lay a set of keys attached to a green Hawkins High lanyard, a pack of cigarettes, a 'thank you teacher' mug, and a Prince's Purple Rain album on vinyl. Steve came up behind you, looking inside and letting the soda cans thunk loudly at the bottom of the vending machine.  

"This is a teacher's stuff?" He asked surprised.

"Yeah. Does this mean that they're actually human?" You laughed together for the first time.

Daringly, you pocketed the pack of cigarettes in your cardigan pocket and took the record. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, put them back." 

"C'mon Steve, when are you ever going into the teacher's lounge again? Besides, it'll give us something to do while were stuck in that god damned library."

You shut the locker door and brushed past him. You gathered up the soda cans, giving Steve his share to carry and made your way back to the library.

"It was pretty strange looking at teacher's personal shit, huh?" You said, examining the purple record sleeve.

Steve shrugged, he'd seen stranger things. "I went over to Coach's house for dinner once during the summer. It was really weird to see how he lives."

He paused, anticipating a question, but you just looked at him to carry on.

"His wife was fat. And one of his kids was in a wheelchair. It was kinda sad. He was a nice kid."

"If he invites you over to his house, why does he shit on you?" 

"He and my old man are working to get me a scholarship. It's not an economic issue. Scholarships make the newspaper. They think I have a shot at a full ride. They think I deserve a Big Ten school."

You simply nodded and walked through the library doors. The others were gathered in the corner by the comfy chairs. Eddie was holding a book opened to a page displaying a man with elephantitus to the nuts like he was reading children a bedtime story.

"How do you suppose he rides a bike?"

The clattering of soda cans on the table drew their attention away. They all walked over to grab a can. Before the others could take one, Eddie reached out and shook one furiously.

You look at him like he was crazy. Perhaps he was. "That's going to spray all over you."

"Not necessarily."

He put the drink back with the others and moved the cans around so than no one would know which was was shook up. 

"You're such a dingus." Robin bravely took a can first.

Everyone else followed before taking their seats and pulling out their lunches. You simply took out an apple, loosing your appetite after seeing a man with elephantitus to the nuts. You noticed Eddie didn't have any lunch as he surveyed everyone else's. 

"Where's your lunch?"

"You're wearing it." He winked. 

You curled your lip in disgust, but felt about as red as your apple. 

"You're nauseating." Nancy complained, opening her lunch.

"Look who's talking. You don't care what you put in your mouth." He eyed Nancy's lunch like she had just shown him a plate full of snails. "What is that?"

"Sushi."

"Sushi?"

"Rice, raw fish, and seaweed."

"You wont accept a guys tongue in your mouth, but you'll eat that?"

She scoffed impatiently. "Can I eat?"

"I don't know, give it a try."

The room went silent as everybody watched Steve pull out his lunch from a large brown grocery bag; three sandwiches, a family-sized bag of chips, an apple, a banana, a bag of cookies and a carton of milk.

"Are you really going to eat all that?" Robin asked in shock.

"No, I'm only going to eat half."

"What are you going to do with the other half?"

"Shoving it up Eddie's ass."

How charming. He reached for his can and everybody shrunk away, thinking it might explode. He cracked the tab. 

Nothing happened.

Robin took out a sandwich covered in saran wrap. She unwrapped it and pulled the bread apart, starting to work on it like a mad scientist. She tossed the meat away, blindly whipping it to the side. It slapped on the wall and stuck there. She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a bag of chocolate M&M's. She tore the bag open and dumped all of it on the buttered bread. Out of her coat pocket she pulled out a little baggie filled with Captain crunch cereal and sprinkled it over the M&M's. She closed the mess of a sandwich and took a huge bite. She noticed that everyone was watching her. 

"You are bizarre." Eddie thought Steve's lunch was bad.

She reached for her Pepsi to wash it all down. She put it to her mouth and popped it. The soda sprayed cleanly into her mouth. 

After the fizz was gone, she smirked at Eddie. "Nice try, dingus."

"What do you have?" He turned to you, watching take a bite into your apple.

You handed your bag over to him, rather than speaking with a full mouth. He started pulling things out. He pulled out a sandwich, a thermos of soup, which he opened and give a big whiff, and a bottle of water.

"Well Sweetheart, this is a very nutritious lunch. All the food groups are represented. Did your mom marry Mr. Rodgers?"

Eddie stood so he was front and centre of the room, all eyes on him. 

"This is my impression of life at our darling Sweetheart's house." He gestured to you and your face flushed.

"Hello, dear. I'm home from the coalmine." Eddie impersonated your father.

Eddie quickly played your mother. "Oh, hello, sweetie pie. Dinner's almost ready. I'm serving stuffing instead of potatoes." 

"My favourite!" 

His voice turned high and shrill, playing you. "Hi, Dad! Yippee, you're home! I danced in a skimpy skirt in front of hundreds of people today. I went to church and I wrote Grandma a letter. Now can I have a pen pal?"

"Dear, isn't our daughter swell?" 

Quiet and motherly. "Yes Dear, isn't life swell?" 

Eddie mimed your mother kissing your father, then father kissing mother, and then your father punching your mother in the face. Suddenly it was not so funny anymore. 

Your eyes were wet. You hated how much that hurt. It wasn't his words that hurt you, it was how much you wished it were true. 

You bravely stood up. "No, it's more like --"

"Dad? Is it okay if I shoot heroin?"

You lowered your voice, playing your father. You held an imaginary newspaper in your hands, not taking your eyes off it and pretending that you weren't paying attention. "If it'll make you happy, pumpkin." 

You extended your fingers and blew on them, doing your mother and her fresh nail polish. "What are you talking about, Frank?! How's she going to wear her Sunday dress with holes in her arms? We are going to church aren't we?

"It's okay. Never mind. I won't be a junkie." You said sadly.

"Now, just wait a minute. If you want to be a junkie--" 

"I'm not going to be the only woman at the congregation with a junkie daughter. Now what about church?" Your mother said.

"Go by yourself!" Said your father.

"With pleasure! I'm taking Y/N." 

"Over my dead body!"

"I love her more than you do!"

"Go to hell!"

Everyone looks at you with a hint of sympathy. Even Eddie.

"Do you wish they'd get a divorce?" He asked.

"No."

"Why not?" 

"I'd have to live with one or the other. And I don't know which one is worse." You laughed, but there was no humour behind it.

"Whose next?" Eddie ask, like he didn't already know he was going to single out Steve. Eddie pointed at him. "You're next."

"Yeah, no thanks."

"You an orphan?"

"I don't need to dump on my parents. Especially when they're not here to defend themselves." Eddie gave him a look like he was being chicken.

"What about your family?" Steve asked Eddie. He wanted him to have a taste of his own medicine.

"Mine? Real simple, pal."

He climbed onto the table, really setting the stage and getting himself into character. His eyelids lowered and his body moved clumsily, like he was drunk. "Stupid, worthless, no good, goddamn freeloading, son of a bitch, big mouth, know-it-all, asshole, jerk!"

He stands up straight, crossing his arms and raising the pitch of his voice. "You forgot ugly, lazy and disrespectful." His mother said.

"Shut up bitch!" He smacked the air, hitting his invisible mother. He yelled it so loud you were worried Higgins was about to storm through the door.

As his father, he threw a punch. Eddie dramatically dropped from the table and fell to the ground. He stood up, brushed himself off and took a bow. The show was over. 

"Then they make me work to pay off the dentist for the teeth he busts."

"Is that for real?" Nancy looks like she's going to start crying for him. 

"You wanna come over some time?"

She didn't want to believe that something like that could happen to anyone. Even someone as vexing as Eddie. Nancy decided then to never complain about her parents again.

"That's part of your image. I don't believe a word." Steve brushed him off. His re-enactment hadn't moved him at all. 

You wondered if he was right. You had been so truthful about yours, you would feel ashamed if he had lied about his.

Eddie actually looked hurt. "You don't believe it, huh?" 

He whipped off his red shirt and pulled up the sleeve of his black t-shirt. He shoved his arm in Steve's face, displaying a grotesque purple scar. Steve recoiled away from it, but Eddie forced him to look at it. You subtly tugged at the sleeve of your cardigan. You could feel the bruises of Billy's fingers purpling on your wrist.

"You believe that? It's about the size of a cigar." Eddie spoke through gritted teeth. "That's what you get in my house when you spill paint in the garage."

Eddie was breathless with anger. His muscles were tensed up so tightly he thought he was going to give himself a full-body cramp. He needed something to calm himself down. Luckily, he knew just the thing.

~~~~~

<<<Previous // Next>>>

~~~~~

Taglist: @cruwushes @the-ch0sen-on3 @namelesshumanperson @ali-r3n @cadence73 @munsonssweets @ahoyyharrington @mewchiili @yourdailymemedelivery @httpsunflowers @b-irock @coolglittercornbae @sav12321 @cumslutforaemond @siriuslysmoking @learninglinesintherainn @peaches-roses-sins @lodeddiperrodrick @catherinnn @lilocapoca @minniedreamers @melaninjhs

[lmskitty]

Here's have some Satosugu family stupidity. This is mostly just humour/crack fic because I needed a little break today. Hope you enjoy!

5 conversations Megumi Fushiguro overheard that he wished he hadn't.

Megumi Fushiguro loves his family, friends and boyfriend. He also hates all of them and thinks they should be the ones to pay for his therapy. Here are the things he has been made to hear with his own two ears over the course of one week.

1. The Todo Incident.

Todo mimed rudely with his right hand, his left hand holding his soft drink.

“Bro seriously if you sit on your hand it totally feels like it's a different person. Granted you should do both hands if you want the full package involved though.”

Yuji sighed “Number 1 no it doesn't, 2 stop telling me these things and 3 I don't even need this information!!” He hissed, pulling Todo’s arm down to stop him making the gesture.

Todo stared at him and then at Megumi and then erupted into applause wiping his eyes and hugging his friend, telling him how proud of him he was. He put his hand on Megumi's shoulder and congratulated him on his willpower and relationship, remarking that he had seen what his brother was working with and Megumi was truly strong in spirit for taking on that challenge. Megumi bent his finger back nearly breaking it and told him to never speak to him nor touch him again if he wanted to keep the other fingers.

2. The downfalls of understanding Riceball language.

Toge sat beside Yuta and leant his head on his shoulder before looking up at him, a gentle smile on his face.

Yuta smiled back. “I missed this. It's nice getting to hang out together in person again isn't it?”

Toge: Salmon, salmon, tuna mayo. (It was nicer getting to spend the morning in bed together with your dick in my throat)

Yuta coughed turning red. Megumi stared off to the side pretending he hadn't understood that.

Yuji stared at all of them. “Aw man did Toge say something funny again? I gotta get my head around that speech of his, it's so cool.

Megumi shook his head.

3. Not even safe at home.

Gojo walked into the kitchen and took his shirt off sitting next to his husband.

“Baby you are not gonna BELIEVE the size of the spot on my back”

Geto put his book down looking interested “bigger than the one on your thigh the other day?”

Gojo nodded "for sure!” He sat facing away from his partner. “Go slow though please it's gonna sting like a bitch I just know it”

Geto sighed and squeezed at his back and popped it. He showed Gojo how much was on his finger.

“Woah there was so much!” Geto said.

“Told you!” Gojo said. “Ooooh you know I'm kind of in a mood to be pampered, think you can do my eyebrows later, like tweezing them?” Gojo said, leaning his head back onto his partner's lap.

Geto smiled “Ok baby, and wanna do face masks like last time?”

Gojo nodded and clapped his hands together happily.

Megumi shut the fridge door behind them.

“Sometimes I think it would be less gay if I walked in on you two actually fucking” he said and took his coke upstairs.

“Oh go kiss your boyfriend you homophobe!” Gojo yelled after him, Geto laughed.

4. Girl talk

“No lube, no protection, all night all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the church, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, while i gasp for air and scream the lord’s prayer, he can have me!!!!” Nanako wailed at the TV lying on the floor pretending to claw at the screen watching the new Jungkook video again for the 15th time.

“He is pretty cute,” Tsumiki smiled.

“He could spit on my face and I'd thank him,” Mimiko sighed.

Megumi looked down at his salad and threw it in the bin deciding to only visit the kitchen when he was sure no one else was there.

5. Couples counselling

“Look I get it, I know you have an image to maintain but can we please just talk about it” Nobara said following Maki who sighed and stood up ahead.

“No, can we please just drop it”

“It's ok to be embarrassed but honestly I think it's really cute you're always the little spoon! I'm sorry I called myself your jetpack!”

“Panda is never gonna let me live this down,” Maki said. “And you can stop smirking too!” She yelled pointing her staff at Megumi who raised his hands and backed away going down the other way through the corridor.

[brbzonedout]

Miles comforts insecure reader

Pairing: E!42 Miles x Fem(tomboy)!Reader

Warnings: Body Imagine issues, catcalling?, Crying.

You stared at yourself in the mirror turning to see the pair of jeans at every possible angle.

“Ain’t no way,” you muttered to yourself.

The pair of snug fitting 2000s style jeans hugged your thighs and hips in a way that made it uncomfortable to stand let alone walk.

Eying yourself in the mirror you started to feel extremely insecure. Ever since you hit puberty you’ve been thick and developed faster than the other kids in your grade. It wasn’t a bad thing by any means it’s natural but for you it brought a lot of unwanted attention at such a young age and that carried well into your teenage years.

Earlier before you and Miles entered the store you both decided to stop for chick-fil-a. While in line an older guy maybe in his late 20s and his friend decided to take it apon himself to comment about how you looked in your school uniform. Commenting that you had quote on quote “anime thighs” and that he’d “Take that over a desk any day,” Miles wanted so badly to chew them out up held back after you said not to start anything.

Bring a shy person to begin with didn’t help much, so to cope with your feelings, you started wearing slightly baggier clothes. They gave you a sense of comfortability you hadn’t felt in a long time. On top of that the style was just cute in general.

But today while in the mall with your boyfriend he picked out the jeans for you. Was this him saying he didn’t like the type of clothes you wear now?

“You good in there?” Miles said from outside of the dressing room.

You jumped being startled out of your zoned out state.

“Y-yeah i’m cool…” you shouted back making sure he heard you.

You didn’t want to have to lie twice.

“Can I come in?”

“If you want…” you cringed at the way that came out, like you didn’t want him in there.

Miles slightly parted the curtain and slid in through the crack.

“If I want?” he said eying you up and down with a slight smile.

You shrugged.

Miles look up and met your eyes through the mirror before you broke eye contact causing him to start worrying.

“What you don’t like ‘em?”

You shrugged again lightly pulling at the material around your thighs.

“They’re nice…kind of tight-”

The boy put his slim fingers through your belt loops and pulled back lightly.

“Mm, yeah I guess- ain’t that the style though? Want me to go get a bigger size?”

“The style? You sound like your mom,” you forced a giggle at the boy honestly trying to change the subject.

He smiled at your comment and stuffed his hands in his pockets. But, his eyes glanced up at yours. Once you broke eye contact for the second time he knew something was wrong.

“So do you want a bigger size? They’re right out there.” The boy peeked through the curtain and squinted to see the available sizes, “I think the next size u-”

You cut him off, “Don’t we gotta find something for you too? Is it getting late?” You rambled and scrambled to find your phone to “check the time”.

“Baby….” he said flatly with a slight confused look on his face, “why are you avoiding my question?”

Eye brows furrowed trying your best to create a false confused expression, you turned around to face him.

“What question?”

“Seriously?”

“Miles-”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

With a slight pout you played with the hem of your white collard shirt, “I just don’t like the pants…”

“Ok? That’s fine we can look for more.” he shrugged.

You looked in the mirror once again noticing how the denim tightened around your hips…and thighs…and butt. The man’s voice played back in your head, “I’d take that over a desk any day,” it was too overwhelming. You just broke down.

In your relationship with Miles he had never seen anything trigger you this much and this fast.

Without hesitation he stepped forward and gently placed his hand on your arms to calm you down.

“Hol’ on hol’ on, chill i can’t understand you if you’re crying. Just relax ok?” said as he rubbed his thumb soothingly over your arm.

You took a deep breath in and wiped your tear stained cheek with the heel of you palm then nodded head.

“I don’t like how they look on me, and it just triggered me cuz of what happened earlier.”

Miles sat you both down on the dressing room floor listening intently making sure you understood he heard you.

“Then why’d you say you liked them?”

“I thought you would want me to get them? I don’t know. I just wanted to get out of here.”

He chuckled, “Since when do you care what I think about clothes?”

With a quick glance up you thought for a moment then laughed sniffling and wiping your tears once again. “Ok true, I don’t. I don’t know you just seemed to like them a lot.”

“Listen I don’t give a fuck what you wear I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable,” he leaned back against the dressing room wall, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I told you what to wear all the time.”

“A bad one.”

“A bad one,” he parroted you. “And what that bitch said earlier don’t matter he was ignorant and obviously gets no play talking about anime thighs. Looked almost 30 acting like a little bitch.”

You smiled slightly and nodded sitting up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for an embrace.

“I’m sorry that was dramatic, breaking down out of nowhere.”

Miles hugged back and laid a quick peck on your cheek.

“Stop apologizing for dumb stuff, no offense. You were sad so you cried it’s normal, now come on we gotta go I don’t think i’m supposed to be in here.” he laughed and handed you the skirt you walked in with.

A smile came across your face as you took the clothes from him.

“Wanna get Cinnabon after this?” you asked unbuttoning the jeans.

“What kind of question is that? No duh I want Cinnabon!”

This is lowkey based on myself, this was really fun though. Exploring different emotions I feel like i’m getting slightly better. Thank you for reading!! Remember requests are open right now so don’t be shy!

[chelleztjs18]

The Monsters Within (N.R) Pt. 5

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!SerialKiller!Reader (Modern AU)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Summary: You like Natasha and you keep her to yourself.

Warning: This is a Dark Fic. 18+, a lot of swearing words. Graphic and gore descriptions, kidnapping, mind manipulating / brainwashing, blood, death, violence, bone crushing, Stockholm Syndrome and angst (Let me know if I miss anything)

A/N: Hello hello peeps. I'm back for a bit from my sad depressed isolations. I almost not to post this today because something happened and got me down again but I promised to post it today, so here you go! The last and final part of this dark mini series. There is a some angst if squint. Thank you to my Curious George anon for motivating me to write and helping me brainstorming and even writing some parts in it! Y'all can thank her for this chapter. hahaha. Also thank you @honey-sweet-hiraeth for the base of the idea in this chapter. Well, enjoy and happy reading!

It has been a few months since the night Natasha accepted her inner monster. Wanda is dead and she is just part of your memory in the back of your head. You are living your life now with your redhead girlfriend. Not just as happy lovebirds but as a couple who loves taking the lives of others.

After Natasha killed Wanda furiously, a thirst sprung and she slowly started getting into it. You never knew that you would find your perfect match ever. Natasha is a great girlfriend. Loving, gentle and sweet person to you but sinister and dark at the same time which makes you fall for her even more.

Her smile and laugh always look beautiful but my oh my, it even looks ethereal when she does it with some splashes of your victims’ blood and when she looks like she is having fun dismembering them limb by limb. It’s one of your favorite parts besides smelling her perfume that’s mixed with the iron scents of the blood puddle dancing around in the air with the acid smell on your hunting night. Well, that’s what Natasha wants to call it every time both of you go out for the night, killing.

Natasha can’t control her blood thirst and the more she feels the rush from killing the bigger the urge to do some more. You love it so much but sometimes you have to remind her that both of you need to slow down so you won’t grab more police’s attention even though they start to not be able to keep up due to no trace being left behind.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I love killing as much as you do but we have to be careful. I just want us to be more cautious” You explained patiently.

“I know, babe. Fuck, but it feels so good when I feel the knives taking their lives and cut them apart.” she expresses her thoughts in a sinister giggle as both of you put the last body parts into the bathtub.

“Oh yeah, I know what you meant dear. Don’t forget that cracking sound when the grinder grinds the bones and how it looks when the acid burns their flesh.” you added in agreement casually having the disturbing details like it’s a normal daily conversation while pouring all the acid onto the dismembered innocent.

“Oh don’t even start it, you are teasing me right now. You're just making me want to kill more, you know that right?” she complains in a playful nagging tone.

“Look at you, craving to kill some more. I turned you into a monster, didn’t I?” You smile, looking at her as your hand wipes a smudge of blood off her cheek.

“Well, someone said that everybody is a monster in their own way.” she replies in a teasing tone as she kisses your neck that has some splashes of blood on it, gets the taste of it off her lips then smirk at you.

“How about we meet in the middle as a solution?” She offers you a negotiation with her puppy dog eyes begging expression.

“How?” you ask curiously. You know you couldn’t resist her whenever she begs you with that look even though she is under your control. You’ll do anything for her. If Natasha wants the moon, she’ll watch you grab it for her. If she wants the head of the victim, you’ll watch her cut the head off their throat. That’s how much you love Natasha. 

_____

Since then, you and Natasha agreed on something which you can’t lie that it was actually a good idea.

Being the sweetheart she is, Natasha proposes the idea to change your targets to kill criminals especially perverted men instead of helpless women. Every now and then you still kill women you find out there but Natasha always insists on doing the whole process by herself due to her jealousy issue. She hates it when she sees you touch other women even though they are all lifeless and that’s how much Natasha loves you.

A year later after the changes of your targets, it has been leading the police to different tracks and make them think that there is another serial killer who roams free in town. The people are now divided on two sides when it comes to the talk about this so-called controversy theory. Some people take sides to both of you and call you “The Punishers” and some of course still are against you no matter who the victims are even if they deserve it.

With all that, everything changes. Your life has been okay. Natasha gets more attached to you, like a lost clingy puppy. The hunting and killing night has become an easy routine for you and Natasha. Too easy.

_____

The night is getting quieter as the time gets later. The wind blows a soft whistling sound and you see some stars sparkle in the sky shortly before you and Natasha walk into your house after a quick hunting night.

The mess in your house now shocks you and Natasha. You instantly think that someone has broken into your house. You look around and find your glass coffee table is now shattered. Stuff is scattered around. Your tall bookshelf has fallen and your books are all over the floor.

You and Natasha look at each other, puzzled and wondering what had happened. Your hand gesture instructed her to stay quiet. Both of you look around and tip toe. Natasha taps your shoulder rapidly to drag your attention to now unconscious James on the kitchen floor, with his hands tied up behind his back and his ankles tied as well.

Both of you halt your steps as soon as you hear something in the kitchen then a figure of a woman gets into your sight. You don’t recognize her from her back but as soon as the woman turns around, you hear Natasha’s soft surprised gasp.

“Oh Hi!!” She greets both of you. You recognize her, so does Natasha of course.

“Ye-yelena! You are alive!” Natasha exclaims in excitement and gratefully. As soon as she is about to run to her blonde long missing sister, your protective instinct takes control and you grab Natasha’s hand to stop her and she obliges.

Deep down both of you are worried if Yelena found the basement and things under there. You remember that you still have one victim from last night that you haven’t taken care of. As luck would have it, you locked the other door. You clench your jaw as you watch every move Yelena makes so you can be prepared for the worst. As nervous as Natasha is of her sister finding who she is now, she misses her and beyond happy that Yelena is back.

“Yeah, of course I’m alive.” She paused a few seconds then looked at you before she continued. “You guys have a lot of freaky things in your basement.” Your stomach turns after you hear her statement.

“What’s behind the lock door? Dead body or something?” Your heart races especially after she looks at you followed by her sarcastic question. Natasha swallows hard. With a bowl of mac and cheese in her hand, Yelena casually walks to the dining chair next to the knocked out James to sit.

You are enraged seeing what she did to him. Yelena takes notice that you look at him. She puts one of her feet on James and nonchalantly says while chewing her mac and cheese “Relax, he is still alive but I don’t know what to do with him so I gotta tie him up before he wakes up.”

Seeing her boot steps on the side of James’ face really fumed you and your hand slowly grabbed the knife that’s tucked in the back of your belt. This time Natasha’s protective instincts of her sister stops your action. Her hand stops yours and she looks at you then firmly tells you “Don’t you dare.”

“Yes, yes, don’t you dare, Y/n” Yelena echoes Natasha’s words and takes another bite of her food. Your eyes are rounded in surprise when you hear her saying your name. Tension grows around the three of you, none of you saying anything for a good few seconds. Silence covers the room slowly.

“Oh sorry, where’s my manners? You guys want some? This big dude was a fighter, I got hungry after I fought him so I made some food. Do you have hot sauce?” Yelena’s thick accent wrapped voice breaks the silence as she offers both of you unconcernedly and fearlessly even though she noticed what you were about to do.

“Lena, where have you been? I have been looking for you.” Natasha’s eyes turn glossy.

“I have been here and there, trying to survive alone because I thought you were dead but I’m glad you are alive Nat.” She pauses her words, sadness and happiness shows in her eyes looking at Natasha but still tries to keep herself together.

“Soooo, is killing people your full time job? Or is it more of a hobby? If it isn’t your job yet, maybe it should.” Yelena expresses her sarcasm.

“What-what do you mean?” Natasha tries to cover the truth.

“No, thank you. I love my job so—” You sarcastically answer but she interrupts you.

“As a surgeon? And a serial killer at night?” Yelena smirks.

What she just said definitely puts you in high caution. You don’t want anybody to find out about you because you don’t want anything to happen to Natasha.

“How did you–” Natasha halfway asks her and Yelene finishes her question. “Find out?” Yelena puts her bowl down shortly before she continues as she stands up and pulls out a handgun.

“I thought you were dead, so I swore to myself that I would find and kill whoever killed you. Long story short, let’s just say that I did good research and found both of you even though it wasn’t easy. Well, I’m gladly telling you that your time has come." She points her gun at you at the last word she says and you quickly pull out your knife.

“Ah, a pair of killer sisters. I guess it runs in your blood, huh?” Your knife is on your tight grip and ready to take a life.

Natasha’s breath shook seeing what’s going on. “Y/n! Lena!” Of course both of you ignore her calls.

“You seriously gonna bring a knife to a gunfight?” Yelena chuckles and her grips tighten on the gun’s handle.

“Oh knife is more fun to use to torture my victim and guess what? You would be the next one.” Your intuition to survive brings your sinister self up to the surface. You move very slowly and Yelena’s aim follows you.

“Oh yeah? Try me.” The blonde challenges you.

“Y/n, what the hell? She’s my sister!” Natasha raises her voice. “Yelena, please don’t hurt Y/n!” her gaze jumps around between you and Yelena.

“I know, sweetheart but she is putting you in danger right now.” you answered.

“Said someone who kidnapped her and turned her into a killer?” Yelena puts up more guards on her stance.

“I helped her to find the monster in her. It was my act of love for her.” You explained in a disturbing proud tone and followed by a little chuckle.

“That’s bullshit! You sick bastard!” Yelena responded angrily at you then quickly looked at Natasha then back to you.

“Come home with me. Leave her, Nat!” she asked as she continuously watched every move of yours.

“Oh, she won’t. Your sister loves me as much as I love her.” You spoke for Natasha before even the redhead gets the chance to answer, mocking Yelena as you check how sharp your knife is.

“I love her, Lena. We love each other. I found my true self and she kept me grounded. Why don’t both of you put the weapon down and let’s talk. You are my sister and I don’t want to lose you again.” Natasha tries to stay neutral and cut down the tension. It’s hard for her to choose only one of you. She wouldn’t. She loves both of you.

“Look, Nat, she brainwashed you. This is not you. I don’t care how many you killed and I won’t tell anybody about what you did but I won’t let you be around this psycho.” Yelena is still trying her best to talk some sense to Natasha without letting go of her aim at you.

You walk back slowly, step by step with a plan in your head. Yelena notices. “What’s wrong? Are you scared? I would fight for my life if I were you.”

You let out an unamused chuckle the second you hear her mocking words. “You are one cocky little shit, aren’t you?”

“Blonde girls always fight back.” Yelena talks back your remarks and it hits something in Natasha’s memory. Her stomach turns. Before Nat questions Yelena about what she just said, you quickly hit the switch. The kitchen becomes dark. Only the moonlight that’s coming from the windows illuminates the room and you quickly sneak out of there.

With her quick reflex, Yelena instantly pulls the trigger, shooting in the dark a couple of times. To your surprise, she aims better than you thought. Two hot bullets made their way to you. One struck and got you on your waist and the other bullet grazed your thigh causing you to limp a little.

Yelena searches for you in such high caution yet Natasha looks for you worriedly.

“Get out of here, you coward!” Yelena demands, her breathing starts to get faster. She spins around to listen to any subtle hint of you; her gun is cocked and ready to shoot as soon as she sees you.

You walk around the room easily, familiar with how your surroundings are. You tipped toe to the other side and threw your knife at Yelena and it lodged right near her left shoulder blades causing her to yelp in shock. With great pain, Yelena turns around to find you again. As one of her hands tries to remove the knife and the other shoots one more time, thinking that you were still behind her. Shattered window’s sound followed after the loud sound from the shooting. Yelena realizes you are not there.

You snuck behind her then quickly grab her. One arm wrapping around her neck, making her gasp for air. Your left hand firmly holds the knife handle. You put more pressure on the knife, sinking it deeper, making her squirm. Then you twist the knife slowly, the agonizing sound coming from Yelena is music to your ears.

She lets go of her gun then tries to pull down your arm while air slowly empties her lungs. A satisfied sinister laugh flows out of you.

“What’s wrong? Are you fighting for your life right now? Hm?” you asked in a mocking tone. You loosen the grip of her neck for a few seconds then choke her again as if you are playing with her life like it’s nothing. Suddenly, Natasha hits the lights back on. She is torn and shocked from what she is witnessing in front of her.

“Y/n, let her go!” she says. Shaking as she aims her gun at you. She got your attention. “Oh hi, sweetheart.” You answer her nonchalantly.

Yelena gasps for air a bit by a bit. “Y/n, stop hurting her! I swear, I’m gonna shoot you if you don’t let her go!” You ignore her plea.

You laughed at Natasha’s threat. “You wouldn’t hurt me. Without me, you will be nothing. I made you. Without me, you are just a soulless monster.”

Yelena takes this as her chance to do something while you are not paying attention to her. She grabs her pocket knife discreetly then stabs your left thigh. You scream as soon as you can feel the knife against it. Yelena pulls the knife out to try and stab one more time but misses. Your hand is faster than hers. You were able to dodge it with your hand and grabbed the knife from her. You tossed the knife away from her reach.

“You little shit!” You yell at her. “Blonde girls always fight back. Just like last time.” Yelena says it one more time.

Natasha lets out a warning shot that was aimed close to you. “Y/n, you always say that about blondes. Why the hell did she say that??!” Natasha is still conflicted. Panic, confusion and curiosity are all mixed in her.

“Tell her y/n or..I..will.” Yelena tries to speak while struggling to get out of your strong grip as she slowly loses her energy.

“Y/n! I’m asking you one last time! Tell me why did she say that?!”

The silence from you was enough for her to finally connect the dots. “Did you try to kill her before?!” She asks in a shaky voice. Her grip on the gun gets stronger as she walks a step closer. Fury is written all over her face but there is a bit of her that wishes that her own conclusion is wrong. You try to ignore her question.

“DID YOU TRY TO KILL MY SISTER BEFORE?!” she demands an answer in a raised voice. Her pulse slammed in her neck.

“Alright, alright. Since the truth is out now. Yes, I did.” You finally let your arm’s grip off Yelena’s neck.

You yank Yelena’s hair back as you continue telling Natasha the truth. “I tried to kill her but her stupid blonde friend tried to help her and got in the way. Your sister was my first one that got away.” You pull the knife out of Yelena’s shoulder and let her go.

As soon as she falls weakly on her front, you step on her wound and give her a painful pressure. Yelena instantly screams loudly from the torment, leaving her with no strength.

“She..killed..Carol.” Her voice cracks as she tells Natasha between coughing and finally being able to gain more oxygen.

The cold gun barrel is still aimed at you and Natasha never lets her sight off you. Natasha’s skin crawled, sadness tore at her chest after hearing everything. Yelena’s scream, the truth and the view of you with no remorse whatsoever push her to the edge even more. Your confession felt like a knife to her heart. The memories of that night when you came home with a blonde victim and the next day you lied to her that you would never hurt Yelena came back in an instance.

Natasha’s gaze jumps from Yelena then back to you. “You tried to kill Yelena that night. It was Carol’s body that you brought. That was why you didn’t keep her body in the basement because you knew I would recognize her and find out what you did!!” Her body locked up with rage and her blood boiled. She sees your sinister smile, agreeing in everything she just said.

Natasha’s breathing gets faster. Tension grows in her. “Why, Y/n? Why did you try to kill her?”

“I thought she was in the way between us to have a new life together.”

Natasha tries not to let your words get in her head again. “That’s bullshit! You said you won’t kill her, you lied to me!”

“Oh yeah, I lied.” You casually play with your knife, toss it from your left hand to your right hand then back to your left.

“I thought you loved me!” She screams out her disappointment. Her forehead creased. You can see her hands shake a little, her face turns red from the overwhelming feelings.

“I thought so too.” Your answer shook her even more.She quivered with indignation. You punch Yelena and knock her out.

Suddenly, the loud explosive sound from her gun breaks the short silence. Natasha shot your right arm. This time your scream fills the room. “You bitch! You think you can kill me?!” You clench your jaw as you try to hold back the pain and you walk one step closer to her. The displeasure on your face intimidates Natasha a little.

As if your steps are connected to her gun’s trigger, Natasha shoots once more after you walk another step. Her love for you, anger and all of the conflicted feelings clouds her aim and the bullet went near your lower left ribs now. It stops you for a few seconds. Blood stains slowly appear on your clothes more.

“You can’t and you won’t. You are nothing! You should’ve aimed better, that's why you are not good enough!!” You yell louder at her and you quickened your limping steps.

Her heart drummed. Sweats trickled down her spine seeing the real you as she walked backward away from you.

“I’m not going to die. You can’t hurt me! I’ll make you watch me kill your sister!” You laugh in confidence.

The closer you get to her the more it provokes her to shoot you. This time two bullets flew to you as you were trying to charge towards her. Your body flinches each time. The hot deadly metals hit you on your stomach and grazed the curve of your neck. You are soaked with your own blood by now.

Fortunately, as soon as you get in front of her, your grip gets weakened and the knife falls off your hand. You are standing unbalanced. You look down to you all of your wounds then you look at her in the eye. Natasha gets just enough safe distance from you. She lets out a shaky gasp when she sees you fall on her knee weakly in front of her. Fear splintered her heart and her spirit fell seeing you wounded. 

Her feelings for you start to get in her head, part of her still cares for you. Natasha can see that your face is losing its color yet you are still laughing at her.

Meanwhile, Yelena slowly gains her consciousness and crawls weakly towards Natasha.

You spit out blood shortly before you say “I never loved you.” as you look up to her.

The four words of the final truth she heard from you plunged her into despair. Pain gripped Natasha’s chest. She crumbled inside, waking up flames of anger. Shame washed over her. The truth hits her like a huge wrecking ball. All she has ever done for you, all the victim’s life she took with you. In the end, all of them don't matter to you. Natasha starts to scream her lungs out, emptying all of her emotions as her eyes are closed.

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

Her gun makes repeated clicking sounds as her finger pulls the trigger rapidly multiple times. You laugh maniacally and it opens her eyes. Realizing that she is out of bullets, Natasha drops her gun.

Seeing her tears leaving wet traces on her cheeks keeps you wanting to tell her hurtful things “I never loved you because you are not Wanda. You are never gonna be her!”

Yelena finally gets back on her feet.

“Nat, kill her. She doesn’t deserve you, she doesn’t deserve to live.” Yelena suggests as she tries to hand her another gun.

Natasha doesn’t respond to her sister. Your mocking laugh fills her mind. Natasha doesn’t even know anymore how she feels about you. Questions running around in her head, vivid flash images of the dismembered innocences starting to fly around in front of her.  All that is soon followed by tremendous guilt. Her world starts to spin fast, your voice and every word you are saying are muffled.

Then another loud sound brought her back at the same time as the explicit view of blood and particles of your scattered brain exploded in front of Natasha. The bullet went through your head after Yelena finally pulled the trigger to end all this.

“No. No.. Y/n!” Natasha falls onto her knees.

The fed up blonde tosses the gun away then quickly hugs her broken sister. Natasha starts to sob uncontrollably.

“It’s over, Natty. She’s out of your life now. You are free from her chokehold. Come home with me.” Yelena tries her best to comfort her while she is crying hysterically on her shoulders. Natasha nods without any words. Her mind and heart are having a battle. Feelings and common sense trying to make their point to her. A rough tug of war is happening in her. She feels lost. Without you, she doesn’t know what to do. You have always kept her monstrous killer side on ground yet keeps feeling the hungry need to kill.

Natasha’s happy she could be with her only sister again but it doesn’t change the fact that you are gone. She is now left behind with questions. Questions that she will never get the answers ever.

Anger, disappointment, despair, relief and guilt are melted all together in her. Despite all the anger, love and hate she has for you, she crawled to your lifeless body. Pulling you to her hug and rocking back and forth. Your pool of blood got on all over her. She wants to scream at you, asking you if what you said was true.

Yelena stands up with a painful grunt and lets her have her last moment with you while finishing everything up.

“I’ll be right back.” with that the blonde limps away.

Natasha keeps wondering when did you stop loving her. What did she do wrong? What she doesn’t have that Wanda has.

“I love you but I hate you now too. Why, y/n? I hate how much I love you.” She whispers in gritted teeth.

“What am I gonna do without you? What am I gonna do with these memories of all of our victims? I can’t fucking erase them in my head! You turned me into the monster you are! Fuck you! I should hate you for everything you did. I love you! Please come back!” Natasha keeps mumbling to herself.

She feels guilty. She hates herself for everything she did to those innocents and for still loving you but she can’t stop herself. Emotions after emotions, thoughts after thoughts slowly pushing her to the edge mentally.

Yelena stops for a few seconds pouring all the flammable chemicals around the house when she hears Natasha screams in her crying.

It hurts her seeing Natasha like that but she knew she had to kill you and it was for the best, to save her.

Pain claws deep in her heart. Natasha is furious with herself. She knew she can’t turn back the time to bring you nor the innocents’ lives back.

Her guilt is covering her like a huge dark cloud. Natasha cries and cries. She is lost in her own dark mind even deeper. Her mind and memories are out of touch but it wasn’t because she didn’t know enough. She knew too much. Natasha doesn’t know herself anymore. Invisible walls are closing in inside her, the devil’s knocking at her door.

Natasha had a somber look. Her eyes red from crying and her voice becoming hoarse from all the screams that she had let out.

She kept on until there were no tears left to shed, no more anger, no more hate. Just an empty hollow shell.

The strong smell of blood and gasoline didn’t have any effect on her senses. Her sanity starts to wander off.

“I just took care of James, Nat. I just need to make sure everything doesn't look suspicious and then we–” Yelena checks on her sister, but can only see how despondent she is. Her words stop abruptly as soon as she sees Natasha’s condition. Her eyes look empty and not responding to the surroundings even though they are wide open.

“Nat, are you okay?” Yelena asked.

Natasha doesn’t say a word. Her gaze is on one random spot while her arms are still hugging you. No emotions are written on her facial expression.

Yelena breaks Natasha’s hug around you then her hands hold both of Natasha’s cheeks, leading her eyes to look into hers. “Nat, look at me. Look at me. Everything’s gonna be okay. Okay? You are coming home and I’ll be with you always.” her whisper sounds shaky from sadness and worry. Yelena leans her forehead onto Natasha’s. She closes her eyes and her tears roll down. As soon as Yelena opens her eyes back again, Natasha’s expression is still flat even though her eyes turn glossy. No words come out of her lips as if her tongue refuse to work.

_____

Half a year has rolled away since everything that happened at your house, since you died.

“How’s your sister?” Detective Harkness asks Yelena.

“She’s still the same. She didn’t say any word or show any emotions since I found her that night on the road near that burning house.” Yelena responded with the lie she prepared.

“Ah okay. I talked to her doctor. He said that she still doesn’t make any progress and he doubts that she will. Even if she does, it would take a long time. He thinks that her mental health is not fit enough and she won’t be able to cooperate well as the key witness.” Agatha explains.

“Any update on my sister’s case?” Yelena shows her pretend curiosity.

“Yes, we know that the burning house belongs to Y/n Y/L/N. We found her and her butler, James Barne.There was also a bone grinder machine on the house basement and other equipment.The team found some bones that match some of the missing people we have. Everything leads to a conclusion that they might be the serial killers that have been on a killing spree in this town. They believe that the equipment was used by Y/L/N and Barnes to their victims.” Agatha shares some parts of the result of the investigations.

“So my sister has been kidnapped by them? They could’ve killed her! I can’t imagine what she has been through.” Yelena tries her best to play innocent.

“The autopsy showed some gunshot marks as well on her skull. There is a possibility that they both were fighting and trying to kill each other and your sister might use that chance to get out of there when the fire just started. How? I still don’t know. All i know, she got really lucky that she could come out there alive.”

“Yeah. I’m just glad that she is safe now even though she hasn’t been responsive at all.” Yelena can’t hold back her tears, her lips quivered.

Both Yelena and the taller woman look at Natasha through the glass window, watching her sitting still with empty thoughts and looks.

“Then what’s next?” Yelena breaks the silence and looks at the brown haired detective.

Agatha clears her throat and lets out a sigh. “That was the reason I wanted to meet you here. Your sister is such a sweet and amazing person. As much as I want the best for her case but due to her circumstances and with both Barnes and Y/L/N dead, we can’t proceed further investigation on this case.”

“What did you mean?” Yelena shows displeased, the complete opposite expression from how she really feels.

“It means the case is closed. Which is also good because now you can focus on Natasha’s mental health recovery. As a friend, I really hope that she gets better soon and has her normal life back. Please keep me updated about her and I wish you both good luck.” Agatha gives Yelena a comforting hug.

“Thank you. I will let you know. I really hope she gets better.” Yelena hugs her back shortly before Agatha bids her farewell.

After Agatha leaves, Yelena takes Natasha for daily afternoon strolls around the facility’s garden on her wheelchair.

Yelena crouches in front of Natasha. “Hi Nat. I have good news for you. Agatha told me your case is closed. Everything works as planned. Everything was blamed on Y/N and Barnes. They don’t suspect anything about you. Now, please Nat, I want you to get better. I need you, you are my sister and all I have.” Yelena kisses Natasha’s forehead then hugs her lovingly.

“I’m sorry I killed her. I had to. It was for the best, please come back and get better. I love you.” Yelena’s heart breaks from waiting for Natasha’s hug and words that only heaven knows when will it come.

The monster within her has muted Natasha’s own sanity.

A/n: Welp, that's all for today! Let me know what you think. As usual, reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated. I'll be back to my depressed isolation so see you in next maybe for some angst or another dark story. I dont know.

Cheerio!

Chellez TjS.

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[allwormdiet]

Extermination 8.5

Skitter is now one for three on interacting with New Wave kids without making them hate her.

Also fun fact I actually hit the image limit while making this post so I had to nix a few of the smaller observations made, there's just that much shit going on

Neat to meet more of New Wave, but boy I wish it was under different circumstances

Also Taylor you were so close to making that descriptor of their anguish work, you shouldn't have acknowledged it

How fucking harrowing must it be to let your daughter go anywhere near the fucking thing that killed your son.

Also I like how even as Skitter realizes that this is not the time or place, she's still indignant at being called "the girl."

What an awful fucking day for all of them. What can even be done, what can even be said?

Just a wet fucking cat of a girl, being carried through the air.

Oh hey Coil, bet your asshole is clenching really fucking hard rn

I wish there was a way for Coil to drown down there without killing Dinah too, but alas

Also absolutely insane that this has all been in the span of, what, an hour? Maybe a little more? What the fuck

And here's Parian proving that she's actually a huge badass

"Why manipulate cloth" honestly my first assumption is that it's bc her power is cloth control

Really fucking funny that people apparently keep thinking that superpowers are magic, though

We hardly knew ye.

I did learn that this is a retcon; Browbeat survived in the initial version of the story, although he quit the Wards in the wake of this attack and never comes up again. The retcon was in... 2019? Reasoning is speculative but I guess people kept making stupid jokes about Browbeat and he got tired of it?

Hey you know what though, really good showing overall, better than a bunch of other capes today

Okay so did this attack go through Leviathan? What the fuck is going on with this Flechette girl, that is utterly fucking cracked. Armsmaster's fucking nanothorns couldn't hack that, what is she doing where her shots do this kinda damage.

Leviathan likes playing with its fucking food, which is weird as hell

This dramatic fucker

God that's so cool, just opening up a fucking chasm in the middle of the battlefield.

...I wonder if it was trying to get into the bunker like Coil was afraid of. I know enough about Noelle to know that could've gone really fucking poorly.

Laserdream is cool, does she get much love in the fandom or is she too peripheral a character for that?

This is kinda funny ngl

That's a lot of fucking dead people, Jesus H

Taylor you are genuinely being too cool about this, your arm is still broken

He can do anything he wants down there, it's terrifying

Very funny that Armsmaster's brand-spanking-new halberd is being put to better use in this fight by people who aren't him and for purposes he didn't intend

Haha, wuh oh!

First indicator that Coil's got some pretty remarkable commercial ties considering he managed to sneak his own fucking Endbringer shelter in for private use and nobody noticed.

Also, god that's gotta be fucking terrifying

...I think like 99% of things that have come up in this arc are fucking terrifying if we're being real for a second but I'm gonna keep saying it

Seeing someone who treats you like dirt and have a happy life outside of treating you like dirt is a certain kind of agony. Also fuck Gladly on principle tbh.

Ah fuck

She could have so easily given into spite and let them all suffer and die. She was under no obligation beyond her own drive to be good, to be better, to be better than Gladly. And that's why she's among the best of these fucking people.

And so the bug girl, both creepy AND wet, goes in there and saves everyone left standing by shoving the Halberd up Levi's nonexistent asshole and baiting him back out the shelter

She's a bigger hero than so many of the others

This might be one of the most intensely and personally terrifying moments of all. Paralysis and drowning hand in hand. A slow and insidious kind of horror.

Rachel Lindt MVP

Well hey, cool of Rachel to be concerned though

They should be giving Bitch the key to the fucking city for this, honestly

This poor girl sacrificed the closest thing she has to family to buy even a fraction of extra time for this asscrack of a city

And then there's this fucking asshole

Imagine if God thought you, personally and specifically, fucking sucked. What a weird feeling that must be.

Skipping past the downturn in the fighting and the teleportation bc we have to get to the conclusion of the chapter

Taylor did more to save this whole city than any of these people can even imagine, and they manhandle her into a cot and cuff her broken-ass arm because y'can't be too careful with villains, can you

This is going to go so poorly

Current Thoughts

Taylor did more, in the moment-to-moment breakdown of tracking, fighting, and responding to Leviathan, than like 90% of the other capes in this whole fucking deal, and nobody will ever know the full extent of it. She might have honestly saved more lives than Armsmaster, because he was too busy fucking grandstanding in the moments leading up to his, ahaha, disarmament.

Skitter is a hero, idgaf what anyone says. She earned better than what she's about to be fucking put through, that's for sure.

[colderdrafts]

if it's not a bother, can we know Morgan's reaction to us saying:

to me, your eyes are beautiful! I like to look at them and laugh if you want, but they give me a comfortable feeling, even when you act crazy, they shine in a way that takes my breath away, beautiful like jewels..

Let's say Morgan did something good that deserves praise and we being nice to them, R would probably never say such praise but humor me pls lol

You're never bothering me, and sorry I'm so away lately 💙

Careful hitting them with sentences like that, they might just return the favor. If this came out of nowhere they'll probably wonder if you've eaten too many fermented berries, but realizing you mean it would leave them wordless for a second. Then they'll tease the hell out of you, lmao. Is that so? Maybe I should act 'crazy' more often.

Thanks for the inspo, I did a lil thing below the cut. In which Morgan for once does a good thing on your request, despite being a red-eyed menace.

"It sure is going fast," you comment, arms out to help you keep balance.

Morgan hums in agreement. "It's been raining a lot more than usual lately. The rivers here tend to overflow."

As proof of the statement, the dense forest you're currently passing through offers no easy routes to follow. It's spring. Presumably a combination of rain and melting of snow has been a contributing factor to the abundance of inaccessible flowing water.

You've braved the weather so far, both you and Morgan's clothes still damp from your last exposure to the elements. You follow the river as best as you can, but presumably you'd be unable to cross the deeper waters without being swept up by the current.

Instead, you cross over the outsprings from said river. Though even here it's not easy to stay partially dry when wading through. It has evolved from discarding your boots, to discarding your pants, to considering simply giving up - but that would mean an even longer trek back, and Morgan loathes staying in one place for longer than absolutely necessary.

You look back at your companion once you've reached somewhat dry land again. Morgan wades through the same area you passed easily enough, reaching shore just after you. Their eight long legs gives them an annoying, and very much unfair advantage in this terrain.

"Would you please just let me carry you?" Morgan complains once again, impatiently watching you dry off and pull on your pants. "My legs are long enough, and your added weight will keep me better grounded here."

You start putting your boots back on and glance up at them. Red eyes are staring into you, and you can feel their gentle pull writhing under your skin, trying to encourage you to change your mind. You quickly shake off the sensation to shut them out.

"And your legs will continue to do just fine without me," you retort, ignoring the exasperated sigh Morgan heaves. You finish up and get to your feet. "Let's just move aroun-"

A loud yell from further up the river interrupts you. Morgan steps close to you instantly and looks around, disregarding the argument in favor of locating the threat. Another yell follows, but this time it's high-pitched, not unlike the yell of a child. Looking up, you find the source of the sound.

Rapidly flowing downstream, swept by the river, you see a pair of feather-clad arms waving around in the air, desperately trying to break the surface to breathe. The strong current is flowing over the small body of the child, forcing them along.

Further up the river you see a bigger bird-person giving chase, yelling in distress.

Morgan chitters and squints at the display, curling a pedipalp around your shoulder. "We should move."

You stare up at them, incredulous. "We should help!"

Morgan continues staring dead ahead a while, analyzing the pair. Then, their stoic expression cracks in a vicious smile.

"Well. We shouldn't get in the way of a hunter's noble quest, should we?" Morgan mocks and laughs lowly.

You look at the adult again and, true enough, a spear is firmly attached to his back, jumping around along his movements. If he's a hunter, you'd do well to be out of the way.

But, hunter or not, there is a child in danger. And he's rapidly approaching where you're standing. Morgan might be contend to let him float you by, but you're certainly not.

You think it through. You're no help going in after the kid yourself, you'll be swept under just the same. But if you want Morgan to do anything, you'll have to do so fast. You grit your teeth, prepared to strike a quick bargain.

"Get the kid safely out of the water, and I'll let you carry me until we're out of the forest," you state, glaring up at them.

Morgan cogs their head at you, and smiles wickedly. "I do adore your proposals. Hm. Make it until we reach the mountain."

"That's a day more away!" you protest.

Morgan casually glances up the river, watching the kid's fast approach. "So it is. And it's my final offer. The wet bird has almost landed."

You pinch the bridge of you nose and groan. Of course they'd take advantage of this. "Fine! Until the mountain. Just do something!"

Morgan eyes you again. Purposely drawing out their response. "Do you promise?"

The kid's almost there. You pull at Morgan's pedipalp in urgency, dragging them toward the river. "Yeah, sure, whatever, just grab him now!"

Morgan sweeps past you and strikes their legs into the water, barely making the split second the kid would have passed you by. Thankfully, their aim is true, and they have the kid securely grasped by the collar of his shirt. Morgan hisses, grips the ground beneath them for better purchase, and pulls.

In one smooth curve, the kid is hauled out of the water, and dragged onto the bank of the river. Morgan leaves him lying there, flat on the ground, and steps back over to you.

"Can we please go now?" They ask impatiently, shaking off the excess water. For good measure, they also wipe off their claws in the wet grass.

You ignore them, and quickly kneel by the child's side to check on him. It's a little hard to tell his specific age, but with his small size you presume he's very young, not even close to adolescent. He's not moving, so you put your head to his chest to listen for his breath. Though, a second later, he starts coughing roughly, and you move back to give him some space.

Another shrill yell follows, and you look up to see an adult male bird, presumably the kid's father, rushing towards you. His eyes are trained on his lost child gasping for air. Morgan instinctively hisses at his rapid approach. With practiced ease, you put a hand out in front of them, before they can make the situation worse.

The man falls on his knees next to his child, palming over his face, cooing and babbling apologies. Completely disregarding the potential enemy in the face of crisis. Reassured his son is alright, he holds him tight, and stares at you with beady eyes. "I - I told him to be careful and - blue moons. I'm so relieved. Thank you."

Morgan's hands find your shoulders shortly thereafter, a soft but firm grip. They're not keen to hang around too much longer. But this might just be an opportunity. Maybe Morgan should have a taste of what happens when you try to do good.

"Don't thank me, I didn't do anything," you explain, pointing over your shoulder at your arachnid companion, hovering inches behind you. "They got your kid out of the water."

The parent frowns and looks up at Morgan then, visibly struggling to meet whatever facial expression Morgan has decided is appropriate to wear. You don't blame him. Taking their agitated stare head-on is not for those faint of heart.

The parent subtly leans his child behind him as this goes on, while his son grips his shirt tightly. Nevertheless, the parent nods in acknowledgement, and when he speaks it almost sounds sincere. "Thank you, then."

Morgan sneers at his gratitude. "You're fortunate my sentry still has a soft heart."

With that, they promptly lift you off the ground, and sets you on their back, quickly moving away from the couple remaining on the bank of the river. Your protest is ignored, and you're have to hold on to Morgan's torso for balance as they rapidly leave the scene. Suppose that's all the interaction you'll get out of them.

"That was good," you say after a bit, watching the forest slowly pass you by. Morgan remains quiet, wading through the deep, overflown waters with relative ease. You keep your feet resting high on their sides to keep dry. "Hey. You did a good thing."

"You made me save the child of a hunter. He'll grow up learning the best ways to kill me," Morgan chuckles darkly. "I only made sure we'll have another enemy to worry about."

"So, what, you would have just let a kid drown?" you challenge.

Morgan shrugs. "They would have done the same to me."

"You don't know that."

"I do, actually. My eyes are red, sentry," Morgan counters. "Generally my kind's not someone they wish to save. But especially not someone like me."

"And why does 'red' have to mean anything in this?" you ask. "It's just a darn color."

Morgans hand's absentmindedly trace over your arms around their torso as they think for a beat. You've half a mind to move them, but the warmth of their hands are strangely soothing.

"Truthfully, it makes no difference. You're right. It's just a color. But common-folk seem to believe that it makes me exceptionally nasty," Morgan explains. Then they chuckle. "Well, they're right, of course. So maybe there's some logic to it."

"No logic, except whatever's been cooked up in that frazzled mind of yours," you argue. "I don't think your eyes do that."

Morgan chitters. "Then I'm eager to hear; what do you think?"

"I think your eyes are great, actually," you state. "Pretty when you're calm, pretty fucking scary when you need them to be."

Morgan turns their head to stare at you for a second. Then they splutter, falling into genuine laughter. Their laugh is raspy and low, causing the hairs on the back of you neck to stand on end. "My dearest. You think my eyes are pretty?"

You groan and tug at their hair. "Not what I meant. Don't let it get to your head."

"Oh, it's already deep, deep in there. This will be with us forever," Morgan purrs, leaning back into your hand. Then they focus on you, a more calm look in their eye. You find the red shining there again, obnoxiously alluring as always. "But just so I know for sure. Could you come a little closer and tell me again?"

You grab their chin and forcibly turn their face away from you. "Focus on the road, you weirdo. You're driving."

"And I think your eyes are pretty, too," Morgan teases, and resumes your journey through the wet forest.

[semidea7]

First Impression (Huskerdust, Fizzarozzie)

"You know, I was honestly surprised when you told Fizzie about your boyfriend." Asmodeus put his now empty drink back on the table, facing the spider demon. "I can't lie, we were actually a bit worried. We didn't know what to expect." The Sin kept going, his tone way less panicked and concerned than the one Angel had heard on the phone the previous day.

Angel smiled, quite amused by his words. He directed his gaze to Fizzarolli and Husk, who left to order a second round of shots, but were actually engaging in a conversation.

"And now that you've seen him?" Angel asked, eyes still on the two shorties ahead of them, his voice cracking a bit despite his smile. Asmodeus could not know how much Angel valued his judgment, or how much he trusted him.

He had made the mistake to not listen Asmodeus once, and now Valentino had his soul. He would never repeat the same mistake twice, not even regarding foolish matters.

Asmodeus cared for the sinner as well, almost in a paternal way, especially since Angel had grown so close to his Froggie.

"We never meet your dates in a place other than a club." The big demon smiled, leaning with one arm on the table, while only gaining a puzzled look from Angel.

"Yeah, so what?" The sinner asked, not sure what was Asmodeus' point. "Husk likes drinking, but he's not a party person. He prefers a more quite setting where people can actually talk." Angel shrugged, watching over his boyfriend, noticing the smile as the cat tried to follow Fizz's expression and quick talking, the latter looking rather comfortable, which only made Angel's heart flutter.

"Valentino does not know about him, does he?" Asmodeus asked again, his smile still there, but his tone slightly more serious. "I mean, it's clear it's not one of his clients."

'He actually treats you like a human being and does not costantly lash on the money spent on you,' the demon would have added, but Angel's widened eyes already confirmed his suspicion, so there was no need to bring back bad memories.

Angel sighed, finally taking off his attention from Husk, a hand on his cheek, as his smile vanished completely. "I can't let Valentino know about him." He spoke, the anxiety and fear clear in his demeanour and in his words. "I don't know what he could do. So please, don't let him know anything, mh?" the spider asked.

Asmodeus knitted his brows in confusion, and if he didn't know it was just Angel's anxiety speaking, he would have actually got offended.

"Of course I ain't gonna do anything that dumb, sweetheart." The Sin shook his head, sighing. "But are you sure you don't want me to do something for Valentino?" Asmodeus leaned close to Angel, whispering to him.

The spider immediately shook his head, quick to react. "We've already talked about this, of course not!" he looked at him with a stubborn expression.

"You already do so much, always checking on me sending him those threats-"

"But if they don't fucking work!" Asmodeus found himself shouting louder, fists on the table, as the bar grew silent. The Sin's rage was soon replaced by embarassment, especially when his boyfriend came by his side.

"Hey, Ozzie, everything alright?" Fizzarolli asked, cupping his boyfriend's cheeks, as the bigger demon nodded.

Husk was quickly behind Angel as well, his hands on the spider's shoulders, drawing circles on his fur by using his fingers. "What were you talking about?" the cat demon asked, sensing there was something wrong.

At that, Angel and Asmodeus exchanged a look, before both of them laughed. "You got us waiting too long, you mean teases!" Asmodeus cheerfully said, pullying Fizzarolli close to him, taking the imp off guard as he also found himself chuckling.

"We were about to get impatient." Asmodeus kept going, as Fizzarolli rolled his eyes.

"Oh, please, we've left for five minutes." The clown tilted his head, before finding himself accepting a quick peck on his lips.

"Still too long." Asmodeus whispered in that soothing voice of his, making Fizzarolli sweeten his smile.

On the other hand, Husk didn't seem that convinced - Angel knew that by the way his boyfriend was trying to analyze him, as he'd usually do - but he let it slide, shrugging as he sat near Angel, whose eyes lightened up as the cat did so.

"Ya know, this guy is the coolest!" Fizzarolli said, pointing at Husk, before stopping his talking to take the new drinks the waiter brought them, sliding them to the others. "He said if I wanted he could teach me how to play poker." The imp happily said, as Angel returned the smile.

"I mean," Husk accepted Angel's hand as it found his paw, "It's pretty strange you never picked up on the rules while working for the Sin of Greed." Husk pointed out, making Fizzarolli exhale an exhasperated sigh.

"Please, do you think he'd ever let me do something fun while working for him? Hell, no, that bastard" The imp shook his head, looking down as he gripped the glass more tightly.

"Well, it's good you cut ties with him. And I'm glad I met you in person, you aren't as dumb or stuck-up as you appeared in public." Husk went on, looking annoyed as he received a light pat from Angel, who looked quite pissed.

"Did you fucking have to tell him that?" the spider whispered embarassed, before both Asmodeus and Fizzarolli found themselves laughing.

"No, no, it's alright, he's only speaking facts, doll. At least I'm glad you changed your mind on me, cause I kinda like you too, Husk!" Fizzarolli replied, shooting a knowing grin in Angel's direction, the spider rolling his eyes as he smiled at his friend.

"It's just- we didn't expect to see someone like you when Angel suggested to meet up." Asmodeus admitted, cracking a nervous chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck. "How can I say..." he started to gesture, as if to find the right words, before Fizzarolli chipped in with an unamused expression. "Yeah, he usually goes out with dickheads with a dick bigger than their brain, who give dick, but are also dicks, ya follow me?" the imp asked, as Angel narrowed his eyes at him.

"What? I was complimenting you! You certainly upgraded your standards!" Fizzarolli raised his hands defensively, as Husk's smirk only widened at the interaction.

"If Angel does not, I'll accept the compliment for him." The cat demon looked at his boyfriend, as Angel let go of his hand. "Oh, fuck off, as if I've ever wanted to date those idiots in the first place." He crossed his arms, as Fizzarolli commented something about him always having to be a fucking drama queen.

As Fizzarolli started to shame Angel's exes one by one and the spider kept bickering with him in return, Asmodeus interrupted the argument. "I genuinely hope you stay together for a long while" the Sin said, feeling warm as he looked at the nice picture that Angel and Husk made. "I love the way you two look at each other. It's...I'm sorry, I don't even know how to prhase it" Asmodeus added, sniffing as he was staring to feel a bit emotional.

The Sin of Lust saying such romantic things as if he was a school girl? Husk surely found it weird, but at this point, he knew better than to judge someone by their title.

And of course, this was just their first night out, more time had to pass before Asmodeus would tell Husk about how much of a failure he'd felt anytime he couldn't help with relieving Angel's pain, anytime the spider could only receive empty advice from him, anytime he couldn't save Angel from a new heartbreak...the same feel of shame when he couldn't do anything for his lover working for that bastard of Mammon.

Fizzarolli kissed Asmodeus' cheek as the Sin's lip started to quiver, as he was silently muttering swears. Angel took Asmodeus' hand, holding it alongside with Husk's, exchanging a brief, sweet look with him.

Angel sighed, leaning his head on Husk's shoulder, closing his eyes for a brief moment. He felt a kiss on his forehead, so he opened his eyes to see Husk looking down at him, while Fizzarolli was sweetalking Asmodeus at the other side of the table, trying to calm the big demon down.

"Does this mean I made a good first impression?" Husk whispered, his smile and his voice softening as he was holding who for him was the most precious being in the world. Alongside with these dorky, adorable new friends, of course.

Angel raised his head, smiling in return, nodding contently. "You did a great job, darling, thank you." He answered, kissing Husk's knuckles, a wicked smile forming on his face. "They seem to truly adore you." He addes, pointing to Asmodeus and Fizz, not taking his eyes away from Husk.

"So, you can already start thinking of your reward, baby~" the spider whispered, as Husk playfully rolled his eyes, shaking his head, giving another kiss to Angel's forehead. His boyfriend was really something else, but since Husk was a mess as well, he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll take the offer once we are back to the Hotel, alright?" Husk smiled, taking Angel's chin, gently holding it.

"Ya know, I can come up with some suggestions for ya! Bet you still don't know how many kinks-"

"Fizz, fucking no!"

[meroniaevent]

Day 2 (Мерониа) - 「femMeronia part 2」

Part 1 can be found here: 「 femMeronia part 1」

Author (Twitter user): @/vechnovmusike (Shared with permission) Prompt: Heaven, Language

Legend says it, the wish will be granted when you least expect it. For some reason, lying in the private luxurious room in hospital after surviving fire and avoiding heart attack by miracle, Mello thinks about it.

She was lucky that Takada Kiyomi couldn't write her name right. Heavens know what would happen if she managed to do that, probably, Mello would die. She didn't want to: dying without seeing Kira disarmed and defeated wasn't in her plans. She knew that it might happen but she is grateful that it didn't. Matt, she is sure, thinks the same. He lies in another private hospital room recovering after twenty four bullets went through him. Well, technically, only seven or so: Near insisted on bulletproof vest under Matt's clothes.

Near's mind and money are saving them once again and Mello doesn't like the slight, warm gratitude that she feels thinking about her rival. Nothing to be ashamed of, after all, they both knew that without collaboration they wouldn't excel. Be bigger than L.

Still, old habits die slow — Mello could do better. She doesn't want Near to be her personal guardian angel as if she was not capable of doing all of this herself. Near saved her life by taking action, Mello doesn't want to owe her any favours. Still, she owes.

"What are you going to do now?" Near asks looking at the opened door of the warehouse. She never looks at Mello when speaking and Keehl doesn't know why. Now it's clear, she has an ugly scar halfway down her face, but at Wammy House Near never looked at her as well.

Somehow Mello still wants her to look, watch with those grey eyes that seem apathetic and almost dead but hide so much more under the iris that it feels like an ancient puzzle worth to solve. Mello never gets a chance to solve it. "I don't know", honest answer.

"Neither do I", sudden respond with the same level of honesty. After succeeding as L's successors and defeating Kira, what should they do? Solve cases, like L did? It doesn't feel so grand after what they've done, what they've sacrificed for achieving the Main Goal.

Mysterious and creepy fairy asked for less in exchange for a life-changing wish than Wammy's system required from them for the dream that was programmed into their heads with with fierce persistence. "But I would like to have you in my team."

Mello catches a quick glance from Near and curses herself for feeling happy about it, for her heart skipping a beat. "I think we could do a lot together. The possibility of it is thirty-nine percent." Mello rolls her eyes: Near's habit to measure everything in percent never fails to annoy her. Why being so automatic and so cold?

Because it's Near's love language, Mello suddenly realises, finally cracking the part of the code presented in front of her in human form. Wammy House taught them analytics, statistics, critical thinking, they had to teach emotions and relationships themselves. Near was never good in this, though yet had an inexplicable charisma that lent itself to people she didn't need to be close to: the SPK, the FBI, and the rest. What to do with friendship, L's first successor never learned.

"Sounds okay to me". Exhausted after years of fighting and achieving something, Mello surrenders easily not wanting to continue the battle forced upon them by ambitious greedy spiders, known as Roger and Watari. Well, maybe only Roger, she didn't know much about Watari anyway.

Near raises her hand, apparently wanting to start fidgeting with her hair like she always does, but changes the direction and changes trajectory and instead touches Mello's hand with her fingertips, the very middle of her palm. The touch is light and... shy?

Near wants to feel somebody next to her, Mello realises once again and gently squishes thin fingers. Near could be a fairy with such graceful hands. A fairy said "some luck and no burden to carry one your shoulders". Did she mean all of that?

Being alive, survive, standing next to Near who finally doesn't feel like a machine in human's skin but a human being on her own, with feeling and the same inner void as Mello's? Understanding her? "You know, I asked for a wish." Near nods without a doubt. "Was it granted?" "I don't know. But I feel like it was." After all, the languages they speak are the same: hints, innuendos, and riddles. Only now they understand each other pretty well. THE END.

[lavenlady]

Hehehe, angst coming right after fluff~ Here you go! Enjoy!

✩ Before The Fall ✩ | Flame Nova x Blue Cop

Blue Cop was a slowly rising star among the ranks. His passion, determination and workaholic nature helped him reach such title. Though the memories that stuck to him the best were meetings with Flame Nova. He was his superior and many Star Guardians looked up to him, just like himself.

Little by little both Cardbots grew closer, spending more and more time together outside of missions. Soon those talks became personal - how had he been recently, what plans did he have after and so on. He grew to depend on his boss, always asking his insight on things he struggled with and the other happily provided the desired answer.

Recently there have been sightings of arrogant Star Guardians taking their anger on smaller ones. Blue Cop didn't get lucky with that regard, leading him to be picked up relentlessly. He of course was strong and wouldn't crack under pressure, but everyone has their limits and one day they stepped over.

The police car showed them why he was considered one of the best, though he didn't go unscratched. He later visited the local medic to fix him up for the upcoming mission. The damage wasn't too big, but could hinder the outcome of the task, which lead to Flame Nova visiting the Star Guardian.

The metal doors opened softly, heavy steps followed close behind as the bigger Cardbot entered the med-bay. His optics scanned the interior and landed on the now resting Blue Cop, his armor polished to perfection yet some damages weren't still repaired. The police car looked restless, probably thinking of his actions that probably will make the mission unsuccessful. He was immediately alert when Flame Nova rested his servo on his shoulder plates.

" Blue Cop, you will be replaced for the task. You now need rest. " The Star Guardian's optics widened, he grasped the other's servo like his entire life depended on it.

" But Flame Nova Sir!- " The police car's superior shook his helm, successfully silencing him. The bigger Cardbot placed softly a servo on his back plating. His touch was gentle and warm, which made Blue Cop lean in.

" Please, I cannot stand the thought of seeing you hurt yourself more. My day gets better when I see you doing well - not when destroying yourself further. " The Star Guardian sheepishly looked away, his face-plates flushed thanks to his superior's sincere words.

" But I- " " Do it just this once, next time we can go together. " Flame Nova carefully grasped the other's servos, holding them close to his chassis in hope the police car would give in. After a few seconds Blue Cop nodded and agreed to follow his superior's instructions.

" Only us? " The Star Guardian asked in evident delight.

" Yes, just you and me. Now rest, you will need it. " With that Flame Nova left the police car alone to his thoughts. How cool it would be to go on a mission with the Cardbot he looked up to. He couldn't wait to do so.

Yet the promised time never came. The next time he heard about the bigger Cardbot was that he was a traitor to Deus Machina. He couldn't believe it. His core shattered that day. The one he looked up to, who he wanted to follow was against them and now is being punished for his crime.

Soon after Machina was annihilated, he had to flee and Flame Nova was probably obliterated by the explosion. Bitter sweet memories in his processor played over and over again. Now he couldn't think about it, he had new friends, a new master and new adventures, though nothing was the same as before. Not anymore as a reminder stayed - a promise of time together that never came.

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( Hope you liked it! )

(Master list)

[homeboygirl]

pleeease keep talking about toys...i think this is interesting and smth i've never thought too hard about but it makes sense and i like to hear your opinions on modern toys

(ask pertaining to this post)

holy shit okay !! i would love to ramble on so, i shall!

okay im no expert on toy sales history, this is all just observation from my life experiences and i'll try to keep each part i want to go over relatively short!

that being said lets start with a small one that i've personally noticed as a canadian: Kinder egg toys! i remember when they used to come with like 4-8+ pieces, and you needed the included step by step manual to assemble them. they would often come with sticker sheets to decorate them with, and they would often be articulated or be set on wheels or have some sort of fun or movement or general functionality to them:

dont those look awesome? wrapped in 2 kinds of chocolate, and for only like 2$! i remember they would come in all shapes and sizes, all sorts of animals and vehicles and sometimes freaky little abominations, as you can see above, and sometimes even puzzles! they were such a special treat as a kid.

but kinder eggs now? come with a maximum of like 3 pieces that just snap together (usually the front and back of the toy, and then the platform they stand on). and thats all they mostly are now, stiff toys that stand on platforms wahhooooo yippeee

idk just look at the quality difference from the old ones above compared to some of the new ones:

like..... these are..... nothing! literally nothing. just a figure snapped to a pole/platform and thats it! not very interesting for more than 3 minutes max.

now i know what you're thinking: "not ALL of the old kinder toys had to have been bangers" and you'd be right, some were lame as hell, but even the lame ones from before look more intricate than the ones we have now, like can you see what i mean, just detail-wise?

it just feels so cheap and shitty, i could go on and on but more is explained later. point is, it sucks.

anyway that's a very small example and we can move onto bigger and better ones, and maybe even one that everyone else might have noticed by now; McDonald's toys! remember when they were actually toys?

and not just stiff figurines?

(the minions franchise was like CRACK for companies who love making profit off of nothing but stiff rounded plastic. probably the cheapest form of "toy" i can think of)

and yeah, again, its not like there werent figurines back in the day too, there's ALWAYS been lame as hell mcdonalds toys, but looking among many modern mcdonalds toys, you dont see anything as cool as the old ones. literally every major modern movie/franchise right now is nothing but figurines. the most recent actually interactive mcd's toy ive seen is when they collabed with hasbro games

again, companies just seem to be pumping out quantities over quality.

but why?

well, for starters toys are becoming cheaper (both in price and quality) because prices have sky rocketed and stores are forced to only stock cheaper things, therefore the cheap things sell the most, and then more of them get made, and statistics get fucked, etc etc the cycle repeats.

but toy companies know one thing, and that's that things that are "cuter" always sell more. "cuter" being used with vitriol because their idea of 'cute' is 'more glitter and sparkles and rainbow colours and obnoxiousness' oh, and dont forget the huge soulless bug eyes on all of them!

i know that people love these things, but theyre so..... uncanny. their stare is piercing, their stance is so stiff, i always felt bad actually playing with the only one of these i had growing up, and not just because it freaked me out, it just genuinely didnt feel good to play with.

and i knoowwwww people are obsessed with these things, but come on, you have to admit theyre SO unoriginal! theyre just cookie cutter shapes!

these things are horrifying and, at best, belong on a shelf.

these "beany boos" are so woobified and almost feel like a flanderized version of a stuffed animal, and they've completely taken over "beanie babies", which were wonderful soft little things that actually had movement and weren't stiff to cuddle! I also feel like they're almost trying to copy what webkinz was, in a way, as some of those were stiff too (but still loveable and not burdened with an uncanny, vacant stare)

anyway this is getting insanely long and im sorry but i feel like im going insane every time i see new toys nowadays. the like.... "cuteification" of everything is driving me insane, and the fact that they are simply just lower quality than what we used to get, because of prices rising and causing easy-to-make things to become more and more popular.

examples to further prove these points:

extreme woobifying or "cuteification" by almost completely removing all horse anatomy in favour of thin limbs, heavy makeup eyes that are now on the front of her face, and modern influencer eyebrows. on a horse.

and the extreme-simplifying of toys can be seen quite well on those mini polly pocket sets!! see this one here?

almost allllll of those little plastic things could be rotated or rearranged or moved or fucked with in some manner, it was awesome. i loved these miniature houses they always came with so much shit. wanna guess what the newer ones look like?

you guessed it, like shit!!

man even beyblades used to come with like, all sorts of different pieces both metal and plastic alike, and you had to assemble them yourself and you could interchange pieces to obtain a different weight which would affect your attacks against other beyblades, etc etc:

and looking at them now? they seem to be mostly made of- yep, you guessed it, hard cheap plastic.

anyway holy shit i literally reached the 30 image limit on a single post tumblr really said thats ENOUGH !! i cant believe i just spent that long talking about the worlds most pointless thing but at any rate i hope you enjoyed it and i hope you see my vision. because like i said im not insanely knowledgeable on any of this in particular, but its hard not to notice the decline in quality of all of todays modern toys.

[nicolettesdreamworld]

Guilty as sin - chapter 37

Nicolette found herself standing at Tyler’s front door again, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t expected to be here so soon after the last time, but Hayley’s text had changed everything.

"Look, I know you hate me right now. And I know Tyler’s the last person you want to help. But Klaus has to believe Tyler and I are in love. If we don’t convince him, the hybrids will never be free."

The idea of helping Hayley and Tyler made her stomach churn, but how could she live with herself if she let her pain keep Klaus’s hybrids enslaved? No matter how much it hurt, she couldn’t let innocent lives pay the price for her heartbreak.

Clutching the box of Tyler’s things in her arms, Nicolette knocked on the door. Her hand trembled slightly as she waited, the weight of what she was about to do pressing down on her chest.

The door swung open, and there he was—Tyler. His face shifted from confusion to something softer, something guilt-ridden. His eyes fell to the box, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle for words.

"Nicolette," he murmured, his voice low.

"I brought your stuff," she said, shoving the box into his arms. Her tone was clipped, her voice just sharp enough to carry through the room. "And the necklace you gave me for my birthday. I don’t want it anymore."

"Nic, wait—" Tyler started, his voice breaking slightly. "Can we just talk about this? Please?"

"Just leave me alone, Tyler," she snapped, her voice cracking at the edges.

She could feel her heart pounding as Klaus’s voice interrupted the moment.

"Nicolette."

She turned, her eyes meeting his piercing gaze. Klaus stood just a few feet away, his usual confidence tempered with something softer, something almost curious.

For a moment, he studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. The touch was warm, almost comforting, and it left her momentarily disarmed.

He glanced at Chris, one of his loyal hybrids, standing near the doorway. "Come along, Chris. Let’s give them some privacy. Your talents are needed somewhere else anyway."

"For what?" Tyler asked sharply, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Nicolette rolled her eyes, her anger flaring again. Even now, when he thought she was breaking up with him, Tyler couldn’t help but shift his focus back to Klaus.

Klaus let out a low, humorless chuckle. He turned back to Nicolette briefly, his gaze flickering with something close to admiration.

"You’ve got bigger problems to worry about, mate," he said, addressing Tyler with a faint smirk. "Sort things out with your girl."

Without another word, Klaus turned and walked out, Chris trailing behind him. The sound of the door closing was like a punctuation mark, leaving the room tense and silent.

Nicolette didn’t move, not until she heard the faint hum of Klaus’s car engine fading into the distance. Finally, she exhaled, the weight on her chest easing just slightly.

"Well, that was dramatic," Hayley said, her voice low.

"Had to make it convincing," Nicolette snapped, turning to Tyler. His expression was a mix of hurt and confusion, the box of his belongings still clutched tightly in his arms. She couldn’t decide if she felt vindicated or just hollow. Probably a little of both.

"You could have warned me about this plan, you know," Tyler muttered, his jaw tightening. "Instead of blindsiding me like that."

"Oh, you mean like you blindsided me with Hayley staying here?" Nicolette shot back, folding her arms. "And lying to me for weeks? Yeah, no thanks."

"Okay, can we skip the rehashing of who did what?" Hayley interjected, stepping between them. "We don’t have time for this. Klaus bought the performance, but we need to follow through if we’re going to keep him off Tyler’s back and help the other hybrids."

Tyler exhaled sharply, setting the box down by the door and running a hand through his hair. "I still don’t like this. You shouldn’t have to do this, Nic. It’s not fair to you."

"You're right," Nicolette said, her voice flat. "It’s not fair. None of this is. But I’m not doing it for you, Tyler. I’m doing it for those hybrids who deserve a chance at freedom." She paused, leveling him with a hard stare. "And when this is all over, you and I are going to have a very real conversation about where we stand. If we stand anywhere at all."

Tyler opened his mouth to respond, but Hayley cut him off. "Save the relationship drama for later, you two. Right now, we need to make sure Klaus doesn’t start suspecting anything. That means you," she pointed at Nicolette, "need to stay angry. Avoid him for a bit if you can. If Klaus thinks you’re done with Tyler, it’ll give us more time to work."

Nicolette clenched her jaw but nodded. "Fine," she said. Then, with a sharp glance at Tyler, she added, "But don’t think for one second that this means I’m letting you off the hook for what you did. If we get through this, we’re going to talk."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and headed for the door. Just as she reached for the handle, Tyler’s voice stopped her.

"Nicolette," he said softly, his tone almost pleading. "Thank you."

She froze for a moment, her hand resting on the doorknob, before glancing over her shoulder. "Don’t thank me, Tyler," she said. "Just... make it worth it."

And with that, she walked out, closing the door firmly behind her. Her heart ached, her mind racing, but she forced herself to stay focused. There was too much at stake to let her emotions get the better of her now.

Nicolette’s phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen—Damon. With a sigh, she swiped to answer, doing her best to sound casual.

“Hey, what’s up?” she said, her voice trying to mask the turmoil brewing inside her.

“Yeah, so… Elena might be losing her mind,” Damon said, his voice sharp and laced with concern.

Nicolette pinched the bridge of her nose. “She hasn’t exactly been handling the transition well, but what else is new?” she replied, her tone tinged with exhaustion. She felt bad for Elena, she really did, but she barely had the emotional bandwidth to deal with herself, let alone someone else.

“Well, things just hit a new low,” Damon said, his voice darkening. “She stabbed Jeremy last night.”

“What?” Nicolette’s stomach dropped.

“After the whole killing Connor fiasco, she’s spiraling. I don’t know, Nic, she’s not herself. She’s not Elena. I need you to come to her house.”

Her breath caught as she processed his words. “Wait—Jeremy. Is he okay?”

“Oh, peachy,” Damon replied with a bitter edge. “Stab wound and all. He’ll live, for now. But I’m not so sure about Elena if she keeps this up. Are you coming or what?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said quickly, her voice tight with urgency. She ended the call, stuffed her phone back into her pocket, and grabbed her car keys.

The drive to the Gilbert house felt like an eternity, her thoughts racing faster than the car. Jeremy stabbed. Elena spiraling.

As Nicolette stepped out of the car, the air felt thicker, a sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't alone. To her surprise, she spotted Klaus standing near the front steps of the Gilbert house, looking more composed than he had any right to be.

She approached him, frustration already bubbling beneath her skin. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, her tone sharp, not in the mood for his usual cryptic nonsense.

Klaus met her gaze with an air of calm that only made her more irritated. "I'm here for Elena," he said, his voice smooth but laced with something darker. "She's a danger to herself. I can't have that."

Nicolette narrowed her eyes, skepticism creeping into her voice. "How do you know that?"

He gave a small shrug, his expression unreadable. "I killed a few hunters once," Klaus said with casual menace, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he let the implication hang in the air. "Trust me, the only reason I am still here is because I'm as immortal as it gets. If I don't take Elena with me, she'll kill herself before the day is out."

She stared at him, her heart sinking as the weight of his words hit her. But there was something unsettling about Klaus's concern. Something in his tone that made her question his true intentions.

Then he softened his gaze just a fraction. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, his voice almost tender.

Nicolette’s heart skipped a beat, her walls immediately going up. "Don't," she said sharply, shaking her head to stop him before he could push any further. "Please."

Nicolette felt a heavy silence fall between them as she processed his words. Klaus's suggestion lingered in the air, something in his voice softer than usual, a rare vulnerability breaking through. "Maybe when all of this is over, we could get away for a few days," he said, his gaze locking with hers. "Maybe to Italy, I have a feeling you'd love Italy. Or even to New Orleans. Last time we were there together, we had fun."

The memories flashed in her mind, the last time they'd been in New Orleans when he was pretending to be Alaric, and the twisted mix of emotions that had come with it. She felt a pang of pain deep in her chest. "Not now, Klaus," she muttered, shaking her head. She couldn’t go back to that time, not now.

He sighed, a deep, almost regretful sound. "For all it's worth, I'm sorry he hurt you," Klaus said, his voice softer, more genuine than she had expected. His apology—granted, rare from someone like him—struck her in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Her heart still in turmoil, she met his gaze squarely. "You said when all of this is over," she said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "But it won't ever really be over, Niklaus."

The use of his full name made his breath catch. Niklaus. No one had called him that in centuries. At least not the people who weren't related to him in any way. Most people either feared him, or respected the name Klaus, but to hear it from her—like that—shifted something inside of him. A subtle but undeniable ache. It was the way she said it. Her voice laced with something he couldn't name. She wasn’t afraid.

Nicolette didn’t see the way his eyes softened, the way a flicker of something dangerous yet alluring burned in them, drawn to her despite the tension. Klaus swallowed hard, though his expression remained unreadable. For a fleeting moment, he wanted her to say it again. He wanted to hear her say his name like that every day.

And he didn’t know why.

Klaus barely had a moment to linger on Nicolette's use of his full name before the door to the Gilbert house creaked open, revealing Stefan and Damon. They stepped outside, shutting the door firmly behind them.

"You know," Klaus began, his tone dripping with false politeness, "this would all be much more civilised if someone would just invite me inside."

"Just tell us what you know," Stefan cut him off, his tone impatient.

Klaus smirked, pleased by their urgency. "I killed the original five hunters, remember?" he said, his eyes glinting with dark amusement.

Nicolette's head snapped toward him, her thoughts racing. The five… that’s what it meant.

"And when one kills a hunter," Klaus continued, his tone turning serious, "there is a bit of a consequence."

"What kind of consequence?" Damon asked, crossing his arms.

Klaus's expression darkened. "Hunters were spelled by witches to kill vampires. If you prevent one from fulfilling his destiny, he will take you down with him."

"But… Connor’s dead," Nicolette interjected, her voice unsteady.

"And that won’t stop him from making Elena his last vampire kill," Klaus said firmly, his gaze shifting briefly to Nicolette before addressing the brothers. "She’ll need to come with me now. I’ll lock her up, keep her away from any sharp wooden objects until this passes."

"She’s not going anywhere with you," Stefan said, his jaw clenched.

"Stefan," Nicolette sighed, stepping closer to him, "it’s as good a plan as any. Klaus went through this. He knows what to do."

Damon, never one to miss an opportunity for a jab, scoffed. "Hey, blondie, just because you and Klaus have this weird Jason and Veronica thing going on doesn’t mean we trust him."

Nicolette shot him a glare. "Then I’ll go with them," she said, her tone resolute. "I’ll keep an eye on him. But Elena isn’t safe here."

Before anyone could respond, the front door burst open, and Elena came sprinting out.

"Elena!" Stefan shouted, but it was too late.

In the blink of an eye, Klaus had grabbed her, and they were both gone, leaving nothing but a gust of wind in their wake.

"Well, that’s just great," Damon muttered, throwing his hands in the air. "Fantastic plan, everyone."

Nicolette stared at the empty space where Klaus and Elena had stood, her stomach twisting. She didn’t trust Klaus completely, but right now, he was the only one who seemed to have a way to stop Elena from spiraling any further.

Next chapter

[karlachgale95]

Sailor Soldiers of the Multiverse: Prologue

              Chaos destroyed everything. Eternal Sailor Moon struggled to stand as the remnants of her friends’ sailor crystals drifted through the eerie breeze. Chaos herself had become more than just a humanoid being. Her entire presence stamped the sky above and stretched into the vastness of space. The red energy crackled and tore through the clouds and stars. Sailor Moon was all alone and unable to call upon the Galaxy Cauldron to save anyone. How she had done it before, she wasn’t sure. Every universe had been tinged and singed by Chaos’s life-draining touch; Sailor Moon was sure she was the only thing living now.

              And there was nothing she could do to change that.

              “Hello? Is anyone still here?”

              That lone voice—it should have been impossible. Chaos had murdered everyone else. Surely no one else had survived her last onslaught.

              “I’m burning up the last of this timeline’s Huon energy just to talk to you, Queen Serenity. Saturn’s light is dead, but I can give this world a…gentle reboot, but I need you to help me.”

              There was a bright golden flash as a person in a red and gold body suit extending a little past the knees and stopping at the shoulders at the top of their body. They had a translucent red cloth that was wrapped around their waist and a golden pocket watch affixed to the center of their outfit. The top half of the outfit was red while the bottom half was maroon red.

              “Who are you?” Sailor Moon asked.

              “I’m a sailor soldier from a frozen place in time. I’ve come to unlock the possibility of more soldiers fighting by your side.”

              “You’re another sailor soldier?” Eternal Sailor Moon asked, her anger rising. “Where were you earlier? When everything fell?”

              The soldier gave her a sad smile. “I was sealed away until the final few moments were upon us. Now, we both have the chance to be reborn.”

              “But I wanted to continue living with my friends,” Sailor Moon argued. “Our life was perfect before this!”

              “What if it could be even better?” the soldier countered. “The influence of sailor soldiers could be spread so far we’ll never encounter this problem again! We could end Chaos’s cruelty once and for all! We’ll revive your friends and others who could help us! We can all have a new chance at a good life!”

              Sailor Moon gave them an incredulous look. “Why should I trust you?”

              “If have no reason to betray you,” the soldier said. “You’re my one shot to exist—really exist.”

              They turned away from Usagi. “I’ve lived several lifetimes, finding the person I love, finding people I love, and they always end up meeting a tragic fate. I tried to rewrite everything, but…I wound up frozen. I can’t do it alone. But I can help you.”

              “You’re not going to become some even bigger problem for us to deal with, are you?”

              The guardian shook their head and summoned a golden staff with several glowing spirals ensnaring a golden light inside a clear orb. It was almost like Pluto’s garnet rod but glowing with life. They placed the rod in front of Sailor Moon and bent the knee. “I swear, if we get this right, if we are able to be reborn and save everyone, I will be your most loyal servant.”

              There was a loud boom as the cracks in the sky began to split the world in half. The ironically golden sailor senshi stood up, grabbed the staff and cast an orb around themselves and Sailor Moon.

              “Please, we don’t have much time!”

              “What if it just ends up this way no matter what we do?” Usagi’s voice trembled.

              It was the first time in centuries that she reminded herself of who she used to be: Crybaby Usagi. Foolish Usagi.

              The soldier gave her a smile. “You are the strongest of us. Together we can reset everything. Together we can make sure it doesn’t go this way.”

              Usagi was quiet for a moment before she nodded. “What do I need to do?”

              “Use your sailor crystal. I’ll feed it the last of the Huon energy I’ve harvested. It might get weird in the next attempt, but we should still win!”

              Usagi sighed and summoned the silver crystal. There wasn’t much choice.

              “Are you ready?” the soldier began. Usagi shook her head, tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. “It’s okay to be scared. Everything is ending. But it can begin again. And I want you to focus on that. Focus on those people you love, focus on seeing them again. Focus on how much of a better future we’re going to build!”

[starstwinkleplanetsshine]

Daughter of the Sea

Chapter Twenty-Five: I Get a Sneak Peak at my Brother's Death

(Read on AO3 here)

By the time I had jogged all the way back to the Big House, I was the last counselor to join the war council. Technically I shouldn't have even been there, since only senior counselors sat in on council meetings, but I had started going whenever Percy was away and just never stopped, even when he was back. No one said anything about it and Chiron never told me to leave, so I stayed. 

I would never say it out loud, but I always wondered if people let it slide because no one was sure how much longer Percy would be able to be there, and when he was gone, I would be the only one left. 

I was jolted out of my dark thoughts the second I opened the door to the rec-room and the sound of shouting blasted my ears. 

“IF YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT LOOKING AT IT, I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD, CLARISSE!” 

“YEAH RIGHT, MICHAEL, AS IF YOU COULD EVEN REACH MY HEAD!” 

I rolled my eyes and inched along the wall, taking my seat next to Cadence Hayes and squeezing her knee. I hadn’t seen her in a while, and even with all the horribleness going on, the sight of my best friend made me smile. She managed a weak one back, looking tired and annoyed as she watched the shouting match. I sighed and didn't even bother to whisper as I spoke to her, 

“The chariot? Again?” 

Cady nodded. “Isn’t it always?” Even though she was in the Apollo cabin, she told me she thought the feud with the Ares cabin was dumb. And I agreed. It was. 

“You would think they could let it go by now. I mean, it's not like we have bigger things to worry about than a stupid argument.” I was talking loud enough for the whole room to hear, and I saw Travis Stoll crack a smile. Clarisse’s head whipped to me. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand anything about battlefield honor, Jackson. This is more than just an argument. It’s about pride.” 

A year ago, the daughter of Ares’ glare would’ve stopped me dead in my tracks and made my blood run cold. But now, after facing more monsters than I could count and seeing real horrors, the sight just made me angry. Especially her bringing up the battle a year ago, when I was so new and barely knew how to fight and was stuck wounded in the forest. But I had grown since then, and proven myself, and I was not going to let anyone talk to me that way. 

“You two are being ridiculous! Don’t you see we have bigger problems than a stolen chariot?” 

“It’s not stolen!” Michael screamed, slamming his bow on the table. 

“Yes it is!” 

“It’s our loot! If you don’t like it, you can kiss my quiver!” Michaels’ ferret face looked funny trying to be so serious. 

“Enough!” I stood up and yelled, and at the same time the coca-cola can in front of Clarisse exploded, shooting the soda spray everywhere, but mostly on her. I hadn’t meant to turn it into a geyser, but I wasn’t mad about it, either. 

“That’s IT, Jackson!” Clarisse lunged across the table, but I backed up and positioned myself behind a chair. Around the table, people were trying not to laugh—the Stoll brothers, Pollux from the Dionysus cabin, Katie Gardner. Even Jake Mason, the hastily appointed new counselor from Hephaestus, managed a faint smile. Only Cady didn’t look amused, and she was on her feet and by my side quickly, saying things to try and calm both of us down. I wasn’t listening to her, though, and neither was Clarisse. All the laughter only seemed to make Calrisse even more upset, and I got ready to explode the can in front of Connor, which would’ve gone right up the daughter of Ares’ nose, when someone yelled from the doorway. 

"STOP IT!" the voice shouted. Everyone froze, including me and Clarisse, and turned to look at the only person who could’ve stopped the room like that. "What are you guys doing?"

I couldn’t meet my brother’s gaze.

Clarisse glowered at Percy. "Tell Michael not to be a selfish jerk. And tell your sister to control herself and not get involved where she's not wanted." Her last words stung more than the tip of her electric spear, which I had felt more than once during Capture the Flag. 

"Oh, that's perfect, coming from you," Michael said.

"The only reason I'm here is to support Silena!" Clarisse shouted. "Otherwise I'd be back in my cabin."

It was at that moment that I noticed the daughter of Aphrodite in the room, her eyes puffy and tear marks streaking her cheeks. I hadn’t even seen her before, she seemed so small curled into herself, with her knees at her chest. Silena was usually someone no one could ignore, she radiated power and beauty and kindness, it was as if you couldn’t help but watch her. But now she seemed a hollow shadow of herself, and the glow of her skin that was usually ever-present had turned gray. She was staring vacantly at the ping-pong net, an untouched cup of hot chocolate in front of her, and I couldn't believe she had to be there. Or maybe she wanted to be here, just so that she wasn’t alone. 

"What are you talking about?" Percy demanded. He had missed a lot that summer. 

Pollux cleared his throat. "Clarisse has refused to speak to any of us, until her, um, issue is resolved. She hasn't spoken for three days."

"It's been wonderful," Travis Stoll said wistfully.

"What issue?" Percy asked.

Clarisse turned to Chiron. "You're in charge, right? Does my cabin get what we want or not?"

Chiron shuffled his hooves. "My dear, as I've already explained, Michael is correct. Apollo's cabin has the best claim. Besides, we have more important matters—"

"Sure," Clarisse snapped. "Always more important matters than what Ares needs. We're just supposed to show up and fight when you need us, and not complain!"

"That would be nice," Connor Stoll muttered.

Clarisse gripped her knife. "Maybe I should ask Mr. D—"

"As you know," Chiron interrupted, his tone slightly angry now, "our director is busy with the war. He can't be bothered with this."

"I see," Clarisse said. "And the senior counselors? Are any of you going to side with me?"

Nobody was smiling now. None of them met Clarisse's eyes. I stared at the bubbling mess of coke on the table and felt a pang of embarrassment. 

"Fine." Clarisse turned to Silena. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get into this when you've just lost . . .Anyway, I apologize. To you. Nobody else."

Silena didn't seem to register her words.

Clarisse threw her knife on the Ping-Pong table. "All of you can fight this war without Ares. Until I get satisfaction, no one in my cabin is lifting a finger to help. Have fun dying."

Her words hung heavy in the still, silent air, and all the counselors were too stunned to say anything as Clarisse stormed out of the room.

Finally Michael Yew piped up, "Good riddance."

"Are you kidding?" Katie Gardner protested. "This is a disaster!"

"She can't be serious," Travis said. "Can she?"

“Can someone get a towel?” Pollux cried. The soda was slowly making its way towards the son of Dionysus, and I rushed off to the corner where we kept cleaning supplies and began to soak up my mess. 

Chiron sighed. "Her pride has been wounded. She'll calm down eventually." But he didn't sound convinced. I watched Percy give Annabeth a questioning look, to which the blond girl just shook her head. I wished Percy hadn’t been gone so much this summer—maybe we all wouldn't have felt so hopeless about the fight ahead. 

I was about to apologize for exploding the coke can when Chrion spoke again. 

"Now," he continued, "if you please, counselors. Percy has brought something I think you should hear. Percy—the Great Prophecy."

It was like the air was sucked out of the room in an instant as some counselors gasped and other’s jaw’s flew open. We had been hearing about the prophecy for so long, years for most of them, and although they had an idea of what it said, very few knew all of it word for word. 

The mood darkened as Annabeth slipped Percy an old, dry, rolled-up piece of parchment. 

He took a shaky breath—I couldn’t believe how calm he looked—and began to read: 

"A half-blood of the eldest dogs . . ."

"Er, Percy?" Annabeth interrupted. "That's gods. Not dogs."

No one laughed. No one even moved, which was a showing of how serious the situation was. Even though pretty much every demigod had dyslexia, and I knew Percy’s was way worse than mine, we never hesitated to tease each other about it. 

“Well why don’t you do this?!” Percy shouted, clearly stressed. 

“No, no…you can do it. Go on.” Annabeth gave him a weak smile, and that seemed to steady him. 

“Okay.” He looked down at the paper for almost a full minute and then kept reading. "A half~blood of the eldest gods . . . shall reach sixteen against all odds . . ."

Percy hesitated, staring at the next lines. A cold feeling crept up my spine, as if the room was freezing. 

"And see the world in endless sleep,

The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap."

Was that it? What could it mean…a cursed blade? And endless sleep, was that death? Could the whole world really end in a few days? 

"Percy," Chiron urged. "Read the rest."

Percy’s eyes flicked up to mine, and I gave him a single nod. They returned to the paper. 

"A single choice shall. . . shall end his days.

Olympus to per—pursue—"

"Preserve," Annabeth said gently. "It means to save."

"I know what it means," Percy grumbled. His hands were shaking. "Olympus to preserve or raze."

The room was silent. There was a pit in my stomach the size of the Grand Canyon, and I felt like all the air had been kicked out of my lungs. I willed the tears out of my eyes, but they came anyway. 

A final choice shall end his days? His days? 

Any hope I had of being the child of prophecy and saving Percy from his fate felt like a distant dream, and a hopelessness crept into my chest. 

Finally Connor Stoll said, "Raise is good, isn't it?"

"Not raise," Silena said. Her voice was hollow, but I was startled to hear her speak at all. "R-a-z-e means destroy."

"Obliterate," Annabeth said. "Annihilate. Turn to rubble."

"Got it." Percy spoke, his voice low. My heart felt like lead. "Thanks."

Everyone was looking at Percy with pity, concern, or even fear, but I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. I looked instead to Chiron, who closed his eyes as if in prayer. 

"You see now, Percy, why we thought it best not to tell you the whole prophecy.” He spoke, his voice burdened. “You've had enough on your shoulders—"

"Without realizing I was going to die in the end anyway?" Percy interrupted. I felt like someone stabbed me in the heart. "Yeah, I get it."

Chiron gazed at him sadly. I remembered how old he was, and thought about how many heroes he had seen come and go, live and die. 

"Percy," Annabeth said. "You know prophecies always have double meanings. It might not literally mean you die."

"Sure," he said dryly. "A single choice shall end his days. That has tons of meanings, right?" I fought back a sob, but the tears started rushing down my cheeks anyway. 

"Maybe we can stop it," I was hardly aware that I had spoken out loud until I saw all eyes on me. "The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. Maybe we could find this cursed blade and…and destroy it. Sounds like Kronos's scythe, right?" Even I wasn't convinced, but I had to try. 

"Perhaps we should let Percy think about these lines," Chiron said. "He needs time—"

"No." He folded up the prophecy and shoved it into his pocket. He looked defiant and angry, and I didn’t blame him. "I don't need time. If I die, I die. I can't worry about that, right?"

Annabeth’s hands were shaking. Another tear rolled its way down my cheek. “Percy—” 

"Let's move on," My brother interrupted me. "We've got other problems. We've got a spy."

Michael Yew scowled. "A spy?"

He told them about what had happened on the Princess Andromeda, and how it had confirmed our worst fears, and how Kronos had shown Percy a silver scythe pendant he’d used to communicate with someone at camp. 

Silena started to cry again, and Annabeth put an arm around her shoulders.

"Well," Connor Stoll said uncomfortably, "we've suspected there might be a spy for years, right? Somebody kept passing information to Luke—like the location of the Golden Fleece a couple of years ago. It must be somebody who knew him well."

Maybe subconsciously, he glanced at Annabeth. She'd known Luke better than anyone, of course, but Connor looked away quickly. "Um, I mean, it could be anybody."

"Yes." Katie Gardner frowned at the Stoll brothers. She'd disliked them ever since they'd decorated the grass roof of the Demeter cabin with chocolate Easter bunnies. "Like one of Luke's siblings."

Travis and Connor both started arguing with her.

"Stop!" Silena banged the table so hard her hot chocolate spilled. "Charlie's dead and . . . and you're all arguing like little kids!" She put her head down and began to sob.

Hot chocolate and coke trickled off the Ping-Pong table. Everybody looked ashamed.

"She's right," Pollux said at last, the words of someone who was no stranger to grief. "Accusing each other doesn't help. We need to keep our eyes open for a silver necklace with a scythe charm. If Kronos had one, the spy probably does too."

Michael Yew grunted. "We need to find this spy before we plan our next operation. Blowing up the Princess Andromeda won't stop Kronos forever."

"No indeed," Chiron said. "In fact his next assault is already on the way."

Percy scowled. "You mean the 'bigger threat' Poseidon mentioned?" I had forgotten that Percy had spoken with our dad, and that pang of jealousy came back. 

He and Annabeth looked at each other like, It's time. I always hate it when they do that. 

"Percy," Chiron said, "we didn't want to tell you until you returned to camp. You needed a break with your . . . mortal friends."

The counselors around the table looked at me questioningly, and I just shrugged. Not everyone knew where Percy had been disappearing to this summer, and I didn’t feel the need to explain. 

"Tell me what's happened," he said.

Chiron picked up a bronze goblet from the snack table. He tossed water onto the hot plate where we usually melted nacho cheese. Steam billowed up, making a rainbow in the fluorescent lights. Chiron fished a golden drachma out of his pouch, tossed it through the mist, and muttered, "O Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, show us the threat."

The mist shimmered. I saw the familiar image of a smoldering volcano—Mount St. Helens. As I watched, the side of the mountain exploded. Fire, ash, and lava rolled out. A newscaster's voice was saying "—even larger than last year's eruption, and geologists warn that the mountain may not be done."

We knew all about last year’s explosion—Percy had caused it. And then he’d gone missing for two weeks and everyone thought he was dead. Well, everyone except for me. 

But this explosion was horrible. The mountain tore itself apart, collapsing inward, and an enormous form rose out of the smoke and lava like it was emerging from a manhole. I hoped the Mist would keep the humans from seeing it clearly, because what I saw would've caused panic and riots across the entire United States. The sight made my blood run cold. 

The giant was bigger than anything I'd ever encountered. Even my demigod eyes couldn't make out its exact form through the ash and fire, but it was vaguely humanoid and so huge it could've used the Chrysler Building as a baseball bat. The mountain shook with a horrible rumbling, as if the monster were laughing.

"It's him," Percy said, his voice hollow. "Typhon."

Chiron simply nodded. "The most horrible monster of all, the biggest single threat the gods ever faced. He has been freed from under the mountain at last. But this scene is from two days ago. Here is what is happening today."

Chiron waved his hand and the image changed. I saw a bank of storm clouds rolling across the Midwest plains. Lightning flickered. Lines of tornadoes destroyed everything in their path—ripping up houses and trailers, tossing cars around like Matchbox toys. Most of us knew about the destruction Typhon was causing, but we hadn’t seen it yet. The sight made us all gasp. 

"Monumental floods," an announcer was saying. "Five states declared disaster areas as the freak storm system sweeps east, continuing its path of destruction." The cameras zoomed in on a column of storm bearing down on some Midwest city. I couldn't tell which one. Inside the storm I could see the giant—just small glimpses of his true form: a smoky arm, a dark clawed hand the size of a city block. His angry roar rolled across the plains like a nuclear blast. Other smaller forms darted through the clouds, circling the monster. I saw flashes of light, and I realized the giant was trying to swat them. I squinted and thought I saw a golden chariot flying into the blackness. Then some kind of huge bird—a monstrous owl—dived in to attack the giant.

"Are those . . . the gods?" I said.

"Yes, Angie," Chiron said. "They have been fighting him for days now, trying to slow him down. But Typhon is marching forward—toward New York. Toward Olympus." So the rumors had been true—the gods had left Olympus to fight their greatest enemy. 

Percy spoke next. "How long until he gets here?"

"Unless the gods can stop him? Perhaps five days. Most of the Olympians are there . . . except your father, who has a war of his own to fight. And Hades, who hardly leaves the underworld."

"But then who's guarding Olympus?" My words tumbled out. 

Connor Stoll shook his head. "If Typhon gets to New York, it won't matter who's guarding Olympus." Everyone looked sullen and I knew he was right. 

"It's a trick," Percy said. "We have to warn the gods. Something else is going to happen."

Chiron looked at him gravely. "Something worse than Typhon? I hope not." 

"We have to defend Olympus," he insisted. "Kronos has another attack planned."

"He did," Travis Stoll reminded my brother. "But you sunk his ship."

Percy didn't look convinced. He glanced at Annabeth, a quick look, but a whole conversation seemed to pass between them. I could practically read his mind—what if Kronos had let them blow up the ship so we would lower our guard? Think his plan was thwarted? Only to deal the final, horrible blow when we least expected it? But then I saw his eyes dart to Silena, and I knew he wouldn’t say those words out loud. 

"Maybe you're right," he said, though I don’t think he believed it.

I tried to imagine how things could get much worse. The gods were in the Midwest fighting a huge monster that had almost defeated them once before. Poseidon was under siege and losing a war against the sea Titan Oceanus, and there was nothing Percy or I could do about it. Kronos was still out there somewhere. Olympus was virtually undefended. The demigods of Camp Half-Blood were on our own with a spy in our midst.

Oh, and according to the ancient prophecy, my brother was going to die when we turned sixteen—which just so happened to be in five days, the exact same time Typhon was supposed to hit New York. Almost forgot that.

"Well," Chiron said, "I think that's enough for one night."

He waved his hand and the steam dissipated. The stormy battle of Typhon and the gods disappeared, but the images were still burned in my brain. 

"That's an understatement," Percy muttered, but I think everyone heard. 

And the war council adjourned.

[dreamworldofficial]

Writer's Dream #1 — How The Arcanum Began & It's Direction

MONDAY. MAY 5th, 2025.

I’ve been dreaming The Arcanum for years. I've been a big fan of fantastical works of fiction since I was 7 years old. My first favorite was Harry Potter, I believe. I loved the magic systems and the main character being a young person like me. Despite my love for it, I've never read it. I have a copy on my nightstand but for some reason... I haven't started it! Another book that piqued my childlike interest was A Series of Unfortunate Events. I read the first book around the time the show came out, and I never picked up the second. I watched the first season and loved it so much that I couldn't revert back to the book medium. To this day I've watched all seasons over 20 times. It's my FAVORITEEEEEEEE TV Series of all time. I could literally rewatch it over and over and over again and never get bored. They did their BIGGGEST one with that adaptation. But back to The Arcanum...

It started off very differently from what it is today. It was originally going to be a story about four teenage orphans, but I got bored of that, and I've seen the magical orphan trope played out too much. I could write that story, but the storyline I'm going through right now is the best imo.

The current iteration of The Arcanum began with a single scene: a woman standing before a mirror that showed her as a goddess, not a girl. I didn’t know who she was yet. Now I do.

Her name is Zahara.

I’ve built empires around her. Betrayals. Prophecies. Wars in the dark. Aetherium. The Dreamer.

This book—The Arcanum: The Dreamer—is going to be my life’s work. It’s my far-off fantasy epic. My everything. And I want it to stand among the greats.

I’m documenting my journey here, through the highs and lows, the rewrites and revelations, all the way to publication. There's so many little pieces that make up this book. I could go for months just talking about the first Act. After all, I've been writing it for more than a year now.

If you’re reading this: welcome to the Dreamernet (the space that the readers will occupy, which exists inside of here, Dreamworld. I want to create a whole community for the readers, here and on other platforms. I think it's fun!) You're not just watching me build a story. You’re stepping into the first pages of it.

💭 Reblog to awaken the dream. 🗡️ Comment or tag your own project so I can follow your journey too. Authors support authors.

NOW LET'S GET INTO IT...

Today's Monday, which unfortunately means back to school…

We just wrapped up winter semester, and Spring is here — only electives now, and only two days a week (!!). And by some divine alignment of fate, one of my electives is a Writing class.

Which is so perfect, because Mondays and Wednesdays are when I’ll be posting these logs.

I’ve been deep in Chapters 16 and 17 of The Arcanum: The Dreamer. Both have been draining. Chapter 15 gave me hell too, until I cracked its structure. Since then, I’ve written maybe 3,000 words.

I introduced a character I’d been building up since Chapter 1. I wrote his debut… and then scrapped the entire thing. 💀 He felt too similar to a favorite character of mine from another series. The story doesn’t need him anymore. That whole subplot doesn’t fit the direction anymore. And that’s been the weirdest part about writing The Arcanum lately — I’m not in control the way I used to be. The story’s shifting under me. I used to be obsessed with the high fantasy + sci-fi balance. Grand kingdoms. Cosmic magic. Clean structure.

So yeah, his plotline is not where the story’s going anymore. I think y'all would have liked him, but oh well.

So what direction is it going?

When I first outlined The Arcanum, I imagined it as a fantasy epic with heavy sci-fi influence. But the deeper I went — especially while writing the antagonists — I realized I wanted to go bigger. I wanted to invoke madness, existential dread, all wrapped in elegance. Not all at once, but like a slow fog creeping in.

Chapter 17 is the pivot.

This is where things begin to fracture — where the reader starts to realize, “Wait… this might be a little insane...”

We’re going from high fantasy about powerful royal houses to a dark fantasy bordering on dystopia. It’s weird. It’s exciting. It’s me. You'll see that as you read POVs from the antag.'s. They're insane, the men are abusive, they own slaves and do dark magicks... it's crazy! The Harkonnens but much, much more mentally depraved.

From here on, The Arcanum slowly sheds its skin. What started as fantasy about noble houses and legacy turns into something darker. Not horror, exactly — but something closer to psychic erosion. A myth collapsing on itself.

And it’s exciting. Honestly, it’s terrifying too.

Letting go of my original vision makes me feel exposed. I’m watching my own story go mad — and I’m trying to hold the pen steady while it screams at me to stop outlining and just write!

That’s probably why Chapters 16 and 17 are being written side-by-side. One chapter is the world as it was. The other is the beginning of its unraveling.

Writing like this feels like balancing two minds — one sane, one spiraling.

But I think that’s the point. This book isn’t just teaching me how to write better. It’s showing me who I am as a writer. I thought I was just a fantasy person, but I have many genres inside of me! Genres are a funny little concept, aren't they? In theory, they have a simple definition that's easy to understand. But in practice, well, some may feel confined, which is how I feel in the book market. Everything is marketing, and so some people feel like you have to stick to marketing in specific standards, which I feel like is not true. The internet is a large place and if you market something in a way people like, they will consume your content. It's not that hard! Most marketers have stuck a specific style, and through this way, how many more GRRM/Tolkien/Sanderson level stars have we seen? Not even ten. But that's not simply because of marketing, it's also because the books are trash. We'll talk about that later.

Another weird thing is… this is the first time I’m letting the story be smarter than me.

Like—I planned The Arcanum for years. I have notebooks, maps, entire galactic histories… but now that I’m actually in the trenches of the middle chapters, I’m realizing that some of those early ideas were scaffolding. Temporary. Meant to get me to this point, but not meant to stay forever.

It’s humbling as hell. But freeing, too.

I used to be obsessed with being in control — like, “this scene leads into this scene, and this line foreshadows this twist.” And now I’m letting the story disobey me. I'm letting it be alive and tell something realistic and amazing. The final draft will be amazing. I'm forcing myself to make it that way.

That makes every writing session a little terrifying. I open the doc and think:

What if today’s the day I break the book?

But then I remind myself… breaking the book might be the point.

Especially since the Dreamer herself — you’ll understand who she is eventually — is a character who’s supposed to be broken open. Shattered, tested, and then rewritten. The war is the driving point of the book, but the Messiah prophecy is also a motivation behind certain characters' actions.

So maybe the tension I feel while writing right now isn’t a sign of failure.

Maybe it means I’m on the right track.

I want The Arcanum to feel like one thing at the beginning, and a completely different thing by the end. Not necessarily a journey, but more like an event that changed the established circumstances. I'm working on it!

And when I get to the climax… gods help me. I want readers to finish it and not be able to sleep.

TODAY'S WORD COUNT: 1822

💬 Let’s talk: do you ever cut a character after building them for months? Or let your story drift into something you didn’t plan?

🌒 See you Wednesday for Writer’s Dream #2.

Thank you so much for reading! Tomorrow we're going back to lore posts!

– King Hezi