#I HAVE TO ADMIT I HAD NO TIME TO PLAY YET!

[lustspren]

Enchanted

Male reader x Loossemble's Gowon (playing Ashley).

tags: harvard student gowon, public sex, bathroom sex, blowjob, facial, pussy eating.

word count: 8.2k

━•✦•━•✦•━

━•✦•━•✦•━

Settling in a new state was a pain, especially if you were a college student who had just entered Harvard, no less. But that bar on the outskirts of campus had become your little refuge every weekend after doing your homework.

Not knowing anyone and not having any friends yet had led you to inevitably look for some entertainment on your own. That's how you found that gem: a wide three-story building—one of them underground—made of red brick and adorned with narrow colonial-style windows with pale wooden frames.

From the first moment you walked in there you were enthralled by the faint aroma of old wood and the freshly made coffee. There were spaces for all kinds of activities, mainly bars of course. But there were also tables to eat at, pool tables, dart boards, and even reading spaces with bookshelves where students like you could go to simply relax while doing their stuff.

Despite all these mini-ecosystems designed so that everyone could choose their preferred environment, all the activity was concentrated in the main bar on the second floor, where you spent most of your time and where you were at that very moment, on a cold Saturday at 8 pm.

The night was particularly quiet, lacking the usual crowds that there were at that time. It was probably due to the weather; you understood that many preferred to be in their rooms, warm under their blankets and enjoying their free time in a calm way. But you weren't doing too bad there, sitting on one of the stools in front of the semi-circular bar while drinking a beer and watching a Celtics game, well wrapped up in your windbreaker and winter hat.

There were few people around you, some watching the game as well and others just chatting among themselves at tables in the corners. The floor below, however, was and sounded busier since a birthday was being celebrated, and the drinks were slowly making the chatter blossom. You wouldn't have liked to be there at that moment; mass social events made you anxious, even more so when you had no one to talk to.

In any case, both places were better than being out there in the snow. Your gaze occasionally strayed to the window to look at it. The flakes floated slowly in the air, falling unhurriedly on the roofs and branches of the trees. It was late November, and the snowfall had only just begun, so there was still a while until Massachusetts looked like the North Pole itself. For now, however, it was nice.

But it wasn't all Christmas fantasy and candy and happiness. Unfortunately, final exam season was approaching since the end of the semester was in mid-December, and that meant doubling the effort and stress in equal measure. You were taking it easy, since you had practically every subject under control except for Molecular Genetics, but of course you wouldn't get too confident. In fact, you were enjoying that moment of relaxation since you would have to spend the whole next day studying without a break.

You had to admit that everything would have been easier if you belonged to one of the common study groups that were formed for these situations, but being a new student, you sadly had to settle for what little you had. That is, yourself. At least for now. Because you wished with all your heart that the situation would change soon.

Who was going to say that it would. Maybe not in the way you expected.

"Nah but I swear to god bruh, JT is kinda dumb sometimes," said the bartender, Jordan, while cleaning a glass. He was one of the ones watching the game with you.

"I mean, at least he tries," you said. "But in this game he needs to stop taking the shots."

"Oh god bro, they put me in the game and I'm making more threes than him."

While you, Jordan and two other guys were commenting on the game, another person sat down in the empty chair to your right. You didn't pay attention, as just like you, the person also started watching the game until the end of that quarter.

"Damn sorry Ash, I didn't see you, hi," Jordan said to the person who had sat next to you. "What are you doing here today?"

You turned to see this Ash person, not knowing that you were going to be completely dazzled by what your eyes were going to see. She was an Asian girl, with beautiful dark brown hair, pretty full cheeks and small bright eyes. You searched through your memories to see if you had seen her before, but it was unlikely that you had seen a girl that pretty and not remember her face. But she was really fucking adorable, wearing a blue jacket that looked like it was going to eat her up because of how petite she was.

"Hi Jordan," the girl replied, her lips slightly curved into a smile. "I was at the birthday party down there but well, I got overstimulated and my social battery got drained."

You didn't want to seem like a weirdo, so before she noticed, you looked away from her and acted nonchalant as you watched the commercials.

"Oh I can understand why," Jordan said, leaning his fists on the bar. "Those motherfuckers are loud as fuck. Same as always?"

"Nah, pour me something mild this time, I have to study tomorrow and I don't want a headache," Ash replied.

Jordan let out a laugh and stepped away from the bar.

"Him too," he pointed his index finger at you before turning his back to you. "And he's on his fourth beer."

You were flabbergasted. He definitely hadn't done that shit. You were forced to look at the girl and him with an embarrassed chuckle, shrugging.

“Oh, you’re a Harvard student too?” Ash asked, turning to look at you. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I am,” you nodded. “And I haven’t seen you either. What faculty are you in?"

"Data Science, and you?"

"Biomedicine," you replied.

"Cool!" She raised her eyebrows, and turned her body towards you to give you her full attention. "So how's that going?"

You sighed and took a sip of your beer, which was almost empty.

"I'm a new student," you set the glass down on the bar. "So I'll know after this semester."

"Oh, new student huh?" she raised an eyebrow. "I guess that's been the hardest thing so far."

Jordan then came back to you and gave her a glass as well, from the color and bubbles you guessed it was vodka and lemon soda. You hoped it was more one thing than the other, because if not, there was absolutely nothing mild about that drink.

"Don't even remind me," you said with a sigh, as she drank from her glass. "It's been a shitty three months."

"Why?" she cocked her head. "I mean, I really don't mean to be nosy, but Harvard always does a good job of integrating new students with the others."

"Yeah, but that doesn't guarantee that people will like you," you then locked eyes with Jordan, who you motioned for another beer.

"But you don't seem like a bad guy, why wouldn't people like you?"

You shrugged, taking the freshly opened bottle of beer that Jordan had given you.

"I don't know, I think it's because I look at everyone like I want to kick their butts."

She giggled, and it was so adorable that you couldn't help but smile too.

"And you want to do that?" she asked.

"Sometimes," you brought the beer close to your mouth. "With some pampered jerks." You drank.

"Ah yeah, there are plenty of those here. I'm Ashley, by the way," she extended her hand towards you.

"I'm Mason," you accepted her hand and shook it with a small smile. "And you're one of the few people I've told my name to."

The last quarter of the game had already started, but it was impossible for you to pay attention to it, because you and Ashley were engaged in a conversation that flowed like the flow of a river downhill.

She told you interesting things about her life, like for example that she no longer lived on campus and had her own apartment not far from the bar. She also told you that she lived for a few years in South Korea with her mother, and that she had returned to the United States exclusively to study her degree. You didn't have too many things in common, contrary to what usually happens in romantic movies, but you could tell that chemistry arose between the two of you. She listened to you happily while you talked about your interests and hobbies, and you listened to her too. You laughed, and a lot, which seemed unreal to you since you had counted the times you had laughed with someone since you arrived at that place.

And damn, she was so, so pretty when she laughed that it made your inner self giggle and kick. Everything about her was adorable: her voice, the way she expressed herself, her smile, her hair, and even something as silly as the way she arched her eyebrows when you told her something slightly crazy.

Calling it love at first sight was downright stupid, because you were sure that to her you were just a friendly guy to have a nice chat with, but you were smitten. It was perhaps hasty to feel that way, but you couldn't just ignore that she, apart from being beautiful, was the first person your age that you had talked to for more than half an hour without feeling like you were bothering her.

And considering your situation, well, that was quite a lot.

"I swear to god!" you said, telling her about a time you had to chase your dog for almost two streets. "If it wasn't for..."

"Ashley?" a female voice said, coming from the stairs.

You and Ashley turned around. At the bottom of the stairs were two girls, both tipsy looking. One of them walked towards you.

"We thought you had gone home!" she said, standing next to you. "You coming? We're gonna continue the party at Riley's. place"

"Oh, sure," Ashley looked at you for a moment and then back at her. "Can you wait for me downstairs? I want to say goodbye to Mason."

"Who the fuck is Mason?"

You just held up your hand with an awkward smile.

"My pleasure," you said.

"Oh, my pleasure too," she nodded and then looked at Ashley. "Hurry up then, we're about to leave!"

"Yeah yeah go Vivian," Ashley dismissed her with a carefree wave of her hand.

Vivian turned around and walked with the other girl back down to the first floor. Ashley then looked at you.

"Sorry about that, I would have loved to hear more of that story," she said with a giggle.

"Don't worry," you shook your head and looked at your watch. "I'm actually running late too, I don't want to sleep that late."

"Oh, come on then?" she asked, standing up while pointing to the stairs. "We can give you a ride to campus if you want."

"Nah no need," you said with a chuckle. "I'll finish this beer and walk, but thanks."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah yeah," you nodded. "Worse distances I've walked."

"Alright!" she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets as she took steps backwards. "It was nice meeting you, Mason, really."

"Same here. Will you be back here next weekend?"

"Mmm maybe, maybe not," she shrugged. "I don't know, it all depends on my schedule."

"I understand," you nodded. "Well, I'm here every Saturday after 6."

"Good to know," she nodded with a smile. "See you later!"

She turned to walk back down the stairs, but you couldn't just let her leave like that. Who knew when you'd see her again?

"Hey, Ashley!" you called out to her, and she stopped with one foot on the first step.

"Huh?"

"Uhm... I don't mean to be intrusive, but can I have your number?"

Ashley chuckled, and you thought you'd made a fool of yourself and she'd leave, but instead she walked back up and walked towards you.

"I don't give my number to just anyone," she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "But we can follow each other on Instagram."

Well, a start was a start.

"Yeah I'm cool with that!"

Ashley showed you her Instagram, and you quickly went to yours to follow her. She then followed you back.

"There ya go!" she put her phone back away, and walked backwards towards the stairs. "Well, now I really have to go, my friends are going to kill me."

"Absolutely. Take care, okay?"

"You too!" Ashley said, then turned around and walked down the stairs.

"Uhm... I don't want to be intrusive, but can I have your number?" you heard Jordan scoff behind you, followed by a laugh. "Oh my god."

You sighed and turned back to the bar.

"Shut up bro," you said, and took a long drink of your beer.

After finishing that beer you finally asked for the bill and paid before leaving. The snowfall had gotten worse outside, so you spent the whole way back to campus with your head down and your hands in the pockets of your windbreaker, but most of all, thinking about her.

You couldn't help but feel like a complete idiot. She was a girl you had just met and she already had butterflies in your stomach. But how could she not? Every time you remembered her smiling it was like seeing a cute picture of Kirby, she even sounded like him when she laughed. She was unpleasantly cute.

When you got to your dorm the first thing you did was sit down and check her Instagram. She didn't have too many posts, but the few she had were 15 photos or more. Without realizing it, you spent about ten minutes absolutely mesmerized by her beauty, but because of that you missed a damn like on an old post that you quickly deleted.

You dropped the phone and brought your hands to your mouth, staring into absolute nothingness, thinking of the possible repercussions that would have, the worst being that you were going to look like a fucking stalker. God, you were a complete idiot.

You had no choice but to try to forget about it. Pretend it hadn't happened. Instead of thinking about it, you focused on attending to the needs of your stomach, which had been growling for a couple of hours, and after that, you took a shower and went straight to bed.

Despite being constantly aware of your surroundings, you didn't see Ashley during that entire exam week. It was kind of odd: your schedules would really have to be too different for you to never see her, even from a distance, and yet, at least once at some random hour you had to see her; Harvard wasn't that big.

She did upload the occasional story to her Instagram from time to time, many of them being things from her daily life and rather few of herself, whether in mirrors or selfies with her friends. There was one day when she even uploaded a story drinking a cocktail. Who knows where. Questionable, but certainly not your problem.

However, you didn't have time to be focused on what she did or didn't do. The week had been hard as hell, as had the exams you were prepared for but still felt like constantly walking a tightrope over an abyss. You were sure you had done well in each one, but there were several study sessions that had you with a severe headache that didn't go away until it was all over.

It was an exhausting week, and emotionally one to forget. But on Friday night something happened that you didn't expect, something that had you doing backflips and running up and down the walls of your bedroom. A like from Ashley on one of your old posts.

There were a couple of ways to interpret it. It could have just been a mistake, like yours had a few days ago. But that was ruled out when you realized that she hadn't unliked your post. The other way to interpret it was that she was making fun of you and wanted to let you know that she realized what you had done.

And of course, the last way to interpret it was that... Nah, that wasn't possible. Or was it? How the hell was the human version of Kirby going to be interested in you? That was impossible. You had only talked to her once, and you didn't remember being Prince Charming exactly. You had just been you, and that wasn't enough to make a girl like you after just an hour of conversation.

Or maybe it was? Thinking about it had you stressed out. You wanted to DM her, but doing so right now would make you look like a desperate weirdo. Maybe you lacked balls, but you wanted to do everything you could to not really scare this girl away, so you were going to take things slow and not make any risky moves.

Right now all you wanted was for Saturday to come. She had been clear with you, and you knew she could just not show up at the bar tomorrow. But you were still excited about the possibility that she would. You wished she would. And you had to think back to see if you had ever been this excited to see a girl in the past few years.

When the day came you went to the bar without any expectations in order not to be disappointed if something happened. When you got upstairs Jordan greeted you with his usual cheer, and you started your evening with the usual cold beer before the start of another Celtics game.

"Ayo bro what's wrong with you?" Jordan asked an hour later, frowning. "You're acting weird as fuck."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"You've been looking back like you're going to shoot the fuck out of this bitch and moving your leg this whole time. Look, you're doing it right now!" he pointed down.

You looked where he was pointing, and sure enough, you were moving your leg without realizing it. You also noticed that every so often you looked over your shoulder.

"First of all, I'm not going to shoot anything," you said, forcing yourself to stop your leg. "And... fuck, it's because of her."

"Her?" he raised both eyebrows. "Her who?"

"Fuck you mean her who?" You frowned.

“Ohhh! Ash?” he said, and let out a giggle.

“Aha.”

Jordan laughed and handed a ready-made drink to one of the customers near you.

“Right right,” he nodded. “Can I have your number?” he mimicked you in a silly voice. “Look, talking about Helen of Troy.”

You were two milliseconds away from turning around like the girl from the Exorcist, but you had enough self-control to turn your head like a normal person.

Ashley had just walked up the stairs, and she looked just as pretty as the last time you saw her, with her hair down, a white college sweater, and a grey scarf that still had traces of snow on it.

And as soon as she saw you, her face lit up with a smile, causing the butterflies in your stomach to go crazy.

“Uhhh you got her in your pocket bro, look at that smile!” Jordan said from behind you, close to your ear so Ashley couldn't hear. "Aight so hear me out, I'll give you a hand, you'll see."

You frowned.

"Wait what?" You turned to look at him, but he had already played dumb and gone on to serve another customer.

Ashley came to your side at that moment, taking the free seat to your right, just like last time.

"Hi Mason! Hi Jordan!" she greeted you both, but focused her attention on you.

"Sup," you greeted back, turning to her. "I'm glad you came."

"Yeah well, I finished all my homework early and also studied enough to be free today."

"Oh really? Free to see someone, maybe?" you raised your eyebrows and took a sip of your beer.

"Mmm, I don't know," she shrugged, a hint of a smile on her lips. "I was really in the mood for a drink on a Saturday."

You chuckled and nodded.

"Aight, you want a beer then? It's on me, and I insist."

"Yeah I'm cool with that!" she nodded.

"On my way!" Jordan said.

"Thanks bro," you said, then looked at Ashley. "So? How was torture week for you?"

The smile on Ashley's face faded, and her eyes wandered to an empty glass on the bar.

"I mean..." she cocked her head and made an awkward face. "Well, I think? I don't have too many hopes for myself, but I don't feel like I did a bad job either," she looked at you. "What about you?"

"Exhausting," you sighed. "But I feel like I'll pass everything with flying colors. Do you feel like you didn't study hard enough or what?"

"Something like that. Let's just say I got a little too confident."

Jordan came over with your beers and placed them in front of each of you. You both smiled at him in thanks.

"Why do I feel like that cocktail drinking story has something to do with it?" you asked with a raised eyebrow.

Ashley was about to drink from her beer when she burst out laughing, having to set the glass down on the table so she wouldn't spill it. You looked at her with a smile, gobsmacked by her cuteness.

“Hey!” she snapped between laughs. “That was just an hour!”

“But it was enough to distract you,” you said before sipping on your beer.

“Nah, I’m good at dividing up my schedule.”

“6 hours of drinking and another two for studying?”

She laughed again, and this time she gave you a small, friendly punch on the shoulder.

“No, silly. You’re really into my stories huh?”

“I spend a lot of time on Instagram, so I end up checking them all the time and accidentally,” you shrugged.

“Accidentally, I see,” she nodded slowly. “Same as that like, right?”

Your hand froze around the glass of beer, where you looked with a smile of being on the ropes.

“Yup, same as that like,” you looked into her eyes. "And yours? Was that accidental too or what?"

She gently shook her head, holding your gaze.

"Nope, that was completely on purpose."

A smile escaped you. Things were flowing smooth as butter. It was up to you not to screw up.

"So you did come here today to see someone huh?"

"Maybe," she brought a hand to a lock of her hair to play with it. "And you seemed to be waiting for someone today."

"You," you said, not really thinking about it beforehand, just a shot in the air.

"Oh really?" she raised both eyebrows, now curling her lock of hair. "But you always come here, not this day at this time?"

"Yeah, but the difference is that now I've been waiting all week for Saturday to come."

Ashley giggled and looked away, now playing with her fingers in her lap.

"To see me?" she asked, and looked at you again.

"To see you," you nodded.

"What if I didn't come?"

"Eventually you would," you shrugged. "Pure statistics. But the odds increase if you wanted to see me too."

Ashley was quiet for a moment, just like you had been when she brought up the subject of you liking her post, a half smile on her face and her gaze on her glass. She then shrugged.

"You got me, I guess," she said.

"It wasn't that hard either. Hey, do you want to get something to eat?" you asked, changing the subject.

"Like what?" she said, and took a long drink of her beer.

"I don't know, they make some pretty tasty stuff downstairs. Maybe something sweet?"

"Mmm, nutella waffles?"

"Oh hell yeah, and they make some amazing cookie sandwiches too."

“That’s a yes then!”

“You wanna go sit over there?” you nodded behind her, towards one of the tables in the corner.

“Sure, let’s go,” Ashley replied with a smile as you both stood up from the bar. 

As you passed, you glanced at Jordan, who was watching you with a mix of expectation and complicity. In response, he winked at you and discreetly dimmed the lights in the bar. The atmosphere changed instantly: the shadows lengthened, the warm lighting accentuated the textures of the brick walls and created an intimate space at the table you chose.

You owed that guy one.

The table in question was a cozy booth, with a brown leather corner sofa and high backs set against the brick wall. Ashley slid into the seat and sat right in the corner.

“I’ll go place the orders, wait here, will you?” you said, setting your glass of beer down next to hers.

Ashley just nodded with a cute smirk on her face, and then you hurried downstairs. You placed the order as quickly as you could, with a couple of milkshakes on top of the waffles and sandwiches, and then returned to her, sitting down to the side.

"I hope you like the lemon pie milkshakes, they're delicious," you said, arranging the plates and glasses on the table.

"I love lemon pie," she said, picking up one of the milkshakes to drink from the straw. "Did the stalking pay off or what?"

A laugh escaped you.

"Sweetheart, as much as I tried, I haven't been following you long enough to know that."

"Oh, you're calling me sweetheart now?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Uh... I'm sorry, does it bother you?"

Ashley then moved closer to you. It was really something very subtle, but you noticed it by the closeness of your thighs.

"It's cute, why would it bother me?" she said, holding your gaze.

You were closer than you'd ever been at that moment. It could happen, and you had a feeling she wanted it, but after looking at her lips a few times you decided not to push your luck too much.

"I don't know," you shrugged. "Some people find it uncomfortable, and I wouldn't want to make you feel that way."

She stayed quiet as she looked at you. You frowned in confusion.

"What?" you said.

"You're really cute, Mason," Ashley replied, in a lower tone. "I don't know if anyone's ever told you that."

The way you folded yourself into seven separate pieces was a bit hard to hide, but you were sure it had to have shown on your cheeks as they felt warm from the blush.

“I-I… ah…” you felt like an idiot getting stuck on your own words; your brain had short-circuited for a few seconds. “No. At least not here.”

Ashley placed a hand on your thigh, near your knee. A statue could be more alive than you at that moment.

“That’s a shame, because you really are.”

You once again tried to say something, but only a silly stutter came out of your mouth that ended in silence. It was your chance.

“Shall we eat?” she said, before you could lunge in and kiss her. She didn’t notice your intentions, so she didn’t have to have done it on purpose. Still, it was pretty inopportune.

“Ah… yeah,” you nodded, turning back to the plates and milkshakes. "Sure, sure."

There was silence between you as you began to eat, but not an awkward silence, rather a peaceful one, which made it clear that both you and she were comfortable with each other. Only after a couple of minutes passed did you resume the conversation, which this time was oriented towards anecdotes and interesting facts about your lives. Needless to say, you felt like you could talk to her about anything and she would be just as happy to listen to you, as you would to her.

But you needed to kiss her. You really, really needed to.

"Gosh those waffles are really crazy stuff," Ashley said with the milkshake in her hand, once you had finished eating.

"What about the cookie sandwiches?" you asked with a smile.

"I wasn't that big of a fan, but they were good too," she shrugged.

You chuckled.

"Fair enough, we can't all have excellent tastes."

Ashley laughed and nudged you slightly. You stared at her. Noticing this, she tilted her head and frowned.

"What?" she asked.

"You're so fucking cute, Ashley," you said, admiring every detail of her pretty face, dimly illuminated by the warm light of the bar's spherical lamps. "You really are."

That took her by surprise. She blinked several times, visibly stunned by such a sudden statement, but as she processed the information, her lips curved into a small smirk.

"You think so?" she asked in a low tone, and brought her hand back to your thigh, now closer to your crotch, awakening in you thoughts that were no longer so innocent.

"Yeah, I think so," you said, and put your right arm in front of her abdomen to grab her waist. You couldn't tell from the baggy clothes the weather forced you two to wear, but she had a small waist and a tummy that you found extremely sexy.

"So what are you waiting for?" She squeezed your thigh with her fingers.

"Waiting for what?" You pressed her closer, your faces now inches apart.

Ashley leaned in close to your ear.

"To take me downstairs to the bathroom and fuck me," she whispered, and pulled back to look you in the eyes again. "And kiss me, of course."

W-h-a-t?

You blinked a few times, confused by what you had just heard. Was she the same Ashley? Had you gotten distracted and she had switched with her evil twin? It wasn't like it bothered you, but it was such a drastic change that it seemed unreal.

"Wow," you said with a chuckle, and brought the hand on her waist up to her thigh to brush the side of your finger against her crotch. "In that order?"

Ashley moved her hand up and placed it on your bulge to give it a single, firm squeeze.

"As you prefer," she said, biting her lip as she looked down at yours.

And then you kissed her.

From the beginning, it was difficult for you to control yourself from making a scene in front of everyone's eyes, because her lips had a delicious pineapple flavor that drove you crazy and made you want to devour her like a maniac. For the moment, you had to settle for that slow, discreet kiss, like the one any couple shared at a bar.

Ashley was forced to remove her hand from your bulge, and you were forced to remove yours from near her crotch. Instead she left her hands still in her own lap and you just continued to squeeze her thigh with your hand. As the seconds passed your breathing became heavier, and by the way she shifted in her seat you knew that it was enough of kissing and it was time to move on to the fun part.

"To the bathroom downstairs then?" you asked against her lips.

"The one on the basement floor," she clarified. "There won't be anyone down there at this hour."

"Do you scream a lot or what?" you teased.

"Take me there and find out."

You smiled and took her hand before standing up. You both walked out of the stall and straight to the first floor, where Ashley stepped away from you.

"Let me go first," she said, steps away from the exit. "I wouldn't want us to be so brazen either."

"Aight go," you nodded.

Ashley walked out of the bar and headed down to the basement. You waited for about five minutes before heading in that same direction, leaving the bar to go left and down the stairs that led to the basement. Just like Ashley said, there were like four people down there counting the bartender, so it wouldn't be a problem.

Absolutely no one paid you any attention as you walked through the room. Good for you, because you were able to enter the ladies' room without any opposition. Inside it wasn't hard for you to guess where Ashley was: she was in the back stall, with her hand sticking out of the half-open door.

Rushing in there you found her waiting patiently for you, leaning against the wall with her other hand behind her back.

"You're late," Ashley joked with a mischievous smirk as you locked the bathroom door.

"I'll go if you want," you pointed with your thumb.

"Nuh-uh, come here," she said, and grabbed your face with both hands before crashing her lips against yours.

With no potential stares now, you two were free to let loose, your tongues now entering the equation just seconds into the kiss, which was becoming more and more wild and sloppy. Ashley lowered one hand to the side of your neck, and brought the other to your cock to squeeze and massage it over your pants. You, for your part, were met with a pair of firm, round buttocks as you lowered your hands and squeezed them. She let out a small moan against your lips, and brought her other hand down to unbutton your pants, unzipping them, and reaching into your boxers to cup your cock with her delicate fingers and slowly stroke it.

"You must be freezing from the weather," she murmured after moving a few inches away from your lips. "Maybe I can give you some warmth."

With that Ashley dropped to her knees in front of you and pulled your pants and boxers down to your ankles. With your cock released in front of her face, she placed wet kisses on the underside, moved down to your balls to lick them, and then back to your tip to catch it between her lips and suck on it.

"Fuck Ashley..." you gasped, bringing a hand to her silky brown hair to push it out of her face.

She gave your tip a couple of sucks and pulled you out to slowly jerk you off.

"Still cold?" Ashley asked. "Don't worry, I got you."

With that she placed her hands on your thighs and opened her mouth to take your cock inside her. Now her lips went further, slowly going millimeters past the middle of your shaft to come back up and start sucking you off. She made eye contact with you, which made your cheeks feel hot since until a few hours ago you only saw her as a giggly adorable princess, and now that cute princess was giving you a sloppy, sensual blowjob.

"Fuck that's perfect Ash," you moaned, watching as she pumped her head at a steady pace, slurping up the saliva she left behind and also using her tongue to lick the underside of your shaft.

"Warm enough?" Ashley asked after pulling you out, now kissing the sides of your cock while rubbing her fingers along the first few inches of it. "I still have a little magic trick."

She put her hands on your thighs and took your cock back into her mouth. This time, after a few sucks halfway down your shaft, her mouth went further and further until it reached your base, where her nose rested for a few long, fascinating seconds as your tip brushed the walls of her throat.

And yes, it was fucking warm. Overwhelmingly so, you dare say.

“Shit…” you moaned, letting your head fall back and bringing your hand to the back of Ashley’s neck.

A couple seconds later she released your cock with a couple of coughs and heavy gasps, and continued to jerk you off while wiping her spit-stained chin.

“Better?” she asked.

“Ashley… what the fuck was that,” you managed to say, now looking into her eyes. “The last thing I would think when I saw your face is that you give amazing blowjobs.”

“And I have a pretty tight pussy too, just so you know.”

You were officially going crazy.

“May I taste it?” you asked.

Ashley smiled and stood up, turned around and bent over with her hands braced against the wall of the stall. She then looked over her shoulder at you and looked down at your cock rubbing against her ass. You immediately got on your knees behind her, grabbed the hem of her sweatpants and pulled them down.

“Oh fuck,” was the only thing you could think to say. Her ass was a complete beauty: it was small, but the shape of her buttocks and how soft her skin looked made it look like a whole snack.

“You like it?” she asked, slowly swinging it from side to side.

"I have a way to answer that," you said, and placed both hands on either side of her hip before you began kissing every spot on her pretty ass, not stopping until both pale cheeks were covered in your saliva and your teeth marked on the fleshiest areas.

With your entrance already covered you wanted to move on to the main course as quickly as possible, so you grabbed her light blue panties—already with a wet spot in the middle—and pulled them down to her ankles along with her sweatpants, rolled around her feet. Her pussy was as pretty as her face, shaved, smooth, pink and shiny from how wet it was. You plunged your mouth in there without a second's thought.

"Mmmgh," Ashley moaned, pushing her hips back to bury your face between her ass cheeks, which you parted so you could easily taste her delicious, silky folds with your tongue.

The bathroom stall was soon filled with cute, low moans. You ate her pussy slowly at first, not wanting to look like a desperate fucking lunatic. But it was clear that wasn't going to last too long, not when her wet flesh was this delicious and her hips moved in such an adorable way as the pleasure built in her.

"Oh fuck I knew you'd be good with that fucking tongue," she gasped, her legs suffering from spontaneous tremors.

"You do?" you asked with an incredulous giggle, and squeezed her ass cheeks. "Apparently I was the only one with innocent intentions then."

"Don't get me wrong, me too," she looked over her shoulder at you, biting her lip. "But I also wanted you to eat my pussy really bad."

"Slutty behavior if you ask me," you said, and sank your mouth back into her pussy before she could protest.

Ashley moaned louder and pushed her hips back. Hard, to smother you with her ass. You contently let her do it at this point, more focused on licking between her folds and giving you a treat than your own breathing. This paid off a few seconds later, when the muscles in her thighs contracted and she burst into moans, grinding her ass into your face.

“Oh fuck!” she squealed under her breath, holding back from screaming louder. “Hurry up and fuck me for god’s sake!”

You stood up and bent over your pants bunched around your ankles to pull your wallet out of your pocket. Only to realize what a fucking problem there was: you hadn’t brought a fucking condom.

Were you fucking stupid or what?

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath, eyeing the wallet.

Ashley turned to look at you with a scowl.

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t bring… well, you know.”

“A condom?” She raised an eyebrow. "Mason fuck the fucking condom fuck me already!"

Well, if things were that way you weren't going to refuse; you were too horny to think of the most responsible decision at the moment.

"Yeah you're damn right."

You dropped your wallet to the floor and focused entirely on her. Your left hand went to her waist, and with your right you grabbed your cock to bring it between her ass cheeks and rubbed the tip between her folds just a couple of times before pressing forward. You and Ashley moaned as you took the first few inches inside her.

"Oh fuck slow slow slow," she said, and you slowly took every inch of your cock inside her. "Oh yes that feels so fucking good!"

"You weren't lying about having a tight pussy, fuck," you panted already balls deep inside her, her pussy walls squeezing your cock.

"You like it huh?" she asked, looking into your eyes. "Then you better fuck it properly."

"Bet," you said, and began to rock your hips back and forth, patiently increasing the pace so as not to hurt her. Before long the thrusts became consistent, your cock going completely in and out of that smothering pussy and your smacks against her ass reverberating through the empty bathroom.

Ashley bent lower on her back, leaning with her forearms against the wall of the stall as you fucked her faster, clinging to her small waist and making her buttocks jiggle. The bubble of pleasure you were both locked in made you quickly forget you were in a public place, so it got to a point where you were making a downright shameless fuss.

Until you heard voices approaching. 

Ashley's eyes widened and she looked at you. You stopped, and your first instinct was to push her away from the wall, wrap an arm around her body and sit on the closed toilet lid (which thankfully didn't break). She was smart enough to understand what you wanted to do, so she grabbed her sweatpants and panties, pulled them off her ankles and pulled her feet up onto your knees at the exact moment two girls walked in talking.

"Yeah I don't know why he acts like that," one of the girls said, and you heard a sink turn on. "But then her fucking bitch of a best friend comes and says I'm the toxic one!"

You covered Ashley's mouth, and with her hands resting on each wall of the stall, she slowly went up and down on your cock, while you, with your free hand, rubbed her clit at the same discreet rhythm.

"Bitch cut it with that son of a bitch already!" said the other. "You've put up with too much shit from him lately."

"Fuck, should I?"

"Fuck you mean should I?! He spent a night with that hoe!"

If you didn't have Ashley moving up and down on your cock in that delicious way you would have laughed. But you did have to reinforce your fingers in her mouth, because she let out a moan that was luckily drowned out by the sound of the sink running.

"But he has a big dick!" The girl protested.

The other girl growled in frustration, and this time you did manage to let out a smile that almost turned into a chuckle.

"I can't stand you bitch, I swear to god."

The faucet turned off, and now you and Ashley were helpless if they stayed any longer and paid attention to where you were.

"I still want him to break up with me, not me him. I don't want any trouble with that damn bitch," the other girl said, and now her voice was fortunately heard further away.

"Are you chickening out or what?" the other girl replied, already out of the bathroom.

The conversation was no longer understandable to you, indicating that they finally left the bathroom. You took your hand off Ashley's mouth, and she was free to let out a relieved sigh followed by a moan.

"Fucking annoying bitches," she hissed, then slid her feet off your knees to replace them with her hands and bounced on your cock harder. "God that cock feels so good I wanna cry."

You brought your hands to her waist and reveled in the sight of your cock fully entering and exiting her pretty little body. Ashley bounced hard and fast, filling the bathroom with clapping sounds and inconspicuous moans. Her ass cheeks looked so pretty doing it that you couldn't help but squeeze both together and leave a spank on one, and she responded with a cute squeal.

"Turn around, I wanna kiss you," you panted with your hand on her lower back.

Ashley complied, and immediately rose off your cock to turn around and straddle you, her legs hanging over the sides of the toilet. You wrapped an arm around her waist, crashed your lips against hers and made her impale herself on your cock again.

With a moan against your lips she began to move on your cock as fast as she could, because the position wasn't exactly the most comfortable for her. For you, however, it was more attainable since you could simply plant your feet firmly on the floor and fuck her up and down. Ashley, relieved by this, wrapped her arms around your head and held onto your hair as you fucked her.

"Oh god I'm gonna cum so hard," she gasped into the kiss. "Fuck keep going!"

You brought your hands up to her ass to squeeze and grope it again before cranking up the engine. Ashley let her head fall back and held onto your neck with both hands, quickly being dragged into an orgasm that had her writhing and grinding her hips on top of you.

As she was riding out her climax you took the moment to kiss her pretty pale neck and under her chin, arms wrapped around her petite, quivering body to keep it pressed to yours at all times. Then, when you felt like you could continue, you used the strength in your legs to stand up with her carried. Ashley had a little scare, but still managed to hold on with her legs to your torso until you pressed her against the left wall of the stall, spread her legs wide, and with your hands behind her knees continued to hammer her pussy.

"You know I'd love to?" you asked, peppering the side of her neck with kisses.

"W-what?" she managed to reply despite her ragged breathing.

"Seeing your pretty princess face painted white," you said, and moved up to her jawline.

"Let me finish you off then, handsome," she panted with her hands on your back. "I could use a hot load for my skin."

You immediately pulled out of her pussy, lowered her, and she got on her knees in front of you, her head resting against the wall behind her. She caught your tip with her lips, sucked on it, and gripped her fingers to your shaft to stroke it at full speed. The eye contact was more intense than you expected, as Ashley's eyes went from being two pretty, shiny orbs to the eyes of a feline predator eager for its prey. If that wasn't enough, the girl was naughty enough to also grab your balls and give them such a good massage that you exploded without even warning.

Feeling a drop of your load inside her mouth, Ashley quickly pulled you out of it to masturbate you fiercely and receive every jet of cum on her pretty face. Every corner was covered in thick white liquid, in a perfect work of art that was deeply contrasted by the place you were in.

She moved her wrist slower as you stopped shooting jets, and finally took you back into her mouth to suck and clean every possible inch of your shaft.

"Fuck... so beautiful," you managed to say between gasps, admiring her face covered in cum all over.

"And if you behave from now on you can have this as many times as you want, baby," she said, and blew you a little kiss. "Pass me some toilet paper please."

You did so, and first helped her stand up before helping her wipe her face. Then you got dressed, and spent at least another five minutes just making out. It was she who pulled away from you with a small smile on her face.

"Do you want to spend the night with me?" she asked.

"Yes!" you replied embarrassingly quickly and nodded. "I'd love to."

Ashley giggled and opened the stall door.

"I'll go first, but first, your phone," she held out her hand.

"Huh, for what?"

"Just give it to me."

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and handed it to her already unlocked. She then typed for less than a minute and handed it back to you.

"Here, you earned it," she told you, winked at you and walked out of the stall and out of the bathroom.

You looked down, and what you saw was her contact with her damn number.

━•✦•━•✦•━━•✦•━•✦•━

Spren Notes: Consider this just a starter to welcome the best time of the year, hehehe. Btw, with Gowon there are already 2 of the 12 LOONA girls. Hope to be able to write all of them sooner or later. As always. Thanks for reading! MASTERLIST HERE!

[talesofallure]

Dorothy Delgado's Divine Devices. The letters were printed in bold black writing over the shop door. From the street you'd think this pop-up shop was nothing much out of the ordinary, and in truth you'd be right.

Some fifteen years ago, when Dorothy was still a girl who believed in such things as the Tooth Fairy and the Baba-Da-Gan, she'd come across a small shed down by the brook behind her mother's house.

Her mother had told tales of imp-like creatures that lived in small sheds similar to this, tin can contraptions with leaky roofs and blacked-out windows, covered in rust and mould.

There were markings on the door of the shed, ritualistic symbols (Dorothy had etched these same symbols into the frame of her pop-up shop door, it was all about appearances you see). Despite her mother's warnings -- about sheds and imps and strangers by the brook -- Dorothy had been curious, too curious not to take a peak inside. It was ironic really, that same curiosity is what now sent customers flocking to her store.

"You're shorter than I expected," a boy half her height, wearing a bright yellow hat and sporting a beard the same colour that ran to his knees -- odd for a boy to sport a beard that long -- was sat on stool playing with his tail.

"You were expecting me?" Dorothy asked despite herself, forgetting yet more of her mother's wisdom.

There's trouble in asking questions.

The boy had smiled an awful sort of smile, all teeth and no lips. There was a flash of hunger in his eyes. They're like stones. Dorothy had thought to herself. Grey and hard, and I'll bet they don't bleed.

That was all it took, one question followed by another and the boy had managed to trap Dorothy in a sort of spiraling conversation that felt so much like a fever dream she'd have sworn it never happened. That was, had it not been for the curse.

"Little girls lie, don't they?" the boy had asked.

"Nuh-uh. Not this one." Dorothy had protested, just a little too much.

Of course little girls lie, but they get in trouble for lying, so Dorothy certainly wasn't going to admit to such a sin. Not to this stranger in a tin-can. What if her mother found out?

Back in the present day Dorothy sighed. That boy, that day, they held home in the very fore-front of her mind, a memory played forever on repeat, just like that Christmas special her mother had loved, the one about the boy who never did as he was told.

She gave a short laugh, unlocking the door to her store, the bell above her head ringing as she stepped inside. Her mother would have loved this, the veritable mountain of antiques displayed on table-tops, and on shelves, and hanging from the ceiling, some larger oddities standing of their own right on the wood panel flooring.

But her mother was no longer of this world. A tragic accident that could have been prevented if not for this Gods forsaken curse.

To tell the truth was to be spat at in the street, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard she pleaded, no one would either again believe the words of Dorothy Delgado. But to lie, to lie was to speak gospel that no ears could ever deny -- little girls don't lie, nuh-uh, not this one.

The only problem was the inevitable visit some days later when Dorothy's divine device failed to live up to expectations.

She could handle the authorities, all she had to do was lie and they'd bid her a good day, apologising for having wasted her time. But the customers, oh dear lord the customers. You could lie and send them packing, but word would spread, yet more words would be written, scathing reviews left online making Dorothy Delgado's Divine Device's the one place in town you gave a very wide birth.

Oh how she missed the days before the world and her wife carried computer's in their pockets.

So she'd move along, find another town, come up with some other clever name under which to sell her fabled goods. And ever on the cycle would repeat.

If she'd had the choice, she might just have gone back home, to her mother's that is, the little cottage by the brook. But the boy had taken that took, hadn't he.

Ring.

The door came open and with it entered Dorothy's first customer of the day.

"Interesting place you've got here," the man offered.

There it is. Dorothy gave a short but pleasant smile, just enough to invite the man in further, but not so friendly as to lose all sense of mystery. It was an art. One she'd mastered over the years, she'd have you know.

The man picked up a feather pen and pot of ink, squinting at the tag. There was no price, just words and a promise, "this is a joke, right? You don't really expect me to believe..."

"That this pen can make you a world famous novelist?" Dorothy put a hand on the man's shoulder, and whispered in his ear, "this pen was once owned by Dickens, by Orwell, by Virginia Woolf. It can make you world famous alright, but at a cost."

The man drank up every word, he swallowed and asked, "what cost?"

"Thirty-four ninety-nine," Dorothy grinned, "plus taxes."

You have been cursed so that nobody believes you when you tell the truth. But you find people will believe you when you lie. So until you can find a way to undo the curse you make do as a very successful merchant.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 12: The One Where We Start Laying the Yellow Brick Road to Italy

I realized the other day that, even though I like to bounce around from place to place in the Lukola timeline, I probably needed to start tightening things up on the ship if I ever wanted to get to the end of the story. And, yes, dammit, this story better have a finale at some point because there’s nothing more annoying than an open-ended ending, particularly in the romance genre.

Today we’re going to take a quick jaunt over to Italy because –

NO! Not because Luke is allegedly filming there. If you’re into real-time stalking, you’re in the wrong blog. But, I’m sure there’s a Discord for that.

It’s because I’ve had several people ask for my opinion about the change in behavior between Luke and Nicola during their Day 1 interviews there. Wait – people are interested in my thoughts? Wow, that’s actually kind of nice. Thank you! Okay, back to what I was saying –

Was there a change in behavior when Luke and Nicola reached Italy? Yeah, actually, there kind of was.

By May 9, we had been gifted with a slew of material from Luke, Nicola, and the Bridgerton cast and, I must admit, those early interviews are some of the most entertaining of the tour. In the very beginning, Nicola appeared as the utmost professional – charming, intelligent, and witty at the right moments – and Luke played her likeable counterpart to “Book Colin” perfection – bouncing between being awkwardly boyish and wickedly roguish, all while looking at Nicola like she had just served him homemade peanut butter crumble.

The two of them together, playing off each other, in my opinion, was better than Bridgerton Season 3 (you cannot beat the World Tour being 99% Luke and Nicola, with only a few random side characters taking up screentime). There was some major “Electric Love” radiating from those two throughout the tour, but it seemed very much heightened in the beginning (probably because they hadn’t yet answered the same question 67 times). By the way, if you haven’t heard that song by Børns, go have a listen. It will, at the very least – hopefully – put you in an upbeat mood for the day.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes – was there a change in behavior between Luke and Nicola when they reached Italy?

Absolutely.

Do I know why?

Absolutely not.

Perhaps Luke was bent because someone spilled his coffee, or Nicola was upset because her stylist made her to wear that little silver bow in her hair. In my opinion, the most intriguing part of Day 1 of the Italy press junket was that Luke and Nicola struggled with answering the question, “What is love?” I swear they both babbled on like two kids in debate class who hadn’t bothered to read the material given to them before taking their respective podiums. They finally seemed to settle on Luke’s “Maybe it’s, like, connection.” Well, they seemed to be missing the “connection” that day.

Honestly, no one can explain their “don’t stand so close to me” vibe during those first day interviews except Luke and Nicola. But, we can at least have some fun and speculate about it with a bird’s eye view. At this point, you should know that I love spreading the puzzle pieces out and seeing how they might all connect. Most people – when putting a puzzle together – start with the side pieces, right? You’ll get my joke in a moment (I hope).

In March 2024 – I don’t know the specific date because my timeline is rather murky going back that far (I was unaware Lukola even existed!) – Luke traveled to Los Angeles for a photo spread with InStyle magazine. I’ve heard two versions of this story. The first being that Luke traveled to Los Angeles with Antonia alone; the second being that he traveled to Los Angeles with his friend group, which included Antonia. I couldn’t tell you which is true, and it really doesn’t matter because it doesn’t necessarily add or take away from today’s story.

Before I get started, I wanted to give a “hurrah” to The-One-Whose-Group-Chat-Fills-in-Lots-of-Missing-Bits-for-Me-Including-the-Part-Where-Video-Footage-of-Antonia-in-Los-Angeles-Seemed-to-Indicate-a-Celebrity-Was-Not-the-Videographer-and-There-Were-So-Many-British-Accents-in-the-Background-One-Would-Fancy-a-Guess-She-was-Traveling-with-a-Group.

Moving along…

On April 7, 2024, Antonia posted a series of photographs and clips to her Instagram grid indicating she had been in Los Angeles, including one where she was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory and one where she was sitting at a table marked with the number “95.” On April 14, she posted a second set of photographs, tagging her location as Beverly Hills, California and using “End of Beginning” as her audio (yes, I side-eyed this choice of music so don’t feel bad if you did as well). The second photo dump included her lounging on a rooftop.

I’m not going to delve into posts made by Luke and Nicola during that timeframe. I mean, I’m sure Nicola’s comment, “’Friends’…sure Jan,” on Luke’s April 11 reshared post about Bridgerton Season 3 was only meant to be applicable to Polin. And, if Luke wanted to use yellow and black hearts to represent the colors Nicola and he were wearing in his April 12 post, that’s cool, too. And, I am definitely not going to speculate on Nicola’s April 15 post (for Big Mood) that Luke liked, and she captioned, “I will bite off anything that dangles.”

By April 21, Luke and Nicola were in Australia at the World Premiere of Bridgerton. I am only going to provide a quick overview of Australia instead of a full-fledged recital because, at some point, I will almost certainly dedicate an entry to this country. Let’s start with Luke pulling off the hottest walk-up in Netflix human history (I mean, have you watched it in slow motion?). Then, we had the hard launch of the handholding business (because why again?). And, we had Luke tripping over his words, “We’re very, like, giving…I’m not talking about those scenes…” Oh, and Nicola telling an interviewer that, “[y]ou can’t keep a good girl down,” and, in response, Luke’s lips curling into a wicked-ass Cheshire cat's. We had them in the garden, with Nicola bending down to hug Luke after she had scratched/hit/petted his head. Perhaps I should not mention the possibility of a man’s shirt being visible on a bed behind Nicola (I said possibility not that it was). And, Nicola telling Luke, “You’re the funnier one,” when he was concerned that perhaps Benedict was funnier than Colin. Then we had the “Nicola-in-the-green-dress” day where, as they were going down the steps, Luke seemed to instinctively reach for Nicola’s hand, but she played it cool and took his arm instead. Oh, and that entire “green dress” day in general (I mean, there was so much shit going on that day). And, best we do not forget Nicola saying, “the best foundation for love is friendship,” which mirrored the bracelet “someone…in Australia” gave Luke that read, “Do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?” Because that’s not suspicious at all. Alright, let’s get the fuck out of Australia – but not before I mention Nicola commenting on Luke’s April 27 Instagram post with “Ready for the next?” and Luke replying, “Absolutely.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, their shenanigans in Australia expanded the USS Lukola tenfold.

Oh, also, let me throw this in here because, if you are a “ring truther,” this fact plays a significant role in the Lukola timeline. If you do not know what a “ring truther” is, that’s perfectly fine. You can catch up by reading Entry 6 (The One Where I Explained the Claddagh Ring to My Dad) of my blog. I mentioned in Entry 6 that some Lukola sleuths have stated the metadata they pulled from the sketches of the Claddagh ring uploaded by Chupi indicate they were done as early as April 26. In other words, it means the Claddagh was likely commissioned between Australia and Italy. In fact, if we are to believe Chupi when it said it took four weeks to make the ring, then it had to have been commissioned by May 9, 2024, at the latest. Oh, lookie there, that’s Day 1 of the Italy interviews.

But, before we get to May 9, let’s pause on April 29. That was the day Luke’s InStyle spread was published – yes, the one I mentioned earlier. Luke has pictures from this photoshoot still on his Instagram grid – in fact, Nicola commented, “Yess dude!!” on them – but those aren’t the pictures I want to talk about. No, I want to talk about the pictures InStyle posted on its Instagram grid that day. These photographs came directly from Luke, which was confirmed by the InStyle article when it said, “…the actor delighted the InStyle team by delivering the polaroid photos he’d taken for this story tucked oh-so-carefully in a little brown bag for safekeeping.” The pictures Luke provided, among others, included one where he was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles; one where he was sitting at a table marked with the number “95;” and one where he is sitting in a lounge chair on a rooftop. If you want to see the pictures, InStyle still has them available – you just need to go through hundreds of posts to find them. Luke did not like this InStyle post, which was kind of odd because he was tagged in it, and they were reportedly his pictures.

Why did these InStyle polaroids seem so familiar?

Oh, that’s right, because they were.

Remember that April 7 post of Antonia’s I mentioned a bit ago? Yeah, the one where Antonia posted a bunch of random pictures from Los Angeles and – only after InStyle posted Luke’s polaroids – fans realized Antonia had preemptively posted her version of some of Luke’s polaroids.

I am not going to speculate too much about these pictures or their implications in this blog post, but these pictures may resurface in future posts because I find myself side-eyeing the fact they even exist. And, we should probably accept that Luke was aware of them before his pictures came out on April 29 because he threw a like on Antonia’s April 7 post. Could it have been a “blind” like? Sure, I guess, but the logical side of my brain says he probably looked through them at the time she posted. Let’s not worry too much about it right now, though.

After trying to write out my “general” opinion about the pictures several times, I finally decided that the best way I could articulate my thoughts was through the conversation I had with my father. Yes, Dear Dad returns again for another insightful Q&A.

I started by showing Luke and Antonia’s three “matchy” pictures to my dad and then asked him to compare them. To be clear, the pictures were their respective Griffith Observatory, Table 95, and Rooftop Lounging pictures.

Me: “So what do you think?”

Dad: “About what?”

Me: “Ugh! Why did Antonia take those pictures?”

Dad: “Well, to show she’s part of the ‘in’ crowd. The only reason I can see them being taken is if she was going to put them on the Internet.”

Me: “Uhh, as a matter of fact, she did put them on the Internet! Approximately three weeks before Luke’s were published.”

Dad: “See! I’m not as dumb as you think.”

Me: “Whatever. So, you really believe that? She took them to show people that she was, like, there?”

Dad: “Yeah. Why else would she take them? They’re not the kind of photos you’d take normally. What’s she going to do, put them in an album and show her friends in five years and say, ‘Look, I sat in Luke’s chair?’ Who does that? Nobody. Plus, Luke’s pictures look like they were taken with a polaroid camera and Antonia took hers with, I guess, a phone. Why use two different cameras? Again, it doesn’t make sense. Seems to me like she knew what pictures he was taking, and she was trying to copy them so she could put them on the Internet.”

Thanks, Dad.

You do not have to accept my father’s thoughts on the photographs. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. However, I think we can meet in the middle and opine that, at a minimum, Antonia’s pictures caused the weak Lukolas to jump overboard; at most, they gave some people stalker vibes; and somewhere in between, they introduced Antonia's negative influence over the fandom and what some may consider trolling behavior (even if it wasn’t recognized then).

Now, before we land in Italy on May 9, let’s summarize what has happened during the preceding two months.

First, we had Luke traveling to Los Angeles in March with Antonia, either alone or as part of a friend group. Luke had pictures of himself taken while there.

Second, we had Antonia posting pictures in early April that would be linked directly to Luke’s pictures by the end of the month.

Third, throughout the month of April, we had Luke and Nicola traveling together for the World Tour. We have all seen these interviews, and we have all formed independent opinions about them.

Fourth, based on Chupi’s own words, we know the Claddagh ring must have been commissioned no later than May 9.

Okay, now we’ve reached May 9, Day 1 of the Italy press junket.

Besides the press interviews, what happened on that day?

Well, Antonia reposted Luke singing Coldplay’s “Yellow” to her TikTok account.

Uhh… Huh. Interesting.

I mean, it’s possible that this was just a coincidence and she just liked Luke’s version of it. Or, it’s possible Antonia knew that “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song and she anticipated trolling Nicola and/or the fandom with it. But, if we believe she knew “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song, that means either Luke told her, or someone with that knowledge told her (i.e., someone from Luke’s team or family/friend group). We also know that Luke mentioned this song in the May 16, 2022 Netflix Tudum article when Nicola and he were asked about their song choices for Season 3. Luke stated his frontrunner was “Yellow” by Coldplay “because of Penelope’s dresses.” Regardless of why Antonia posted the song, I find it hard to imagine Netflix, Bridgerton, Shondaland, Nicola, or Luke were too impressed by Antonia resharing it on TikTok. I mean, at this point, Netflix & Co. would surely have been aware that Antonia’s “copycat post” went over with the fandom like a wet blanket in December in Canada. I imagine some questions were being asked and Luke may very well have received a hand slap from Corporate – and maybe even from Nicola.

But, that’s not the only thing that happened on May 9.

Luke posted his Homme magazine spread to his Instagram grid on that day, too. He captioned the post, “Chatting through all things S3 with @hommeplusmag [o]ut next week x.” Nicola commented, “Yessss,” and Luke tagged his post with the location of Hackney, London. That last part – about Luke tagging the location in Hackney – apparently sent the fandom into a deep-dive of…Nicola’s backyard. Why? Because Nicola lives in Hackney (Nicola herself confirmed she lived in Hackney in a March 18, 2024 interview with Derry Now), and rumors started to circulate that Luke’s pictures were taken at her home.

Hmm, I didn’t realize May 9 was such a busy day, did you?

So, which came first – the chicken or the egg? Did Antonia repost “Yellow” to her TikTok before Luke posted his Homme in Hackney images to Instagram, or vice versa? I’m sure someone out there has this information. The answer might help shine some light as to why Luke and Nicola seemed “off” in the early part of their Day 1 Italy interviews. But, then again, does the order really matter? Regardless of who posted first, it would seem to me that “Yellow” was a very possible culprit for the different energy on set that day.

That, or Luke really was peeved over someone spilling his coffee.

[gameboyreplay]

Sevika headcanon's!

An: this is my first time posting, everyone celebrate I gained courage! Wow! Warnings: Fluff!!!! And more fluff!!! Woah!!!! Also, Isha is ALIVE. my child will never die. dont piss me off

She's the cleanest woman you'll ever meet. Like she's doing two showers a day, scrubbing like she's trying to remove a layer of skin, smelling like whatever soap she picked up that month. Has a whole collection of cologne and you best believe she loves when people buy her those soap sets for Christmas or her birthday.

Speaking of birthdays, she's one of those people that HATE them. You even try to do anything nice and she's raising an eyebrow. She just doesn't understand the hype! (Doesn't want to admit she's 40)

Forgets to eat. Like you'll come home from work and she'll be sat on the couch, exhausted from having to work with Jinx and it's like a sixth sense at this point. "Hey." She mumbles, looking over to the front door. Her cape hanging off the back of the couch. "Hi baby." You say as you start to take off your jacket. When you turn back around you immediately furrow your eyebrows at how tired she looks. "Did you eat today?" You ask, taking her cape off the back of the couch and placing it on the coat hanger. She looks up to the ceiling, trying to remember if she had but just from that alone you shake your head and walk over to the kitchen. "Never mind."

When she pulls off her cape, sometimes it'll land in puddles and she has to grab it after whatever fight she was in that day, groaning because now has to wash her cape. She'll stumble home, still angry that she had to clean it. She'll go into the bathroom and lean over her tiny ass bathtub, starting to clean any of the dirt out of it. Like she's mumbling to herself about Jinx, using her breath to blow her hair out of her face and grunting when it falls back anyways. Then she'll bring it over to the bedroom, a water trail in her path. She plugs in the hairdryer, still grumbling to herself. Once it's somewhat dry, she's pulling the iron out. You walk through the door and in front of you is an annoyed Sevika, her cape on your bed, the hairdryer discarded on the floor and Sevika slowly running the iron over the cape, a scowl on her face.

When Jinx needs her hair braiding a few days later, she's absolutely yanking on her hair. Like every single strand she is TUGGING.

This woman SLEEPS. Like I'm talking full on, window shaking, waking you up, waking HERSELF up. She's tired man, she's gotta sleep like a father of four!!

Whenever she walks into where she gets her mechanical arms, every single prosthetist in the room just sigh. They see her face every other week.

Bites her nails like it's going to solve her problems. (It won't, it doesn't)

When Silco was alive Sevika would constantly try to get him to play cards with her. Likeee she'd be manipulative. "Do you wanna play cards?" Her smirk is sooo obvious on her face. "No, I'm busy." Is all Silco says. Within seconds she's placing a cigar in front of him. "You sure?" She mumbles. And you know she's walking away with coins and a cocky grin.

I feel like Zaun would be the type to have so many animals just wandering the street. So, she could be having a conversation and dogs will just walk up and she totally acts like she's annoyed while slowly lowering down and stroking the animal.

Like you'll be having a talk with her and instead of her towering over you like normal, she'll be slowly bending down. "Yeah, yeah..." "Sev, why are you on the floor." And she's just petting the dog like it's obvious.

Whenever she takes care of Isha, that child uses her like a climbing frame. She walks into a room and you just hear little mumbling and gasps behind her until she turns around and Isha is just hanging off her shoulder.

She's WARM, like crazy overheating, can't tell if she's sick, HEATED. Yet she'll still wrap up nice and toasty in the covers.

And if you're like me and you have ice cold fingers and toes, she jumps like you just place an ice cube on her body. She doesn't understand how you get like this. It seriously worries her

She gets sooooo annoyed when her hair gets in her face. Like she'll do the weird blow thing and get even more annoyed when it doesn't work.

Jinx and Isha will put clips in her hair. She pretends to act pissed off but she's secretly grateful!!

Does NOT shave. She does not gaf! Bush and happy trail for days! You could braid her leg hair! She does not care!!

After Silco died you had to practically force her off the drinks, cigarillos and the shimmer. Drowning her sorrows like she's not got two kids to take care of now.

Literally has given up trying to stop Jinx from just stopping around her apartment. She'll just hear a little knock before the sight of Isha and Jinx just standing there.

She has learnt to accept that they probably won't go away for a while. So she just allows them to get comfy while they're there. It's ended up with them stay there for days. Gave them a bedtime and everything.

If she hears them messing around in the living room she's THERE. Like if the room is dark, they only know she's there by her stomping footsteps before she crosses her arms and looms over them. "Go to sleep." And Isha just giggles quietly as she slides under her covers, Jinx doing the same with some look on her face towards Isha that Sevika doesn't notice.

She'll stand there until they're both laying down before turning around and grumbling to herself. Then about ten minutes as she's about to fall asleep again all she can hear is giggles and laughter.

Says some sarcastic shit like, "wow, no way," whenever they say they're tired in the morning. ---- A/n: I just want my wife back guys😞😞😞 Anyways let me know if they're any mistakes... or don't...

[pitchsidestories]

aurora II Mapi León x Reader

masterlist | word count: 1190

summary: Mapi and reader getting engaged under the northern lights.

author's note: dear readers, this cute oneshot was requested and we hope you'll like it as much as we did writing the story. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

„Oh, Mapi, you know you didn’t need to.”, you began, your voice full of emotions.  

In your slightly shaky hands, you held the opened envelope in which there was an invitation to see the Northern lights. A childhood dream was laying in your palms.

It was coming true, and you were going to see that natural wonder with no other than the person you loved the most. A single tear ran down your cheek as an incredible feeling of gratitude spread through you.

The Spaniard pressed a featherlight kiss to the place where your cheek was still a bit wet.  “But I wanted to. I know you always wanted to do that, and you deserve it after the year you’ve had.”

For a brief moment, your face darkened; the last few months of the 2024/25 football season had been really tough for you. While Mapi and Irene were fit enough to play in the starting eleven again, you were demoted to the substitutes' bench again, after having grown in the role of defender and been indispensable to the team for many months.

Obviously, you were happy for the two, yet it hurt to be only considered the second choice once more.

“Thank you, amor.”, you whispered gratefully.

“You’re welcome.”, she replied.

“I simply can’t wait for that.”, you hummed excitedly. Something magical at the end of the year was just what you needed, a small winter miracle.

“Luckily, you don’t have to wait for long.”, Mapi reminded you softly.

‘But you're going to be so cold!’ you realised, and there was a hint of a guilty conscience in your voice.

“You can keep me warm.”, the defender responded with an amused smile on her lips.

“I promise I’ll.”, you grinned at your girlfriend.

“Also I already bought us matching sweaters.”,Mapi confessed sheepishly

“You did?”, you asked her touched by such a thoughtful and admittable, cheesy gesture.

“I did.”, she confirmed smirking.

“Maria Pilar, you’re the softest human with tattoos I’ve ever met, I swear.”, you said.

“My tattoos have nothing to do with that.”, the fellow football player laughed.

The weeks had flown by.

Still, it felt to you like a dream when Mapi and you were looking up to the night sky in the northern parts of Scandinavia. The northern lights above your heads.

“Yes.”, she agreed solemnly. With curious eyes the defender turned her head to look at you.  “Is it just like you imagined?”

“No, it’s even better.”, you admitted.

“It’s?”, Mapi questioned happily.

You quickly pressed a kiss to her cheek: “Yes, because you’re here with me.“

“You’re so sweet.“, your girlfriend smiled, her cheeks red from the cold.

“Also this feels so good right now. We’re only half way through the season but it’s already been an exhausting one for sure.“

“I know. And that’s why you’re not supposed to think about football here.“, Mapi reminded you gently.

You nodded gingerly. Of course she was right, this was not the time or place to think about football when you finally got to see this remarkable light display with your own eyes. “Sorry.“

Silently, you both watched on for a moment, taking everything in. You still couldn’t believe this was all real. It was almost verging on overwhelming.

“Y/n?”, Mapi said suddenly into the night.

“Hm?”, you replied without taking your eyes off the sky.

“I need to ask you something.“

Finally you turned towards her and what you saw, made the northern lights pale in comparison. There was no way to top this, yet Mapi found away.

The defender kneeled in front of you, holding a delicate golden ring in a little box.

“Oh my god!”, you whispered, incapable of stringing more words together.

“I haven’t asked yet.“, Mapi chuckled.

You shook your head in disbelief: “Well, you already got down on one knee in the freezing cold and pulled out a ring from your jacket so this is pretty self-explanatory!”

“So… Can I get an answer then?”

“Without asking? Hm…“, you teased her.

Mapi shot you a look: “You just said I didn’t have to.“

“It’s a yes, amor.“, you finally answered. You couldn’t contain the smile spreading across your face when you pulled Mapi up from the snowy ground and kissed her.

“You will be my wife?”, she asked as if she needed confirmation that you knew what you had just agreed to.

“Yes, and you’ll be mine.“

She beamed at you happily: “I will be. Even in the cold… Can we go inside now?”

“Of course, I can’t let my fiancée freeze any longer.“, you nodded with a laugh and led her inside your rented cabin.

“Thank you.“, your fiancée said, rubbing her hands together to warm them back up once she was inside.

“You’re welcome. Do you want me to make you some hot chocolate?”, you suggested once you saw how badly Mapi was shivering.

“Yes, please.“

While she took off her boots and winter jacket, you disappeared into the small rustic kitchen only to return with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate a few minutes later. You had even added mini marshmallows. Carefully, you handed Mapi a mug and watched her take a sip.

“Better?”

“A lot.“

“Good.“, you sighed relieved.

“That’s all I ever wanted.”, the defender realized gratefully.  

“A hot chocolate under the northern lights?”, you asked her amused.

“With my future wife.”, she added proudly. Her words made you feel suddenly very hot, so you had to pull off the scarf.

Despite the rather chaotic proposal you heard yourself saying. “Feels like a dream.”

“It does, huh?”

“Yes, I don’t want to wake up from it yet.”, you confessed.

The fireplace crackled in the background.

“You don’t have to. That’s our life right now.”, Mapi reassured you, the Spaniard gently touched your chin and turned it towards her so that you could look into her hungry eyes.

They and her waiting lips were the invitation you needed, both of your mouths touching in perfect unison, the kiss was perfect, bittersweet, you could still taste the hot chocolate in it.

Then she leant her forehead against yours, her sentence sounded full of promise. “Love you, future wifey.”

“Te amo.”, you whispered gently in your fiancées mother tongue.

“I know.”, Mapi chuckled, her lips escaping a protesting sound once you got up to light some candles and turned out the big lights, so it was even cozier than before.

“Isn’t this perfect.”, the Spaniard admired.

“It’s plus we can see the northern lights from our beds.”, you pointed excitedly to the glass ceiling which gave a picturesque view of the night sky above your heads.

“Nice, right?”, she grinned, as you both laid down on the soft mattress.

“Yes, it’s an amazing place to make..”, you started blushing.

“Love?”, Mapi finished the sentence for you with a teasing look on her face.

“Yes.”, you bit your lips while your fiancée began to leave small kisses all over your body.

Aurora, the blush of dawn would be here soon, but you two had only eyes for each other as you made love under the most beautiful sky you’ve ever seen.

if you enjoyed this story reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated !

[0cta9on]

Today

Length: 1.3k

Genre: Fluff

IVE Liz x Male Reader

(Author's Note: Motivation is hard to come by these days, I hope you can forgive my lack of frequent updates. For the sake of my mental health, please imagine that Liz's eyes are the slightest bit of gray, I swear they look gray but they could easily by colored contacts :> Enjoy <3)

【☆】���【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★

It’s a Tuesday evening. Tuesdays always seemed like an awkward time of the week—way better than Mondays obviously, but still too far away from the weekend for any real excitement to build. The trees outside sway with the oncoming breeze, flecks of autumnal browns and golds dancing against the current before gently landing on the ground. The spontaneity of their movements reminds you of a certain someone that’s running a couple minutes late.

You take another sip of your coffee, warming and pleasant, as your gaze stays glued to the windowpane of the cafe, scanning each passing visage for a semblance of familiarity. You never had this habit before knowing her. In a past life, you kept your head down, too sheepish to look most people in the eye. Yet now, you're actively searching for the eyes of strangers, waiting until you see that glimpse of gray like the sky before a storm.

It’s a little creepy, you admit, but a billion weird glances are worth it for that split second where your eyes meet and you feel light as a feather, like the autumn breeze could carry you away with the leaves.

Across the street, the crowd splits like curtains at the start of the play to reveal the star of the show—Liz, weaving through the crowd and wearing that same apologetic look that’s become an unofficial symbol for the start of your meetings.

“I’m so sorry for being late!” she says, her voice ringing alongside the jingle of the cafe’s door.

“It’s okay,” you chuckle. “I haven’t been waiting long.”

“Still,” she removes her scarf and drapes it against her chair, the same cyan checkered scarf you bought her last year after she lost her old one, “This is, like, the millionth time I’ve been late, I feel awful about it!”

Liz rests her head against the table in defeat and you fight every urge to pat her head and comfort her.

“It’s really okay, I swear. I don’t mind waiting a little longer for you,” you say.

A smile dances across her lips, and suddenly you’re floating. “You’re so sweet, you know that?”

Your heart pounds against the confines of your rib cage like a lovesick prisoner begging to be set free. You’ve always wondered how someone like her can exist on this planet. Someone so charming, so beautiful, so perfect in every way that her only flaw is her lack of time management. Irises like raging storm clouds, paired with the personality of a calm evening in the shade. The angle of her smile, the dimples that adorn her cheeks, the luscious waves of her hair—

“Hello?” Liz waves a hand in front of your face, bringing you back down to Earth. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, sorry, I just, um… Anyways…” Timidly, you rummage through your backpack for the reason why you invited her here in the first place, taking a little extra time to calm your nerves. “H-here,” you mutter, producing a fairly hefty box from your bag.

“Ooooooh!” Her eyes excitedly glean over its matte finish. “Are these the noise-canceling headphones you were talking about yesterday?”

“Yeah, I was wondering if you could help me test them out,” you explain.

“Of course!” With an eager grin, Liz takes out the headphones and places them on her head. “Ready when you are!” she exclaims, flashing you a thumbs up.

Liz has this super power of somehow making even the most mundane tasks feel like you’re having the time of your life. As you fiddle with the bluetooth settings on your phone, you forget that it’s just another Tuesday, you forget about the countless pairs of eyes you scanned through earlier just to find hers, you forgot about the fact that you don’t actually need these headphones and only bought them as an excuse to spend time with her.

“There we go,” you say as you press play on a song. Almost immediately, Liz starts to shimmy her arms in a goofy looking dance as she mumbles along to the lyrics. You don’t even try to hide the smirk on your face. “Can you hear me?”

“Huh?” she utters a little too loud.

Chuckling, you decide to see if the headphones are as good as advertised. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Uh, my mother is at home right now, probably watching a show or something.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“Earl grey? I don’t know, I’m not much of a tea drinker.”

You keel over with laughter from her nonsensical answers while she continues to dance on like no one is watching.

Then, an inkling of an idea slips into your mind. The smile on your face fades as that idea begins to form into something new—an opportunity. What was once glee is now replaced with an anxious excitement. Your heartbeat overpowers all the background noise and all you can focus on is the gray highlighting her eyes.

The calm before the storm.

“Liz, I…” you start, voice shaky and laced with apprehension. It’s not too late to turn back and forget about this. And yet, Liz’s lack of a reaction to your change in tone calms your nerves the slightest amount. You take a deep breath and continue going.

“…I, uh, need to tell you something important. It’s been on my mind for a long while. Like, a year at this point, and, uh…”

A choppy sigh empties from your lungs. There’s no going back after this. As the last bit of oxygen brushes past your lips, you take in another mouthful of air and clamp your eyes shut.

“I like you, Liz. As more than a friend. I really, really like you.”

As soon as those words leave your mouth, you collapse face first into the table like a rickety bridge finally crumbling underneath its own weight. You did it. Sure, she didn’t hear a thing, but you finally vocalized what you’ve been keeping inside and that’s good enough for you. Maybe one day, you’ll finally build up the courage to say it when she can actually hear you. Maybe.

The sound of plastic hitting the table jolts you back up. “Oh right, how was it?” you ask, unable to meet her eyes.

“They, uh… good,” she mutters, uncharacteristically quiet. “I-I mean, they work good.”

“G-good. That’s good.” You grab the headphones from the table and put them back into their box, making sure to unpair them from your—

Your eyes grow wide as you double and triple check your phone screen. The headphones are already unpaired.

Your mind starts to race with a million questions, but only one echoes in your head—How long were they unpaired?

You shoot your gaze back up to Liz, her once milky white cheeks now stained with a bright pink hue. Your mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out. It’s too late. You know what that reaction means. And you know what’s gonna come next.

“I-I should go,” you stutter, clumsily throwing your belongings into your backpack. How could you have been so reckless? Why didn’t you double check before attempting something as idiotic as this? You’ll have to move cities now, fake your death, create a new life on an undocumented island in the middle of the Pacific—

“I like you too.”

Her voice sounds so sweet and harmonious, you wonder if all the adrenaline pumping through your system is giving you auditory hallucinations. You’ve imagined similar scenarios to these countless times before, but to hear her actually speak those words and mean them is a whole different experience.

The tidal wave of emotions washing over you renders you completely catatonic. So you sit. You let the feelings stew. You let the smile creep onto your face until your cheeks begin to ache. You let your eyes take nervous yet excited glances towards the girl sitting next to you, watching as she does the same. Those beautiful pearls of gray, gazing at you in a way that you’ve only seen in movies, TV shows, and your dreams.

Not so bad for a Tuesday.

[insidekatmind]

Meet my sister P.6-Jude Bellingham

plot: Federico Valverde wants to introduce his younger sister to Jude, his teammate. He hoped that something romantic would be born between them seeing that their characters were perfect together but things take a different turn

warning: handjob, masturbation

The evening came, but sleep seemed far away, as if it were a luxury you could not afford. You turned and turned in bed, but the feeling that Jude left you didn’t leave you for a second. Every thought that crossed your mind was about him: his arrogant smile, the way he had treated you, how he made you feel so alive and at the same time so powerless.

You felt your heart beat fast, but you did not know whether for anger or something more. The way he looked at you, challenged you, made you feel so exposed, yet you couldn’t hate him. You were beating yourself up, trying to figure out what it was about his behavior that attracted you so much. Yet, every time you tried to analyze him, his arrogant smile came to mind as if it were a mark that marked you, preventing you from going further.

Meanwhile, in his room, Jude couldn’t sleep. The same frustration that tormented you also afflicted him. His mind was back to that moment, when he had you against the wall, feeling the warmth of your body near his. He couldn’t understand why he wanted you so much, not even he could explain it. He hated you for your behavior, for your challenge, but at the same time he couldn’t help wanting you beneath him. His body had reacted to you, and now the thought of you could not leave it.

"I can’t believe that it’s driving me crazy," she murmured to herself, clenching her fist. "I should hate her, yet..." She stopped, with a tormented expression. Every time she thought about how frustrated you looked at how she had not made you reach orgasm, she groaned. He needed more, he needed to be in control, yet he knew you were a challenge that he could never easily win.

"I must make her yield," he said, while a cynical smile appeared on his lips. But in his heart, he knew it would be much harder than he thought. Every part of him wanted to have the situation under control, but he knew you would never let him. That awareness was more than anything else.

And so, you were both trapped in your thoughts, unable to sleep, both marked by the game that you had started unintentionally, but which now seemed to have become more than a challenge. A challenge that was consuming you, even if neither of you wanted to admit it.

Jude took his cock in hand caressing it while he thought about how to make you a good whore for him, ruining you while you in your room started masturbating thinking of him. You groaned and thought as the hatred between you was turning into something different even though you weren’t yet ready to admit it.

You were both desperate for each other but seemed not to notice.

"I swear I’ll fuck you up that fucking attitude you have" he whispered to himself as he reached his orgasm.

---

The day of the match arrived with an electric energy in the air. Jude was on the field, focused on the game, but when he raised his eyes for a moment, they met yours, sitting in the stands. His gaze immediately ignited, a mischievous smile forming on his face, as if he had found a new opportunity to provoke you, as if simply seeing you there was another challenge he was about to face.

You, however, didn’t let it affect you. You rolled your eyes with a sigh of exasperation, as if you were tired of this game he kept playing. His arrogant smile didn’t intimidate you anymore—or at least, you pretended it didn’t, trying not to let him see just how much it was actually annoying you.

Jude watched you with an expression that mixed anger and desire, and for a moment, his eyes grew more intense. His focus, which had been on the game up until that point, seemed to shift entirely to you. He couldn’t look away. Your presence, that gesture of defiance, seemed to ignite something inside him that he couldn’t control. It was as if you were playing with him, and he was more than ready to respond.

His face hardened, the corners of his lips curving into a look of disapproval. The match continued, but for Jude, the challenge between the two of you had taken over. Every move he made on the field, every pass, every run, seemed to be accompanied by an internal struggle, one between the desire to see you submit and the need to dominate you.

You kept your eyes on him, a mocking smile on your lips. "You don’t think you can impress me with those tricks, do you?" you thought to yourself, keeping your gaze fixed on him, fully aware of the power you had in provoking him.

Meanwhile, Jude couldn’t stop thinking about you. The game was becoming just background noise, his body moving on the field as if following a script he couldn’t control, his eyes desperately searching for yours, as if every move you made was a new key to unlocking your game. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel frustrated that you weren’t giving in.

It was a vicious cycle, and both of you seemed trapped in it, with no way out.

As the game progressed, Jude’s focus sharpened. His movements were precise, his confidence soaring with each passing minute. The crowd roared in excitement, but for Jude, there was only one thing on his mind: you. He could feel your gaze on him, your challenge lingering in the air, and he knew it was time to make you see just how much control he had.

In the 65th minute, Jude made a brilliant run toward the goal. The ball was passed to him in perfect timing, and with a swift, powerful strike, he sent it flying into the back of the net. The stadium erupted in cheers, but Jude’s eyes weren’t on the crowd; they were on you. He raised his arm in the air, acknowledging the goal, but his focus never left you in the stands. The mischievous smile was back, his eyes locked on yours with a fire that seemed to dare you to challenge him further.

A few minutes later, Jude struck again, this time with even more precision. The ball rolled past the goalkeeper as if mocking him, and with that, Jude scored his second goal. The celebration was wild, his teammates slapping him on the back, but once again, he immediately sought you out with his gaze.

This time, the smirk on his face was even more pronounced. He knew he had just made an undeniable statement, and now, he wanted you to know it. Jude’s eyes locked with yours as he wiped sweat from his forehead, his lips curling into a grin of pure arrogance.

As he turned toward the other side of the field, he couldn’t resist glancing back at you, daring you to react. He could feel the tension between you both building, the undercurrent of competition rising as he fed off the energy you sent his way. You weren’t going to break him, but he was determined to see if you’d benAfter the game, the air was still thick with adrenaline. Fans outside the stadium were shouting and applauding, but you, paying little attention to the chaos around you, decided to head toward the area where your brother, Federico, was waiting with some of his teammates. Despite everything, the thought of Jude hadn’t left your mind, and when you entered the area reserved for players, your eyes were immediately drawn to his figure outside the locker room.

There, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, was Jude. His eyes were fixed on you, and this time, there was no mask of provocation or disdain, only an arrogant smile that sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze was penetrating, as though he was studying you in every single detail, examining every move you made.

"I didn’t expect to see you here," he said with a tone that almost seemed amused, but there was also a hint of challenge. He slowly stood up, walking toward you with that air of superiority that you had come to recognize. Each step he took was filled with confidence, as if he were the one in control of the situation. And in a way, it seemed like he was.

You stopped a few steps away from him, not wanting to appear too vulnerable, but his smile annoyed you, making you feel like you were losing control. "Are you sure you want to play this game again?" you replied, trying to remain calm, but deep down, your frustration was growing.

Jude looked at you, his eyes full of a silent challenge. "Trust me, you're not the only one playing," he replied, his voice low and filled with unsettling confidence. He moved closer, until you were practically face to face. "You know, every time we cross paths, I can’t help but wonder... which one of us will give in first."

His breath was warm against your skin, and you felt like the distance between you two had evaporated, the tension thick in the air. But you didn’t let yourself be intimidated, even though you knew, deep down, you were playing a game that was slipping through your fingers.

"And what do you think?" you asked, your tone sarcastic, though your eyes betrayed you, unable to completely hide the turmoil inside.

He smiled again, but this time, it wasn’t just a smile of challenge. It was something deeper, as though he had just found the missing piece of the puzzle. "I think you're about to find out that it’s not just about who gives in first, but about who can keep control until the very end."

His words hit you like an electric shock. Jude had figured out exactly how to make you feel cornered, but you knew you wouldn’t give up easily. The battle between you two was just beginning, and the game was becoming more and more interesting.d, if you’d let that challenge turn into something more.

The crowd’s cheers filled the air, but in that moment, all Jude could hear was the beating of his own heart and the pulsing rhythm of your unspoken rivalry. You had his attention, and with those two goals, he had just made sure you knew it.

Before you could reply to that comment that had left you momentarily speechless, the locker room door suddenly swung open. Federico stepped out, his expression tired but immediately alert, his eyes darting quickly between you and Jude as if trying to ensure everything was under control.

"Please tell me you two weren’t arguing," Federico said in a tone that tried to stay calm but betrayed a certain level of concern. You knew him well; even if he tried not to show it, the tension in his gaze was obvious.

Jude wasted no time flashing that arrogant smirk of his—the one that made you want to teach him a lesson. "Arguing? Of course not, Fede," he replied smoothly, though his tone was dripping with provocation. "We were just... talking. You know how it is—your sister is always so fascinating in her arguments."

You turned toward Jude, clenching your fists to hold back your frustration. That smug grin, as if he thought he had won the battle, infuriated you, but there was no way you were going to let him have the upper hand. Not now, not ever.

"Fascinating is what people say when they’ve run out of intelligent comebacks," you shot back with a sweet smile, though your eyes were sharp like blades. "Federico, you should explain to your friends that they have no chance when they try to play games with me."

Federico sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Enough, you two. Why does it feel like you’re always about to explode whenever I see you together?"

Jude, without even glancing at Federico, kept his gaze locked on you, his smile widening even further. "Maybe it’s because someone can’t stand not being the one in control," he murmured, almost amused.

You felt the blood boiling in your veins. "Or maybe it’s because someone else should learn they’re not as interesting as they think," you retorted, refusing to back down.

Federico raised his hands in exasperation. "Enough, seriously! Jude, go change or do anything far away from my sister, please. And you…" he turned to you, pointing a finger. "Try not to rile up my teammates too much. It’s already complicated enough managing them without you adding fuel to the fire."

Jude stepped back, wearing that infuriatingly satisfied expression of someone who knew he’d left his mark. "As you wish, Fede," he said, raising his hands in feigned surrender. "See you later, princess," he added, looking at you with a gaze that was anything but innocent. Then he walked away, leaving you with a mix of anger and that frustrating feeling of being challenged once again.

Federico looked at you suspiciously. "What was that?" he asked, his eyes trying to read your expression.

"That?" you replied with a shrug, feigning indifference. "Just someone who can’t accept being put in his place." But deep down, you knew this game with Jude was far from over.

Federico nodded slowly at your words, but his gaze betrayed a certain skepticism. It was clear he wasn’t entirely convinced by your explanation, but for the moment, he decided to let it go. “Fine, but try not to cause any trouble,” he said before turning around and heading back into the locker room.

As soon as he walked through the door, a burst of loud laughter and muffled shouting greeted him. Federico stopped, closing his eyes for a moment as if summoning all the patience he could muster, then headed toward the center of the room. There, he found Vinicius, Rodrygo, Jude, and Mbappé in the middle of what could only be described as chaos.

Vinicius and Mbappé were competing to see who could knock over the most water bottles with rolled-up socks, while Rodrygo played referee, and Jude, comfortably seated on a bench, cheered them on with childlike enthusiasm.

“Come on, Vini! Aim better! You’re not on the pitch now!” Jude shouted, clapping his hands and laughing.

Federico ran a hand down his face, letting out a heavy sigh. “Is it possible that I can’t leave you alone for five minutes without you turning this place into a circus?”

The four of them turned to him abruptly, but instead of looking guilty, Vinicius raised an eyebrow with a mischievous grin. “Relax, captain, we’re just blowing off some steam after the match.”

“Relax?” Federico repeated incredulously, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re making a mess, and if the coach comes by, who do you think will have to explain everything? Me, as always.”

Rodrygo stepped closer with his usual innocent smile. “Come on, Fede, you know you’re the dad of the team. It’s your job to keep us in line!”

Federico shot him a glare. “Dad of the team? I’m not your babysitter, Rodrygo.”

“Well, you kind of are,” Mbappé chimed in, laughing as he threw another sock at a bottle, narrowly missing. “If it weren’t for you, we’d all be sent off by halftime.”

“Exactly,” added Jude in his usual provocative tone. “You should be proud of us. We’re a constant challenge, aren’t we?”

Federico sighed again, shaking his head. “A constant challenge is putting it mildly. Now, put everything away and try acting like professionals. You’re not kids anymore.”

Vinicius chuckled but started picking up the socks, followed by the others. “Okay, Dad,” he said teasingly, earning another stern look from Federico.

As the four of them tried to tidy up, Federico sat down on a bench, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder how you even manage to win matches with all this chaos you bring with you.”

“It’s because we’re brilliant, Fede,” Mbappé replied with a dazzling smile, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Despite himself, Federico couldn’t help but smile. As messy and immature as they were, he knew he wouldn’t trade this team for anything in the world.

[sabrinasopposite]

don’t you want me like i want you?

clark kent x guitarist!reader

don’t you want me

like i want you baby?

sleep tonight but tonights going crazy

meet me at the…. APT.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

For some, music is a companion—a loyal shadow that lingers, a daily necessity. But for others, it’s more. It’s everything. They don’t just hear it; they see it in the shifting hues of the sky, feel it in the vibration of the earth, live it in every heartbeat. For them, music isn’t a sound; it’s a language, a lifeline, a mirror.

For y/n, it was all of that and more. It was a sanctuary, the only way to release the emotions she couldn’t quite speak aloud. Music was her escape—a getaway car racing through uncharted roads. Plug in the headphones, press play, and suddenly, the world became a little softer, a little brighter. It was like being handed a map to a place only she understood.

But sometimes, the search for new music felt like a hunt—a quest for the perfect sound that could stir her soul, rekindle a spark, or provide the soundtrack for a moment she hadn’t yet lived. For y/n, this hunt was eternal, an ache as familiar as the chords of her favorite songs.

She had arrived in Smallville just weeks ago, a town so quiet it seemed like it could have been plucked from the second verse of a Radiohead track—melancholic yet oddly serene, with beauty tucked between its stillness. It was a far cry from the electric heartbeat of New York City, where she’d spent most of her life.

Smallville felt like a genre she’d never chosen—like a punk rocker trying to write country ballads. You either adapted and found the rhythm, or you didn’t. Y/n wasn’t sure yet which way it would go.

New York had been loud, chaotic, a symphony of endless possibility. Smallville was... still. Too still. But in that stillness, y/n found space to think—a fact that scared her more than she cared to admit. Change was like hearing a song for the first time: jarring, unfamiliar. But sometimes, if you gave it a chance, the melody could surprise you.

Her first days in Smallville were spent wandering its streets, letting herself get lost, hoping to stumble upon something—a spark, a rhythm, a new favorite lyric in this quiet album of a town. High school loomed on the horizon, another challenge she wasn’t ready to face. Her only solace was her family: her parents and her older brother, Theodore.

Theodore was her opposite in some ways but her twin in one crucial aspect—music. While she craved the melancholic poetry of The Smiths and the atmospheric pull of Fleetwood Mac, Theodore was all raw energy. His heroes were The Clash and the Sex Pistols, their messy rebellion plastered all over his bedroom walls.

Their playlists were mismatched, but their shared passion for sound connected them like two strings on the same guitar.

“You listen to sad music,” Theodore teased one night as she scribbled lyrics in her worn notebook.


“And you listen to angry music,” she shot back, smirking.


“Anger gets things done. What does sadness do?”
“It makes you feel,” she replied simply, her words trailing into the hum of a record spinning in the background.

It was during one of her aimless walks through Smallville that y/n saw it—a poster taped to a lamppost, its bold letters practically leaping off the page:

“LIVE MUSIC! TALON EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT!”

Her heart skipped, the words striking a chord in her chest. She’d passed the Talon a few times—a cozy coffee shop with an unassuming exterior—but now, it gleamed with possibility.

A smile crept across her face, bright and mischievous like the neon ink on the poster. Maybe this is it, she thought. A way to feel like herself again. To stop feeling like a background instrument in her own life.

She ran her fingers over the strap of her guitar case later that night, her mind racing. She hadn’t performed since New York—a string of open mics where she poured her heart out to strangers in dark rooms. But this felt different. This felt like the start of a new setlist.

Theodore didn’t take much convincing. Over dinner, she pitched the idea “Live music at this place called the Talon. Friday night. Let’s go.”


“You mean you should go,” he replied with a smirk. “With your brooding Smiths covers.”


“And you can bring your chaotic drum solos,” she countered, grinning. “Fine. But I get to pick one song,” theodore said, his grin mirroring hers.

🖤

As the days rolled by, the night of the Talon finally awrrived. y/n had been counting down to it, her excitement mingling with nervous energy.

The Talon wasn’t just any coffee shop—it was the place to be in Smallville. By day, it was a cozy corner where locals sipped lattes and caught up on homework. By night, it transformed into a buzzing hub for the town’s younger crowd, especially students from Smallville High.

Lana Lang, a fellow student, was the mastermind behind it all. Running the Talon was more than just a job for Lana—it was her dream, a vision she’d nurtured into reality. She’d given the shop a unique vibe, blending vintage cinema posters and retro lighting with warm, earthy tones that made it feel timeless. The Talon was Lana’s way of shaping the world around her, just like music shaped y/n’s.

For y/n, tonight was about sharing her heart through her guitar. But for Clark Kent, tonight was about surviving his friends’ enthusiasm.

Clark hadn’t planned on going. Events like this weren’t his thing—too loud, too crowded, and not exactly farm-boy friendly. But Chloe and Pete had been relentless.

“Come on, Clark!” Chloe said, practically dragging him along Main Street. “You can’t spend every Friday night doing farm stuff or staring at your ceiling. Live a little!” Yeah, man,” Pete added. “The Talon’s where it’s at. Music, coffee, and a crowd that’s actually, you know, alive. It’s way better than your barn.”

Clark sighed, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. “I don’t even like these kinds of events. You guys know that.”

“That’s because you’ve never given them a chance,” Chloe said with a knowing smile. “And besides, Lana’s worked really hard to put this together. The least you can do is show up and support her.”

Clark glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “So this is about Lana.”

“No,” Chloe replied quickly—too quickly. “It’s about live music. Supporting local talent. Being a good friend. And, okay, maybe it wouldn’t kill you to, you know, talk to her while you’re there.”

Pete laughed. “Clark Kent, master of subtlety. I bet he stands in the corner all night, sipping coffee and avoiding eye contact.”

Clark shook his head but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Fine. I’ll go. But only for a little while.” Chloe and Pete exchanged victorious looks as they stepped into the Talon.

The place was already packed, the buzz of conversation and laughter filling the air. Y/n and Theodore arrived early, her guitar slung over her shoulder and his drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket. Theodore had been grumbling about being dragged out of the house, but Y/n could see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

Clark, on the other hand, stuck close to Chloe and Pete, scanning the room. The warmth of the fairy lights and the smell of coffee filled the air, and despite himself, he felt a bit more at ease.

“See?” Chloe said, nudging him. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

Clark shrugged but stayed quiet. His eyes wandered to the small stage at the far end of the shop, where musicians were setting up. He didn’t recognize anyone, but something about the electric energy in the air made him pause.

🖤

Meanwhile, Y/n was standing offstage, tuning her guitar and stealing glances at the growing crowd. Her nerves were starting to show, but Theodore gave her a reassuring nudge. “You’ve got this,” he said, tapping his drumsticks against his leg.

“Thanks,” she replied, trying to steady her breathing. This was it—the start of something new, in a place she was still trying to call home. And as the first chords echoed through the Talon, the crowd quieted, and all eyes turned to the stage.

y/n stood at the center of the small stage, her white guitar resting comfortably in her arms, as if it had always been there. Her outfit—a mix of rockstar glam and effortless charm—caught the light just enough to make her seem larger than life.

She looked like the kind of girl people might describe as a "rockstar’s girlfriend," but there was no mistaking her presence. She wasn’t anyone’s shadow; she was the main event. A free spirit with fire in her veins and a guitar that held all the words she couldn’t speak aloud.

Her style might have turned heads, but it was her eyes that truly shone under the purplish lights. They sparkled with the energy of someone who had something to say and wasn’t afraid to let the music do the talking.

The room buzzed softly with conversation as she stepped up to the mic. She leaned in, her lips curling into a playful grin. “Hi, everyone,” she began, her voice warm but laced with the sharpness of her New Yorker accent. “Hope you guys are ready for something a little... rocky tonight.” She chuckled, the sound carrying through the room like the first strum of a chord.

y/n scanned the small crowd of the Talon, her heart pounding. The faces staring back weren’t familiar, but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t performing for recognition. This was her way of speaking to the world, of sharing her stories—even if some of those stories were ones she’d only imagined.

Love, for instance. It wasn’t something she’d experienced firsthand, but it was a world she often visited in her mind. She’d written countless poems about it, pouring her thoughts into metaphors and melodies.

Tonight, she was ready to turn those words into something real, even if it was just for three minutes under the Talon’s lights. She glanced over her shoulder, locking eyes with Theodore. His drumsticks were poised in his hands, his posture relaxed but ready. She gave him a small nod, a signal to drop the bass and let the rhythm take over.

With that, Theodore struck the first note, a deep, vibrating pulse that seemed to ripple through the room. y/n felt the vibration in her chest, grounding her, reminding her why she loved this. The noise of the crowd softened as the music began to build, pulling everyone’s attention toward the siblings on stage.

y/n closed her eyes for a brief moment, feeling the weight of the guitar in her hands. Then she opened them, her fingers finding the strings instinctively. The first chord rang out clear and strong, cutting through the hum of the room like a declaration.

The song they were playing was called APT, a fun, energetic piece she had written inspired by a drinking game her friend from downtown, NYC had introduced her to.

It was a game called Apteu, and although it was just a silly tradition, it had given y/n the perfect material for a lighthearted, upbeat song. The track was full of energy and rhythm, designed to get people moving and feeling good—just the kind of vibe she wanted to set in this crowded room tonight.

She started to sing, her voice rising and falling with the melody, effortlessly weaving through the rhythm. Her eyes sparkled with passion, each word she sang carrying the weight of emotions she often kept hidden. When y/n sang, it was like she wasn’t just performing; she was living inside the song, letting every note and lyric become part of her. She embodied it, lost in the world of the music, letting it carry her to places she could only dream about.

Her voice was a perfect blend of sweetness and edge, like honey with a kick of spice.

“Don't you want me like I want you, baby?

Don’t you want me like I need you now?

Sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy. All you gotta do is just meet me at the…”

Her voice echoed through the Talon, drawing the crowd into her spell.

Clark, who had been standing in the back, arms folded and quietly observing, found himself completely captivated. His eyes followed y/n as she moved, completely lost in the song, and suddenly, he realized he was too. It wasn’t just the music—it was the way she poured herself into every note, the way she made it feel like her voice was something raw and real, like it had never been rehearsed, only lived.

His friends, Chloe and Pete, were watching him, but Clark couldn’t tear his eyes away. The entire room seemed to pulse with the beat, and y/n was at the center of it, effortlessly drawing everyone into her orbit. He wasn’t sure if it was the way the song felt so alive, or the way y/n seemed so in tune with every word she sang, but there was something about it—something about her—that hit him harder than he expected.

“She’s good,” Chloe whispered, nudging him. ,,Better than good, actually.”

Pete grinned. “I told you. This is way better than farm chores.”

Clark barely heard them. His focus was entirely on y/n, who was lost in the music. Her eyes glinted with emotion, her whole body swaying in time with the rhythm, and Clark felt that strange spark again, like the first crack of lightning on a stormy night. He was drawn to her in a way he didn’t understand, but the more she sang, the more he couldn’t look away.

y/n smiled briefly as she sang, her gaze briefly meeting Clark’s across the room. It was a fleeting moment, just long enough for him to feel something—a connection he couldn’t name, but he couldn’t ignore.

As she finished the song with a flourish, the crowd cheered, and y/n’s face lit up, glowing with the warmth of the applause. But for a brief second, Clark was still caught in the aftershocks of that look, a smile that was just for him—or at least, that’s how it felt.

The crowd cheered, some shouting their praise while others lingered at the edge of the stage, chatting and laughing. y/n was swarmed by a few people who complimented her performance, but she stayed humble, thanking them with a bright smile and an easy laugh. Theodore hung back, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a quiet pride.

As the buzz of conversation filled the air, y/n and her brother moved off the stage, standing near the side of the room to catch their breath. Clark, still lost in the aftershock of her performance, was snapped back to reality when Chloe grabbed his arm, pulling him forward.

“Come on, Clark, let’s go say hi! You can't just stand there looking like you’re stuck in a trance,” she teased, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Pete followed, still grinning. “Yeah, man. She’s great, huh? Let’s go talk to her.”

🖤

They walked toward the area where Y/N and Theodore stood, and for a moment, Clark hesitated. His heart was still pounding, and his mind was a little lost in the world he’d just experienced. It was just a song, just a girl—yet, something about the way she’d sung had gotten under his skin. But as they got closer, he found himself caught in the whirl of people milling around, all eager to meet the new musician, all laughing and talking.

“Hey, I just wanted to say you did an amazing job,” Chloe said, reaching Y/N and flashing her a wide smile.

Y/N returned her smile, her eyes still alight from the performance. “Thanks! Glad you liked it. It’s always a little nerve-wracking to play for people you’ve never met.”

“Well, you nailed it,” Pete chimed in. “You’ve got a real gift. And that song—APT—man, that was infectious. You had everyone in here dancing with you.”

Y/N laughed, her voice warm and sincere. “I’m just glad it got people vibing. It’s one of those silly songs, you know? You gotta embrace the fun in it.”

Theodore stood silently beside her, occasionally nodding when someone complimented his drumming, but for the most part, he seemed content to watch his sister shine in the spotlight.

Clark hung back, not sure if he should join the conversation. His mind was still racing with thoughts of Y/N, of how she seemed so at ease on stage, and how her smile had made him feel like they were the only two people in the room. But he didn’t speak up. Instead, he found himself standing just out of reach, watching quietly, unsure of what to say.

After a few moments, the conversation began to drift away from the music, and people started to break off into smaller groups, chatting about other things. Clark felt the opportunity slipping away.

“I guess we should get going,” Chloe said after a while, her tone casual, but there was a hint of something in her voice, like she could tell Clark was still lost in the night’s events. “It’s getting late, and we don’t want to leave our fearless leader to fend for himself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete agreed, giving Clark a playful nudge.

Y/N’s eyes caught Clark’s again as they turned to leave. Their gazes met, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the world paused. But before Clark could say anything—before he could find the courage to step forward and introduce himself—she turned back to talk to someone else, lost in the group.

Clark hesitated, and the moment passed.

“Well, that was… interesting,” Pete said with a grin as they headed toward the door. “You seemed like you were a million miles away, man. You’re telling me you didn’t feel that? She’s something else, huh?”

Chloe gave him a teasing look. “Clark’s not the type to swoon over a girl in a coffee shop, Pete. Let him off the hook.”

Clark didn’t answer. His thoughts were elsewhere, stuck on the look they’d shared. He thought, maybe, there could have been something. But as they walked out of the Talon and into the cool night air, the excitement of the night began to fade, and he couldn’t help but think—he’d probably never see her again.

Y/N looked behind, her gaze following Clark as he walked out of the shop. Her eyes lingered on his tall figure and dark hair—he looked like a soft song, something out of Fleetwood Mac's Dreams or maybe Tears for Fears' Head Over Heels.

Her heart was pounding, maybe from the adrenaline still coursing through her after the performance. Or maybe it was the memory of those ocean-blue eyes.

🖤

The weekend passed, and Monday arrived all too quickly. For some students, it was just another Monday. Clark hadn’t expected to see Y/N again. Hell, he didn’t even know her name or who she was, but a part of him felt like he’d known her forever. Maybe it was the music that surrounded her—the way it made her seem like someone whose story everyone somehow already knew.

He’d thought about her all weekend.

Her song was stuck in his head, just like the memory of those purple lights that seemed to reflect her presence.

But another thought kept creeping in—he’d probably never see her again. She sounded like she came from New York; maybe it had been just a visit. What kind of girl like that would live in Smallville? She seemed like she belonged in a vinyl shop, or in some city where she was constantly surrounded by music.

Yet, as he walked down the hallway of Smallville High, he saw her.

Y/N was leaning against a locker, laughing and talking with Theodore. Her bright smile seemed to light up the entire hallway, and for a moment, Clark felt the world slow down.

He didn’t know what was happening to him. Sure, he’d been shy around Lana earlier that school year, but this was different. He didn’t even know Y/N—he’d only met her eyes across a crowded room. And yet, here he was, feeling… weird.

When their eyes met again, Y/N smiled, a mix of recognition and curiosity. She nudged Theodore and pointed in Clark’s direction.

“That’s the guy from the other two people who congratulated us—Friday night!” she said.

Theodore glanced over his shoulder, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Sis, a lot of people talked to us that night. I barely even remember the girl who gave me her number.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and walked away from her brother, heading straight toward Clark. His steps slowed, but his heart raced faster with every second.

“Hey, aren’t you the guy from the Talon—Friday night?” she asked with a warm smile as she approached him.

Clark blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Clark. Clark Kent.”

“Y/N,” she said, extending her hand. Her handshake was firm, confident. “So, do you go to every show, or was Friday just a lucky coincidence?”

“I don’t usually go to shows,” he admitted, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But maybe… I’ll consider going to more.”

Y/N grinned, her expression easy and relaxed. Something about her grounded him, helping him find his footing. She was tilting her head slightly as if studying him. “You don’t seem like the ‘crowded coffee shop’ type. What pulled you in? Was it the music, or did someone drag you there?”

Clark chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Chloe and Pete—they kind of insisted. Said I needed to ‘get out more.’”

“Sounds like good friends,” she said with a laugh. “It were the two that I talked to— right?”

“Yeah—- they loved it seriously,” Clark admitted. “And I… well, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” His words came out more honest than he’d intended, and he quickly added, “The music, I mean. You were amazing up there.”

Her expression softened, a touch of surprise flickering in her eyes. “Thanks. That means a lot.” She paused, glancing at him curiously. “So, what do you do? Besides getting dragged to coffee shops by your friends, I mean.”

“Mostly farm stuff,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of shyness. “My family has a farm just outside of town.”

“That explains the whole ‘rugged, mysterious’ thing you’ve got going on,” Y/N teased, crossing her arms as she leaned against a nearby locker.

Clark laughed, a little flustered. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me mysterious before.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything,” she said with a playful shrug. Then her tone shifted, becoming more sincere.

Clark smiled and looks at her. ,,And— the guy with the drums was your boyfriend or..?” he said curiously— of course he didn’t want to build up some hopes but, why not asking right?

Her smile widened, and she glanced back toward Theodore, who was still leaning against the lockers, pretending not to listen.

“Well— definitely not. His name is Theodore and he is my older brother. He shares the same passion like me— he is more into sex pistols and I am more into the smiths. But music’s always been my thing. It’s… kind of like home, no matter where I am.” she started to ramble— she was quite a talker.

Clark nodded and found that adorable of how she got into a conversation flow. “That makes sense. You looked like you belonged up there.”

Y/N looked at him for a moment, her gaze softening. “Thanks, Clark. Really.” Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she added, “So, are you going to stick with the ‘guy who never goes to shows’ routine, or are you thinking about breaking that streak?”

He smiled, shifting his weight slightly. “I guess that depends. Are you playing again soon?”

“Maybe,” she said, clearly enjoying the game. “Guess you’ll have to keep an eye out.”

Clark nodded, his shyness melting away as her energy pulled him in. “I’ll do that.”

“Good,” she said with a soft smile. “See you around, Clark Kent.”

And with that, she turned back to Theodore, leaving Clark standing in the middle of the hallway, feeling like the world had shifted just slightly under his feet.

As he watched her walk away, Pete and Chloe appeared at his side, both smirking.

“Smooth, Clark,” Pete teased. “Real smooth.”

Chloe grinned. “So, is this where we start dragging you to more coffee shop gigs?”

Clark didn’t answer. His gaze was still fixed on Y/N, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Maybe you should.”

🖤 i hope u guys enjoyed! and stream APT by my girl rosé

[ripdragonbeans]

Love In The Darkest Of Places // Modern!Aemond x Reader

Chapter 4: Freedom

Summary: You and Aemond are in college now, which presents itself with its own new challenges. One you didn't expect, however, was cutting off your family.

TW: unhealthy family dynamic

Masterlist

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

The thought of jeopardizing your relationship with Aemond was too scary to even consider. As much as you wanted to say yes, to be his, you knew there was no way to guarantee you would stay together. At least with this friendship there was no way of messing it up. Or at least you hoped. Your heart and soul yearned for him but your brain was terrified. The risk that came with being in a serious relationship was too great, according to your brain. Your heart and soul said to hell with it, to jump into the deep end, but in the end you were too afraid.

For the rest of high school that’s how you two were: best friends. Never once did either of you waver. Not once did either of you date. There was an unspoken arrangement that you would wait for each other. Of course, since Aemond made his move after that regrettable double date, it would be up to you.

“Do you wish we could be together?” you asked him one night. You were spending the night in his dorm room. It wasn’t the first time you’ve asked the question.

“You know my answer,” Aemond replied, never looking away from the television screen.

It was movie night and as per usual, you stayed in his dorm. High school seemed so far away yet it was almost as though it was yesterday. The double date with Cregan had always stayed in your mind. That Monday afterwards did, too. 

“I feel like I'm playing you,” you admitted to Aemond. 

“If you actually were, I don't think you'd be worried about it.” He looked at you and smiled. “I'll wait however long and if we only stay friends then that's okay too. You're my best person in the world. Together forever, remember?”

“Yeah, together forever.”

Silence.

“What if…” you started, “what if there's someone else out there for you?”

“The only person I want is you. If someone else finds me then maybe you ran out of time.”

“What if… what if I find someone else?” 

“Then I'll let you go. I'll do whatever to make you happy.” Aemond reached for your hand and squeezed it. He looked out the dorm window. “It's getting late. Do you want me to walk you back to your house or?” He left the question hanging.

“I think I'll go back to my house alone” you replied. It hurt your heart to leave him but you did so anyway.

Aemond’s face fell when you gave his answer. He simply nodded and got up to let you out of his dorm. 

“You know I -” you began to say.

“Don't worry about it,” Aemond said with a tight smile. “I understand.” 

And with that he closed the door.

You couldn't help but press your forehead against the door. You knew you should head back to your own dorm but you couldn't bring yourself to do so. Your feet refused to move and the thought of leaving Aemond alone in his room hurt your heart. 

So you let yourself stay there. 

You could hear Aemond through the door a tiny bit. You wondered if he felt as conflicted as you. A small mirthless laugh left you. Of course he felt conflicted. You were the one making him wait. Taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself up and headed out of the dorm and to your family’s house.

Unlike Aemond’s loving family, yours refused to pay for a dormitory. You had to walk or grab a ride home at the end of every day. Normally you would ask Aemond or Helaena for a ride but you wanted to be alone right now. Asking Aemond after this movie night was out of the question as well. So instead, you basked in the brisk cold night as you made your way back to the house.

When you arrived at the house you didn't bother announcing your presence. It wouldn't have been met with anything kind anyway, if it even received a reply. While the interior was warm and welcoming to everyone else, it was cold and lonely for you. Stepping inside the building, you toes off your shoes and shrugged off your coat before retreating into your bedroom. It was your safe haven in this place. 

Plopping down on the bed, you let out a groan. The day had been going perfectly well until you told Aemond it felt as though you were playing him. You were just too scared for yourself and for him. You didn't want either of you to get hurt in any way. Gods forbid the pain is caused by you or him. You hugged a pillow, wishing it was Aemond. Soon enough, sleep found you.

You walked down a cold, empty hallway. Your footsteps echoed against the walls. You didn't know where you were going; you were just walking. One thing you did notice, however, was the deep pit in your stomach. Something was going to happen but you didn't know what. And it would be something big. 

Soon, the walls became grand. Wallpaper were plastered on and large portraits of your family lined them. Your parents looked regal, of course. If it were another time you thought they would even be royalty. Then came the portraits of your brothers, Jace and Luke. 

Ever since Luke took Aemond's eye, you’ve cut him off. You avoided him, refused to talk to him, and have even left buildings if you found out he was there. There was no love in your heart for Luke, even if you were siblings. You could never forgive him for what he did. Yet here, in his portraits, he looked like a carefree child. So innocent. So wrong.

Jace’s portraits seemed accurate, in your opinion. He was still as charming as ever but you could see underneath him, how he loathed you, how we always craved the attention from mother and father. You smiled cruelly at that thought. He would never have their full attention. It was always on themselves but you let Jace believe that maybe one day their focus would be on him. To an extent you pitied Jace but not enough to make room in your heart to love him. He did nothing while Aemond was hurt and he constantly ridiculed you. No, there was no love.

Soon, there were pictures of Mrs. Alicent, Mr. Criston, Aegon, Helaena, and Jason. Unlike the photos of your family, these were candid, happy photos. They were real and genuine. No fake smiles or practiced poses; just silly faces and love. As you approached each of their photos, you couldn't help but feel joy. You were so happy for them and you wished desperately to be part of that. 

But something was off.

In the bundle of photos with Aemond was another person. Their face was covered or they were always facing away from the camera. Aemond was either grinning ear to ear or looked at that person with…love. The person in question had long, dark, flowing hair. You didn't recognize this person but it did something to your stomach. A pit dropped and it made you want to throw up. 

You kept walking down the hallway.

Suddenly, you heard laughter. Laughter and voices. You pinned down Aemond's but didn't recognize the female one. You didn't like this one bit. Could there be someone else for Aemond?

No. No, that can't be.

You raced down the hallway to find Aemond and this mysterious woman locked in an embrace.

“Aemond?” You asked quietly.

Aemond turned around. “You're too late,” he said. His voice echoed. “I waited for you but you took too long. I found someone else.”

“No!” You cried. You had woken up in a cold sweat. Looking around, you tried to ground yourself. There is no hallway, no portraits or pictures, no Aemond with some other woman.

You sighed as you heard someone come up to your door. You had an inkling it was one of your brothers.

“Hey, can we talk?” Jace knocked on your door.

You opened it only to reveal your older brother. “What do you want?”

He looked down at his feet. “I wanted to apologize. I've never been the best big brother and that's on me.”

“Okay…” you were confused as to why he was doing this.

“I was talking with my girlfriend, Sara, and she said that we needed to talk so here I am.”

You crossed your arms and leaned on the doorframe. “Talk about what?”

Jace shrugged. “Everything, I guess.”

“...Okay. Give me a minute to get dressed and we can go to the Dorne Café.” You closed the door behind you and got ready.

Within ten minutes you and Jace were out of the door and in his car. The ride to the café was silent. It wasn't tense or anything, just quiet. When you arrived at the café there were a decent amount of people there but not too many. After both of you placed your orders you went to claim a table outside.

Sitting across from each other, you waited for your brother to say something first. You simply looked at each other. In contrast to you, he was waiting for you to speak first. Once again in your life, you were at a stand still with your brother.

Not being able to stand the silence, you broke it. “Okay, I'll bite. You, Luke, mother, and father never wanted to do anything with me. I was always on the side and when I wasn't I was teased and ridiculed.”

“That’s a pretty heavy way to start this,” commented Jace.

“Well, you wouldn't talk first, so I did.”

“I teased you because I was mad. I was upset that you were closer with Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond and not with us. You're my sister. You should've been with me and not them.”

“You weren’t the most welcoming type when it came to me, Jace.”

“That's because I didn't know!”

“That’s a shitty excuse. We could have been closer. We could have had a better relationship.”

“I know and I want to fix it!”

You sighed and put your head on your hands. “Jace, it might be best for us to just go our separate ways. Damage was done and it was constant. I just can't forget all that.”

“Yes, you can. We can start over, pretend that nothing ever happened.”

“But it did happen. My childhood was filled with your constant teasing and mother and father’s neglect. It's forever burned in my mind.”

Jace threw his hands up in the air. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know, Jace.” You could feel a lump growing in your throat. You didn't know what to expect on your way to the café but it wasn't this.

He nodded his head. “Okay, then.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I wasn't a better brother. You deserved to be treated better.”

“I know.”

Silence enveloped the air. No one talked. Only distant conversations and cars speeding by were heard by the two of you.

“I think it’s best if I just go to Helaena’s,” you whispered.

“What about us?”

“What about us? We're ruined Jace. We were never truly brother and sister.” You paused. “I was planning on moving in with Helaena, anyway, she needs a roomie for her apartment. I'll pack up my things over the next few days and I'll be out of everyone's hair.”

“If that's what you want.”

“I'm sorry, Jace. I truly am.”

Both of you were slow to pick up your trash. It was as though you were savoring these last few moments. When Jace dropped you off at Helaena’s apartment he walked you to the door.

“Maybe one day we’ll get better,” he said.

“Maybe.” You were hesitant but you gave him a hug. “Goodbye, Jace.”

Once he left and his car had gone out of view, you knocked on the door.

“Coming!” Came Helaena’s dreamy voice. She opened the door and wrapped you in a big hug. After letting you go she said, “I read your text, I'm so excited for you to move in! It'll be just us. No boys to stink up the place.”

“Believe me, I'm so excited.” You tried to smile but it faltered.

Helaena furrowed her brows. “What's wrong?” She pulled you into the apartment.

Once you were seated on the couch you told her everything that had transpired between you and Jace. 

“It was a goodbye and it was upsetting but it was also freeing in a way.”

Helaena nodded her head. “I understand.”

“I’m not looking forward to moving all my stuff out. I just don’t really want to go back there.”

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, I promise,” Helaena said. “And we can ask Aemond and Aegon to join us, too. They would keep your family away from us.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “You know, my mother still thinks Luke was in the right. She thinks that Aemond deserved to lose his eye. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m related to her.”

“That’s sick,” Helaena agreed.

“Gods, what even is my family?”

“A mess. They’re a giant mess. But,” she paused. “You have us. You have me, my mother and father, and Aemond and Aegon. We will always be with you.”

“I used to be so scared that you guys would push me away; especially after Aemond lost his eye.”

“Why would you think that?”

You shrugged. “I felt responsible and guilty. I blamed myself and believed that you guys would later blame me, too.”

“Don't be ridiculous. That will never happen. I promise.” Helaena pulled you into a hug.

Gratefully, you returned it. “I talked to Aemond this morning.”

“And?”

“I'm just so torn, Hel. I want to be with him but I don't want to risk our friendship.”

“You know I think you should take the leap but I can't make that decision for you. You have to do it yourself.”

Your thoughts moved to your dream. “What if there's someone else for him? Someone better than me?”

“I honestly can't see Aemond with anyone else but you. You two have been through it all. And,” she paused and obviously glanced at your collar bone. “You're still wearing the necklace after all these years.”

You brought your hand up to rub the gem between your fingers. It was an action that you developed whenever you got stressed. 

“Look, you even mess with the necklace whenever something is wrong because it calms you. Aemond calms you.”

“It’s all so much.”

“You know what I think, but I want you to do it on your own terms. If you need more time, then take it.”

You took Helaena’s hands in your own. “Thank you.”

She squeezed your hands before letting them go to clap them together. “Now, shall we start moving in now or tomorrow?”

You huffed out a laugh. “I think tomorrow will be fine. We can give the boys a heads up tonight and just chill.”

“I love that idea.” She looped her arm through yours and led you to your soon to be room.

Moving in with Helaena was a breeze, thankfully. You didn’t have much to take out from your parents’ house. Jace actually stepped in to help a little bit but said nothing when doing so. When you left with your things, all he did was give you a small nod. 

You had officially cut ties with your family.

You were free.

The air felt fresher. The grass was greener. Your mother, father, and brothers no longer loomed over you. Taking a deep breath, you smiled as you looked around your room. No one would steal anything from you. You had a whole apartment you shared with one of your closest friends. Everything was right. Everything except the hole in your heart.

Pacing the room, you went through the war in your head, trying to choose if you should talk to Aemond or not. The worst he could say was no but that would be too much. Even though the chances of him saying no is almost nonexistent. Still, the risk was there and that terrified you. Putting your gears aside, you dialed Aemond’s number and called him. 

The phone barely rang before Aemond answered.

“Are you okay?” he immediately asked.

“Yeah, I'm okay. I guess I just wanted to talk to you,” you admitted. 

“What's up?” He asked again. When you didn't respond he said, “I know something is wrong. You don't call me unless something is really messing with you.”

Sighing, you nodded your head until you realized he couldn't see you. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, always.”

You could hear his smile. Aemond always loved it whenever you came to his dorm.

“I'll see you in a bit, Aems.”

“In a bit,” he repeated.

When you asked Helaena to drive you to Aemond's dorm she gave you a knowing smile.

“Are you finally going to tell him?” She asked you.

“I…I don't know but it's in the realm of possibilities,” you said. It was true. You played with the idea of telling him today but you were still scared.

The car ride to Aemond’s dorm was uneventful. Helaena gave you words of encouragement and tried her best to keep you calm. 

“You're going to be okay. Both of you. I've never seen two people who meshed as well as the both of you. Whatever bond you have with him is unbreakable,” Helaena told you.

You wrung your hands together. “Yeah.”

When Helaena pulled up to Aemond’s dorm building he was already out in front waiting for you. His tall frame making him stand out in the emptiness of the walkway. With his hair down and flowing slightly with the breeze he looked ethereal. You could never get over how beautiful he was. 

When Aemond saw you, a smile brightened up his face. You smiled back. It was going to be a good day, you thought to yourself. Stepping out of Helaena’s car, you gave her a quick thank you and tried to control yourself as you walked to Aemond. As soon as you were by his side he pulled you into a hug.

“You've had me worried these last few days,” he admitted.

“And why's that?” You asked him.

“You've pulled away a bit.” He was quiet.

Your eyebrows pinched together. “What do you mean?”

“Once you moved in with Helaena you didn't call or text me much and didn't offer to visit until now.”

“Oh.” You couldn't tell him everything. Not yet. “There's been a lot going on.”

“You don't have to take that on alone,” Aemond reminded you. “I'm here for you. Together forever, yeah?”

You smiled. “Together forever.”

That night you spent the entirety of it with Aemond. You put on a movie, popped popcorn, and simply enjoyed each other's company. It was as though there was no lingering feelings between you two. It was just you guys. Anyone from the outside would have assumed you were together, and gods, did you wish it was true. Aemond, for sure, wished it was. 

You and Aemond say against the wall on his bed. His arm was casually around you while you snuggled in close. At some point in the night he pulled his hair up in a messy bun. When you tried to braid his hair he swatted your hands away with a goofy grin on his face. 

“Just once!” You pleaded.

“You've already done it once!” Aemond laughed.

“When?” You put your hands on your hips.

Aemond sighed then explained, “Back when we were fourteen. You convinced me to let you braid my hair. It was in knots afterwards.”

Crossing your arms over your chest you muttered, “It wasn't too bad.”

“We needed Helaena’s help.”

Nudging Aemond with your shoulder you told him, “Fine. I won't braid your hair tonight. But let's do something!”

“What if I braided your hair?” 

You raised an eyebrow. “You know how to braid hair?”

“There's a first time for everything,” he shrugged. “It's your turn to have knots,” he bumped you back with his shoulder.

You huffed, “Fine,” and plopped yourself in front of him.

When Aemond ran his hands through your hair, you couldn't help but lean back into him. He gently massaged your scalp before carefully dividing your hair into three sections. 

“Are you sure you know how to do this?” You teased.

Aemond tugged on your hair, sending shivers down your spine. “We're about to find out,” he whispered in your ear.

You couldn't help but flush at his words. Aemond braiding your hair shouldn't be as intimate as this and yet it was. Your relationship has changed since you've both moved on to college. Now, you simply danced around each other.

As Aemond braided your hair, he would tug on it every now and then, causing a bolt of pleasure to shoot through your stomach. 

“Am I hurting you?” Aemond asked when he tugged it for the fourth time.

“No,” you let out breathlessly.

When Aemond finished braiding your hair, you turned around only to find each other nose to nose.

“Aemond?” Whispered.

His violet eye bore into yours before quickly dipping down to your lips and back. “Yes?”

You looked at him and slowly leaned forward. Meeting you in the middle, Aemond captured your lips in his. It was soft. It was tentative. For a second you froze, not knowing what to do, but then Aemond reached up to cup your face and you kissed him back. You moved so you were on your knees in front of him, just now slightly taller than him sitting down. His hands went to your waist and he held on like he never wanted to let go. 

Sitting back on your haunches, you placed your hands on his shoulders. Aemond tensed up slightly but relaxed quickly. The kiss wasn't heated or rushed. It was very slow and calm. You were both waiting and now you finally had each other.

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience: ~Jungle Pool SOS!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: when kyoya offers up his families yet to open resort no one could have guessed what would actually happen. ➼ what to expect: “I have a duty of care for you" ➼ warnings: none ➼ Part six | Part eight

Now considering this was technically considered a club activity you have to admit this was the most relaxed you had been in a while. The sun beaming down on you while you sun bathe, even the usual drama of host club antics get lost in the serenity of an empty resort.

"I must admit Kyoya, when I joked a few years ago that the ootori group should create a holiday resort and label it as a form of therapy I didn't think you took it seriously" you muse, eyes closed as you bring in the sun rays.

Kyoya shrugs but quickly remembers that you can't actually see him "Believe it or not I don't completely disregard your ideas, expecially when they truly have merit, my father seemed to agree"

You hum knowingly at what he actually meant by that statement "I'm assuming that he doesn't know that it was my idea then" You tease, not really being that mad about the stolen idea, it wasn't like Kyoya was getting any direct monetary profit from the resort. "I did try crediting you but he had a hard time believing a fifteen year old girl came up with it by herself"

You weren't exactly surprised, you had met Kyoya's father after all, you knew what it was like by now. Luckily you were too relaxed to care at that moment.

There was a moment of silence, peace between the two of you. It was actually something you enjoyed when spending time with Kyoya, the two of you never forced conversation for the sake of it, which on it's own sounds sad but it makes any words that the two of you do exchange all the more important.

"If...you have any more ideas like that...tell me about them...I can at least appreciate a good idea when it comes from you" you laughed under your breath, "Well of course" lifting your sunglasses to rest against your head, sitting up to face him properly "You have taste"

"Why thank you my dear" he joked, taking a sip of his drink, watching chaoes unfold as Tamaki and the Twins argue over what Haruhi should wear. Typical.

“Haru-chan! Let’s play! You wanna go swimming in the current pool with me?” Honey tugs on Haruhi’s arm with a pink float decorated with bunnies clinging to his waist.

“Nah. I’m not gonna swim today. Hold on. You know how to swim; you still need that float?”

Honey shakes his head, “Mm-mm. Just looks cuter this way, you know?” Honey spins on his heel to go prancing in the other direction toward the current pool.

“Mm, he’s right. Those bunnies are pretty cute.”

“He’s so innocent.” The twins materialize on either side of your chair despite the umbrella above them.

You sigh, leaning back in your sun lounger basking in the controlled chaos you are used to.

“No way! You’ve got it all wrong!”

You start, awakened by a powerful rumbling in the ground and echoing voice.

“Is that Renge?” Haruhi turns her head to the offending sound.

A cabana splits in half, and the trees part to make way for her infamous contraption, the rumbling sound now accompanied by her shrill laugh.

“How does she do that? It’s like the rig follows us.” Haruhi sweats.

you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose "One day, all i want is one day"

“That outfit’s pretty impressive,” Hikaru observes Renge’s two-piece bikini and a tattoo winding up her ribcage.

“What’s with the tattoo on your stomach?” Kaoru inquires.

“Oh, that? You don’t recognize it? I’m cosplaying.”

“Yeah, as who?”

“La-La~”

“LaLa? Like the manga magazine?” Kaoru grumbles.

“Her petite and slender frame, her blue eyes that light up young men’s faces, her singing voice! I am Quon Kisaragi!” Renge extolls.

“I wouldn’t have guessed.” Haruhi sneers.

“I had no idea who you were supposed to be.” Tamaki shrugs.

Once again, the twins and Tamaki are huddled in a circle as Renge poses for Haruhi, who watches, miffed.

“Hey, Boss, are you sure it’s okay for Renge to be dressed-”

“-like that?” They point to the girl in question.

“Well, yeah. That’s okay.” Tamaki shrugs indifferently.

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s cosplay? I guess.”

“Listen up, boys! You obviously need help understanding Haninozuka’s hidden motives. Look!” Renge notes, pointing over to Honey and Mori.

“Takashi!” Honey calls, landing in the current pool and letting the current sweep him gently away as Mori watches fondly.

“What are you talking about?” Tamaki implores.

“Think about what he said to you earlier.”

“Just looks cuter this way, you know?”

“He’s not being as sweet and innocent as you think.”

From the chair next to you, Kyoya shoves his glasses up his nose, “I agree. Try putting the word 'I’ at the beginning of that sentence.”

“I just look cuter this way, you know?”

“I look cute!”

“He planned that?!”

“That’s Haninozuka for you. In the last part, he felt threatened by another loli-boy type, so he’s taken steps to keep his rank. I should give him more credit. He’s a lot smarter than I thought.” Renge descends into the ground and disappears.

“Hey! Look at this, everybody!” Honey draws everyone’s attention to him and Mori.

Mori swims diligently against the current with Honey on his back.

“Check it out! Look! Even though we’re swimming really fast, we never go any farther than we are now!” He waves excitedly.

“So, what’s up with him?” Tamaki groans.

“Could he really be that smart?” Haruhi interjects.

Hikaru cocks his super-soaker water gun; the squeaking draws Tamaki’s attention to them before he’s blasted in the face with a stream of water.

“I got ya!” Hikaru winks handsomely, resting his weapon of choice on his shoulder.

“C'mon, Boss, let’s go! Let’s have a water gun fight.”

“It’ll be me and Kaoru against you. If you get it in the face, you lose. What do you say?” Hikaru implores, hand on his hip.

“Forget it.” Tamaki dries his face, “Why would I want to subject myself to a childish game like that?”

An idea forms in each of the twins’ minds.

All of a sudden, you’re grabbed by your wrist and pulled from your nap with an exclamation of surprise.

“y/n, I think it’s time that we got married! Then we’ll honeymoon in Atami!”

You quickly break from their hold, sitting back down on the lounger really not wanting to get involved. "Considering if y/n was going to marry anyone it would be me you clearly haven't thought through your plan very well" Kyoya spoke up, glaring at the twins before nodding towards haruhi.

The twins quickly pick up what he's putting down "Good point Kyoya, we were thinking about this all wrong, Haruhi clearly is the better option SHE should marry us"

"gee thanks" you mutter but its clear that it did the job of pissing off Tamaki, breaking out a waterfight between the three of them.

“I’ll get you guys! Sideways-leaping shot!” Tamaki launches himself sideways, but the twins shield themselves with two comically large tiki masks.

“That’s cheating!” When Tamaki lands, his foot catches on the previously discarded banana peel, and he tumbles noisily into a totem pole, head first.

You wince and suck in a breath through clenched teeth, “Oh- that didn’t sound good.”

One by one, the animals on the totem pole’s eyes glow an intimidating red until the final animal at the top is shining.

You remove your sunglasses from your eyes and place them on your head, “That… doesn’t sound good either.”

As if he senses something is amiss, Mori drops his glass at your feet, attention diverting to Honey in the current pool, still carelessly kicking his feet.

Something underneath the water rumbles, and a wave develops until it’s practically a tsunami. With wide eyes, Honey watches as it heads straight towards him.

“Wah~!” It crashes over him, and his bunny float is sent soaring into the air- but without him inside as he’s flushed in the wave.

“Honey-Senpai!” You lurch from your chair, and your sunglasses fall discarded to the ground.

“Mitsukuni!”

Both you and Mori hurry to see if you have enough time to save him, but Mori slips on the same banana peel and falls harshly to the unforgiving concrete.

“Mori-Senpai,” You call in concern.

Tamaki jabs a heroic finger in the air, “Gentlemen, we’re going after Honey-Senpai! That pool looks like the quickest way!” he announces, referring to the pool Honey was treading water in before he was washed away.

“Charge!” Haruhi, Mori, and the twins follow Tamaki’s lead as they sprint haphazardly in a random direction.

As you see that Kyoya’s stayed put, you decide that it might be best to stay put as well. His family did build this resort, after all.

“Wait! I wouldn’t go-”

It’s already too late; the club has come across the alligators in that direction. “There are alligators in there!” They flee as quickly as they can.

Tamaki jabs another heroic finger in the air, “Okay. So we can’t use that pool, then let’s try this way next!”

But where Tamaki has pointed, several more alligators appear, snapping their jaws in a warning.

“They’re here too!”

“And here!”

With his more petite, brown leather portable notebook, Kyoya’s glasses glint off the sun as he explains your current situation.

“Those alligators belong to the park’s tropical animals exhibit. I guess it is kind of dangerous to let them run wild.”

“And yet i'm supposedly the one with bad ideas?” You huff in frustration, peering at Kyoya from your crouched position on your nap chair.

“Though, the cause of our present situation seems to be the location of the switch for the current pool. I’ll have to have a little chat with our designers.” He snaps the notebook shut.

“Thanks a lot, you guys. I got some great data today.”

“You what?!” The club exclaims.

“Ok I'll admit that is a little smart" You shrug.

“This is a map of the Tropical Aqua Garden. This is our current location. We need to get here- I have a feeling that’s where Honey-Senpai probably ended up. It might be tough, because to get there, we’ll have to make it this jungle area in the southern block.”

Kyoya drags his pen along the map to indicate your path, “Distance-wise, we’re talking about 800 meters.”

“It looks like there’s a lot of undeveloped areas. And idea what might be lurking in those parts of the jungle?” Haruhi cautiously inquires.

“Since they’re still being developed, I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Yeah, someone’s going to have to carry me.” You lift your arms high and glance around for any takers.

None. Yet. You’re going to have to work on your skills.

“Whatever’s out there could be even more dangerous-”

“-than alligators.”

“Alright. Now, this is a mission of survival! I know we can make it through the treacherous jungle in one piece… It is our sworn duty to save Honey-Senpai!”

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

In the dense plant life and humidity of the inner workings of the jungle, the sunlight is much more filtered than it was out in the open.

“Wow, this place is just like a real jungle, huh?”

If you couldn’t see the glass dome and someone had dropped you off in the middle of this theme park with no knowledge as to how you got there, you might have believed you were in the jungle.

“Yeah, and I keep hearing all of these really strange animal calls,” Haruhi grumbles.

“You don’t think that all of those animal sounds-”

“-could belong to the real thing, do you?”

Kyoya shrugs, “To be honest, I’m not sure, but I do know that my family always strives for authenticity whatever the cost.”

"There surely must be some kind of ethical issue if that is the case, wouldn't be a good healing facility if there is a serious alligator injury" you pointed out, suprised that Kyoya's family would put actually dangerous animals in an enclosed area.

Kyoya hummed "I suppose so but it also wouldn't surprise me if that was on purpose to drive more business to our hospitals" he muttered only loud enough for you to hear really. It didn't surprise you either really but you dreaded to think if that was actually the case.

As if on cue, Mori slips and falls behind the group. At the loud grunt and crash, you all turn to him. He lays unmoving with a banana peel on his face.

“Mori-Senpai is-”

“-acting as clumsy as you do, Boss.” Hikaru and Kaoru worry.

“Shut up!” Tamaki snarls as Mori sits up from his position on the ground.

Your accusations are correct- Mori is more worried than you can imagine.

The sunlight diminishes greatly, and you look overhead to see the beginnings of rainfall.

“Uh-oh, it’s about time for the squall,” Kyoya notes as he checks his wristwatch.

“Huh?”

The first few drops fall, then it turns into a downpour. You and the club take refuge in a nearby pavilion with a straw roof.

“Hey, Mori-Senpai. You seem to be really close with Honey-Senpai. Are the two of you like childhood friends?” Haruhi inquires from her seat in the pavilion beside the twins as Mori leans on the edge, watching the raindrops fall.

"You don't know?" hikaru asked "They're cousins" Kaoru added. You lean back against the wall of the shelter you are all in, sighing as you look out into the rain.

"Now this is the kind of rain that I remember" you mutter to yourself, the rain reminding you of europe. Kyoya also leans against the wall next to you "Hello? It's me. Well, we've had an incident that's caused some trouble"

you look up to see Kyoya on the phone, most likely to either his father or someone high up in his private police force. "No she's fine. yes she's unharmed" You raised an eyebrow, obvious that he was talking about you although you were confused on why whoever he was talking to was asking about you.

In the mean time Mori and Haruhi seem to wander off "Yes, at once, please" he finally put down the phone. "My family's private police force is going to send in a search and rescue team to help us, they're better equipped to find Honey-senpai than we are. so let's just go back to the gate and wait there"

The others weren't listening except for you, too busy arguing over Haruhi. "Hey, where are Mori and Haruhi?" he questioned as all of you left the shelter to head for the gate, but he shrugged it off, figuring they would show up at some point with a search and rescue team around.

The other boys rush ahead, still arguing "when you were on the phone before, you were talking about me? weren't you?" You ask kyoya, looking up at him as he looks ahead. "I was, why do you ask?"

You dead pan at him, head tilting at the side "You know why"

Kyoya sighs "you know I have a duty of care for you, as does my father, if I call up our police force when it is known that I am with you it is protocol to ask about your safety" he explains.

He pauses, stopping in his tracks "You know, I'm don't believe I mentioned to them that there are other visitors here. Huh. Oh well" He shrugs carrying on, hovering a hand over your back to urge you forward.

however instead of finding the gate you instead find a series of police officers on the floor with honey, Mori and Haruhi standing before them. We break out into a run at the sight of them "Haruhi!" Tamaki cries.

"Are you alright?" he adds, the five of you out of breath as you come to a halt "Hey its Tama-chan!" Honey says as if he hadn't just knocked out a dozen guards.

"You okay, senpai?" Hikaru asks. "Haruhi!!!" Tamaki leaps for her "I was so worried" the twins bend down to check on the guards "I'm not sure what happened here, but at least they're alive"

"It's pretty amazing that this is Honey sepai's work"

"He must have been really holding back" they continue to poke at the guards

"Huh?"

“What do you mean he was holding back?” Haruhi queries with innocent eyes, although Tamaki is in serious pain.

“So then-”

“-you don’t know about Senpai?” The twins seem bewildered by her lack of knowledge.

“The Haninozukas are famous for their martial arts. Not only have they helped train the police and SDF forces, but they’ve also worked with several overseas military forces.” Hikaru elaborates as they abandon their fascination with the grounded soldiers.

“Honey-Senpai, in particular, has been called the dreadnaught of the Haninozuka family. By the time he was in middle school, he’d become the national champion in both karate and judo.”

Honey turns when he feels he’s called, then giggles with closed eyes.

That’s the karate and judo champion for you.

“Mori-Senpai’s no slouch either. He won the national championship in kendo when he was just in middle school.”

Haruhi looks to her savior, and he turns when his name is mentioned.

“So how were you able to find us, Honey-Senpai?” the twins inquire as Honey has returned to his natural aura.

“It wasn’t hard. It didn’t take me long to reach the end of the current pool, so I decided to look for you guys.”

“We humbly apologize!” A different, more foreign voice pipes in, and the attention of the club directs to the soldiers, now reoriented from their initial shock and kneeling to the ground in a show of respect.

“I am a second-generation student of the Ishizuka Dojo!”

“I’m a student of the Todoroki Dojo!”

“And I’m from the Otakeh Dojo! We are in your debt!”

Honey’s eyes and posture display innocence and confusion, “Why? Is something wrong?” His voice can easily be mistaken for an eight-year-old boy’s.

“Yes, sir! We’re so sorry, sir! We were unaware that we were searching for Mitsukuni Haninozuka! We’ve committed a terrible offense here! I apologize for this confrontation. But my dojo will be so excited to hear that I’ve come face to face with the great Haninozuka! I cherish this moment!”

You snort, scooting closer to Kyoya, “I bet if he offered them an autograph, they’d pass out.” You snicker. You almost draw a smile from him, but rather he gives you a condescending look.

“What? I bet I’m not wrong.” You pout.

Honey takes Mori by the wrist and gently brings him down to his level, patting him gingerly on the forehead, “Takashi~ you did an amazing job of protecting Haru-chan.”

This patronizing show of affection elicits a smile from Kyoya as he adjusts his glasses.

“I bet you were pretty lonely without me around, huh?”

Mori’s eyes dart to the right where Haruhi is stood, “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

Honey smiles with a fond giggle.

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

With the sun setting, the clear, blue water now fades to an orange, coral color as it washes upon the shore. It has taken the rest of the day to walk back to where you’d begun this journey.

Despite his earlier resentment, you now ride on Kyoya’s back, limp arms slung around his neck and your cheek pressed to his back, eyes contently shut.

Back to your much deserved nap.

“You know, maybe we should go to the beach next.” The twins stride ahead with arms casually thrown behind their heads.

“Yeah, the beach would be nice.” Kaoru agrees.

Kyoya glances over his shoulder at your relaxed features and smiles fondly. He’ll have to keep you away from the water.

“You idiots, Haruhi’s not interested in anything like that.” Tamaki scoffs confidently.

Haruhi smiles gently, “Actually, I might like to go to the beach.” It stuns the club, each one stopping in their tracks to look at her.

“I may not be into this silly water park but I like the ocean. It would be nice to go the beach, and it’s so pretty.”

Completely recovered and acting like he hasn’t just opposed it, Tamaki glitters, “Yeah! Alright. Then that’s where we’ll go next time.”

“We’re all gonna go to the beach, Tama-chan?” Honey quips, perched on Mori’s shoulders.

He hums gently, “That’ll be fun, don’t you think?” His inquiry is directed to Mori below him.

Mori simpers fondly, “Yeah,” It’s not hard to pick up the genuine agreement in his tone.

Next time on patience 'The Sun, the sea, and the host club!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000

[logos0]

Lost in Translation

The Barcelona Femení locker room buzzed with life, the kind of effortless camaraderie that you often felt like an outsider to. It wasn’t anyone’s fault — your teammates were friendly, always including you in their jokes and post-match plans. But for someone who recharged in silence, the noise could feel overwhelming.

You tucked yourself into the far corner, lacing up your boots with methodical precision. The pre-match rituals around you blurred into the background as you prepared for another day of doing what you did best: letting your football speak louder than your words ever could.

But today, the buzz was louder than usual. A new energy vibrated through the room, pulling your attention against your will.

“Kika’s here!” Alexia’s voice cut through the chatter. “Come sit with us!”

You looked up as Francisca "Kika" Nazareth strolled in, her easy smile lighting up the space. Her presence was magnetic, the kind that drew people in without effort. She greeted everyone with a natural warmth, her voice dancing between Portuguese, Spanish, and English as she charmed her way through introductions.

She didn’t look at you — not yet. But you noticed the way her gaze swept over the room, like she was taking everyone in at once. When her eyes finally met yours, you quickly looked down, your heart thudding in your chest.

The match against Levante was gruelling, the kind that demanded focus and grit. You played with your usual intensity, letting the rhythm of the game drown out everything else. But Kika — she played like she was born on the pitch, weaving through defenders with a confidence that bordered on reckless.

By the time the final whistle blew, Barcelona had scraped a hard-fought victory. Back in the locker room, the energy was palpable, everyone riding high on the win. You slipped into your corner, as usual, content to stay in the background.

But Kika had other plans.

“You were incredible out there,” she said, dropping onto the bench beside you.

You stiffened, caught off guard. Up close, she was even more captivating — messy hair, flushed cheeks, and a smile that could melt glaciers.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes on your boots.

“I mean it,” she continued, undeterred. “The way you read the game? It’s like you’re always two steps ahead.”

Her words were genuine, but they only made you feel more out of place. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, especially from someone like her — someone who seemed so effortless in everything she did. Someone who fit in.

“You’re really good too,” you offered, your voice quieter than you intended. “Your footwork is… impressive.”

Kika grinned. “Thanks! I guess I just like to have fun with it.”

Her gaze lingered on you, like she was waiting for something more. But when you didn’t say anything else, she let the silence settle, her smile softening.

“Anyway,” she said, standing up. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

As she walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d missed your chance to say something important.

Over the next few weeks, Kika quickly became the heart of the team. She was the kind of person who could make anyone laugh, who slipped seamlessly into conversations and made everything seem lighter. The fans had started to take notice and were already joking that Mapi and Ingrid had adopted her.

You admired her from a distance, feeling both drawn to her and painfully aware of the chasm between your personalities. She was everything you weren’t — open, fearless, magnetic.

And yet, she kept finding ways to talk to you.

“Hey, do you speak Portuguese?” she asked one day after training, catching you as you lingered by the locker room door.

“Not really,” you admitted, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

“That’s okay,” she said, her smile teasing. “I’ll teach you. Then you won’t have an excuse to avoid me.”

Her words were light, playful, but they struck a nerve. Did she think you were avoiding her? Maybe you were. Not because you didn’t like her — far from it — but because being near her made you feel like you were coming undone.

One evening after a match, the team gathered for dinner at a bustling restaurant. You’d taken your usual spot at the edge of the group, content to observe rather than participate.

Kika, as always, was at the centre of the conversation, her laughter ringing out like music. But tonight, something was different.

“Did you see her assist?” someone said, pointing to you. “Perfect timing as always.”

Before you could respond, Kika chimed in. “She’s incredible, isn’t she? Always so calm and collected.”

Her words were meant to be kind, but they felt like a spotlight shining on everything you weren’t. Calm. Collected. Detached.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, forcing a smile.

Kika’s gaze lingered on you, her expression unreadable. For a moment, it seemed like she might say something else. But then the conversation shifted, and the moment was lost.

It all came to a head after a particularly rough match. The team had lost, and the atmosphere in the locker room was heavy with disappointment. You’d played well, but it hadn’t been enough.

As the others trickled out, you stayed behind, staring at your cleats.

“You okay?”

You looked up to see Kika standing in the doorway, her brow furrowed with concern.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically.

“Are you?” she pressed, stepping closer.

You hesitated, the weight of everything — the loss, your own insecurities, your feelings for her — threatening to spill over.

“I just… I don’t fit here,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kika’s eyes softened. “What makes you think that?”

“Everyone else is so… outgoing. Confident. And I’m just…” You trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Kika crouched in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your knees.

“You don’t have to be like everyone else,” she said firmly. “You belong here because of who you are, not who you think you should be.”

Her words hit you like a jolt, the sincerity in her voice cutting through the fog of doubt.

“And for what it’s worth,” she added, her smile returning, “I like who you are.”

The next time the team gathered for dinner, Kika made a beeline for your table, sliding into the seat beside you.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious.

You felt a blush creep up your neck but didn’t shy away this time. As you had sat down at the far end of the room, you hadn’t exactly sought to avoid the Portuguese but once more she seemed to find you regardless.

Over the meal, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, talking about everything and nothing. For the first time, you felt like you could breathe around her, like you didn’t have to prove anything.

Later, as the team filtered out, Kika lingered by your side.

“I need to tell you something,” she said, her voice quiet.

You looked at her, your heart pounding.

“I like you,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Not just as a teammate or a friend. I like you.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak, the weight of her confession sinking in.

“I like you too,” you finally said, your voice trembling but sure.

Kika’s smile lit up the room, and before you knew it, she was pulling you into a hug, her warmth chasing away the lingering shadows of doubt.

As she held you close, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to change to be loved.

[yourloveaton]

do you plan in adding spamton and jevil to the lore since they (supposedly) interacted with gaster??

(Also I ADORE your AU you're doing amazing!!!)

This is very embarrassing to admit but I had been wanting to play Deltarune by myself so I haven’t gotten into Deltarune yet, (waiting for the upcoming chapters next year to play the whole thing or I might play first hand) so I don’t know MOST THINGS about Deltarune, this is my first time hearing about those two supposedly have interactions with the old man HAHAHA

So I’ll most likely not include any Deltarune related stuff into this au just cuz idk anything about it 😭🙏 Maybe next year..?

But yeah, thank u sm !! Im glad u like the au already hehehe 💖

[hotvintagepoll]

Donald O'Connor (Singin' in the Rain, Francis, Call Me Madam)— LOOK AT HIM. Those giant blue peepers. Those tappy tappy little feet that don't quit. The ears that stick out like little wings, ready to lift him up to goofy heaven. The way his face contorts into the strangest yet most endearing expressions. His ability to sing and dance alongside the hunk that is Gene Kelly and yet pull all attention away with his big-eyed buffoonery. The way his energy is unmatched in songs like "Make 'em laugh" - bouncing off the walls and tumbling through the air straight into my cold cold heart. Who else but a true scrungly lil guy would sit upon the witness stand and defend a talking mule with all the love and affection in the world - staring out into the court room with his bright wide eyes and eternally mouse-like expression, openly admitting that the mule is his best friend?!??! I see him and I want to pull him from the screen into my hand and just squiiiiiiiiiiiiish with all my might. I want to pinch his cheeks and have him bat those eyes at me. He just makes me go "eeehehehehehe" every time I see him and his silly little self. He is pure chaotic, ridiculous, scrungly perfection!

Rene Auberjonois (Brewster McCloud)—I feel like anyone who was in a Robert Altman movie should count as scrungly, and this guy was in many a Robert Altman movie.

This is round 2 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here. Reminder this is a poll about old films, not TV, and no TV based propaganda will be accepted.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Donald O'Connor:

My silliest little guy. My funnyman. My horsie. I have watched many a bad movie for this man. The scrungliest fact I know about him is that he was supposed to star as Danny Kaye's role in the iconic White Christmas (1954), as he had known Bing Crosby since he was a child, but couldn't because he caught a mule disease while working on those Francis the Talking Mule films Universal endlessly made him do. I wouldn't exactly recommend those movies, but Don's character getting psychologically tormented by a sardonic mule does make for quite a good movie night, if you know what you're getting into. Are You With It? is another one I don't exactly recommend, but it does open with Donald as a math genius actuary who is about to kill himself over a displaced decimal point before getting taken in by a traveling carny instead. His more well-known and beloved roles have plenty of scrungliness too, in my opinion. This man slapsticked so hard he wound up bedridden for his physical exertion! Rather than submitting Make 'Em Laugh, which the electorate has likely already seen (I hope), I'm submitting an underrated dance number of his, where he explains maths through tap dance. That movie is Not good, but god do I love him in that role.

I think it's arguably very scrungly to seemingly be a real life cartoon character made out of rubber, as proven by how slapsticky the list of scrunglies is so far. In which case, Donald O'Connor? He scrungles supremely. He even played Buster Keaton in a movie (that apparently can't be recommended, but still).

Rene Auberjonois:

[violetwitchmcu]

All I Ask | j.w.

"Just this, no promises, no expectations. Just us—before everything changes."

wonwoo x reader // cw: slight angst, kissing // not proofread

🎸a/n: I was listening to music and all I ask came on and immediately ran to write this. grab your tissues you may cry.

PLAY ‘ALL I ASK’ BY ADELE WHILE READING

Y/N had been trying so hard not to think about it, trying not to let the tears fall. She didn’t want to cry tonight. Not now, not when everything they had was slipping through her fingers like sand. But the sadness, the finality of it all, had already seeped into her heart, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop it from breaking.

She took a step toward him, her voice trembling. "Wonwoo…"

His gaze lifted, his eyes dark with emotion. It was the first time tonight that he had looked at her like this—so vulnerable, so uncertain, like he, too, was struggling to find the right words.

"I don’t want to say goodbye," Y/N whispered, choking on the words. "I don’t want this to be the last time we’re together. I don’t want to let you go."

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything for a long moment. His silence seemed like the only thing he could offer in return. He reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers gently, as if afraid to break the fragile moment they shared.

"You don’t have to say goodbye yet," he said, his voice rough, like it was fighting to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "Let’s just have tonight. Let me have tonight with you."

Her heart ached at his words. She knew what he meant. Tomorrow, he would leave for his mandatory military service, and everything would change. They both knew that. But right now, all she could hold on to was this last night together, before time and distance stretched between them, making everything feel farther away than it ever had before.

"All I’m asking," she whispered, stepping closer until her body was just inches from his, "is one last night with you. Just this, no promises, no expectations. Just us—before everything changes."

Wonwoo closed his eyes for a moment, his breath shaking. He had been trying so hard to stay strong, but he couldn’t help it—he was terrified. Terrified of what was coming. Terrified of losing her, even if it was just for a little while.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, his gaze filled with a mixture of longing and sorrow. "I’m scared, too," he admitted quietly. "I’m scared of what’s coming. But right now… I’m here. And I want you to know, no matter what happens, I’ll always carry this night with me. I'll carry you with me."

She closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her. It was the promise of something that could never be, but it was the best they could do. She reached up to touch his face, brushing her fingers against the side of his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch.

"Just tonight," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "Let me have this. Please."

Wonwoo’s breath caught, and then, as if in surrender, he leaned in and kissed her. It was slow, tender, like he was trying to memorize every detail of her—the way her lips felt against his, the softness of her skin, the scent of her hair. The kiss deepened, and for a brief moment, everything else disappeared. There was no military service, no uncertainty about the future—just the feeling of being completely present, together.

When they finally pulled away, both of them breathless, Y/N rested her forehead against his, her eyes closing as the tears she had held back finally fell.

"Tomorrow…" she started, but her voice broke, and she couldn’t finish the sentence.

Wonwoo held her tighter, his arms wrapping around her as if he could shield her from the inevitable. "Tomorrow doesn’t matter. Not tonight. Tonight, we have each other. No goodbyes. Just this moment. Just us."

And so, they held each other through the night, the world outside fading into nothingness. No more words were needed, only the quiet, unspoken promise that they would carry this memory, this last night together, into the uncertain future that lay ahead.

When the sun rose the next morning, Y/N knew they would have to say goodbye, but tonight would always be theirs—a night without promises, but full of love. Just as she had asked.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

I've only watched the first 5 episodes and I'm obsessed! I am convinced that there is no part Jesse Lee Soffer can play that I won't love. I went to binge on some content for him and couldn't find anything (Big sad). So, I had to make sure he had at least one story. I'm still learning his character so this is probably not perfect.

Wes Mitchell Key 

You didn’t know what the hell you were thinking. The relationship wasn’t new but had been long since the beginning. Now you were standing in front of his apartment door, one travel-on bag thrown over your shoulder. You had jet lag from the flight all you wanted was a hot shower and any flat surface to sleep on.  

But now standing here anxiety twisted in your stomach clawing its way up your throat. You reached in your pocket pulling out a key. It felt heavy as lead in your palm and caught the light in the shine of the new metal. You had never used it before and half wondered if it would even really work in the lock. 

You and Wes had been officially together for eight months after steadily talking for three. It didn’t take a genius to know that Wes had trust issues. He didn’t talk about his childhood much, but the random snit bits that he had shared you knew it had been on the rougher side. He was slow to trust and despite his apparent mastery at reading suspects needed blunt direct talks to know where he stood in his personal relationships. 

You two hadn’t seen each other in person more than a handful of times. It had forced a strong foundation built on communication and genuinely enjoying the other company as opposed to falling into bed together because it was easy and lonely. Wes had openly admitted that he tended to do that in a lot of his previous relationships because he “wasn’t good alone”.  

It had been a major red flag and forcing you to keep the pace slow. He was charming, funny, and incredibly good looking and you didn’t want to get your heartbroken.

It didn’t stop you from falling in love with him.

Neither of you had uttered those words yet. Wes didn’t seem like the type to make that proclamation without meaning it and you didn’t want to back him into a corner. 

The feeling of him keeping parts of his life separate from you had caused more than one fight. It always happened in the same pattern. You would bring it up, he would acknowledge that he did it and promise to try harder to be more open. For a while, he would and it would get better but he always seemed to hide behind that last layer of protection. His reflex to protect himself at any cost. You loved him and tried to be patient with what he was working through but the pattern was incredibly frustrating.  

The last one had stuck pretty well. When he came for a week's visit, he had given you his key. He hadn’t said it but you knew it was his way of showing how much he trusted you. You couldn’t help but wonder if it had been an empty attempt to appease you. After all who would go across the country to actually use the key?  

You had only been to his apartment in Budapest once and he came to see you three times. When you met him, you didn’t even have a passport. While seeing each other hadn’t been frequent, the sex was always absolutely mind-blowing. 

Now you felt like quite the hypocrite as you had been hiding your own struggles from him. Things had gotten so bad, so overwhelming at home that you had packed a bag and paid for a flight on a whim. You couldn’t even remember if you packed underwear. Your brain had been like watching static on a TV and it was only halfway through the flight that you remembered that Wes wasn’t even home. He was currently in the Netherlands.  

You felt a gaze fall heavy on you. You look over your shoulder to see a man watching you stand in front of the door holding a key and making no attempt to open it for way longer than necessary. You scrabbled to put the key in the lock and let out a grateful yet slightly surprised breath of relief as the key twisted in the lock butter smooth. 

A glance back showed the man's suspicions seemed settled as he headed down the hall. Then you remembered the alarm and rushed in to type in the password letting your bag carelessly fall to the ground with a heavy thunk. You watch in anticipation after typing the code in. Wes would be the type to constantly change his code but the light turned blissfully green.  

You turned around to see the almost obsessively neat living room. It had a modern feel but it felt only half lived in like Wes hadn’t completely moved in even though he had been living there for over a year now. It looked exactly the same as when you had been there last. The only difference is the lack of pillows and blankets thrown on and over the couches. It was clear that he had done that for your comfort when you had been staying there.  

You stared blankly into the space. Should you call Wes to let him know you have invaded his home? A yawn forced itself from you and your exhaustion came over you in another harsh demanding wave. It had been over a 12-hour flight and you hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Thoughts of calling Wes were easily forgotten with the promise of sleep.  

You walk into his room and are washed in the scent of his cologne and aftershave still barely clinging to the enclosed space. It brought a soft comfort to you. A tease of his embrace. You paused thinking about how awful you must smell and all the germs you had no doubt gotten from the shared space of the airport and then the plane. Your fickle mind had you turning on your heel to the shower turning the water hot.  

As you rinsed off you noticed the only product that Wes had was a 3-in-1 body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. You didn’t even have it in you to care as you scrubbed yourself down with it only unconsciously noticing how awful it made your hair feel. You dried off sparing only the bare minimum amount of time towel-drying your mess of tresses before climbing into his bed. You sank into it with a sigh cocooning yourself in his blankets and before you could think twice you were out like a light. 

Wes entered his apartment quietly. Resetting his alarm before heading to the bedroom. He set his bag down gently as he headed to the bed. He sitting beside you brushing the still damp and tangled tresses off your face. You barely moved still deep in sleep. His eyes analyze you worriedly before leaning down and dropping a soft kiss on your forehead. 

Wes had been gathering his things when his phone had chimed alerting him that someone was at his door. He glanced briefly at his phone thinking it might be a person walking too close to his door or a package arriving he had forgotten he ordered. He had done a double-take when he realized it was you. You hadn’t mentioned anything about stopping by.  

He thought maybe it was a surprise visit. It had been a while since you had seen each other in person. The long flight explained why he couldn’t reach you the last few times he had called. He quickly dismissed that notion. You knew he was still in the Netherlands doing a job and he had given you no idea of when he would be back because he hadn’t known himself. If that wasn’t enough there was your slumped posture, hair thrown haphazardly up in a messy bun with thick chunks of hair escaping, only one carry-on bag thrown over your shoulder. He could feel your exhaustion through the screen, not the excitement you usually had when finally getting to see him again. 

He had watched with growing concern as you just stood at his front door with the key in your hand. You stood that way for so long that he thought his video might have frozen. It stung when he realized it was indecision. He had silently willed you to open the door but still you stood unmoving.  

His stomach clenched with guilt. It was his fault that you were hesitating. You had told him you felt like he had a life he didn’t want you to know. That he always had his walls up. He knew the truth and accepted the burden of trying to fix it. He thought he had been doing a good job and that it wasn’t a big deal.  

Watching you fight with yourself if you were truly welcome in his home or if you would be invading it spoke louder than your words ever could. They cut deeper too. Far past the walls that he had spent his life building. He was just about to call you and tell you to go inside when your head whipped backward clearly startled by something. Then you turned back with purpose and put the key in the lock. It didn’t give him the relief he was hoping for. You hadn’t chosen to go in, you had been pushed too. How long would you have stood there without that nudge? 

The flight home was short but it felt long. His mind was in fix-it mode and whirling with what was the right thing to do when he got home. He wanted to talk to you about your relationship. There was nothing more he wanted than you being around. How deeply he cared for you. He wanted to know what that hesitation meant to you about your relationship because he knew what it meant to him. 

Even though Wes desperately wanted that to be the first thing he did. He knew it wasn’t the right one. He needed to find the underlying cause of what would cause you to spontaneously fly across the country. What had happened? And how did it build up that fast? Hadn’t he just talked to you a few days ago? You had been a little quiet but it had been late your time so he hadn’t thought much of it. Had he missed something so major? How long had whatever it was really been going on? 

Wes tried to suppress his worry not wanting to alert the team that you were there until he knew what was going on. He knew an attempt to run when he saw it, he had done it enough himself. When the group had asked if he wanted to get some drink before they had all returned home, he had feigned tiredness. He had beelined for his home. 

Wes smoothed the blankets over you gently, considering his options. He sighed deeply standing up. You looked vulnerable and small twisted in the blankets and curled up into a ball. You were in a deep sleep. You had barely moved since he had walked in. It wasn’t worth waking you up.   

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

let's take a chance and fly away somewhere alone

a steddie upsidedown au oneshot

||Jonathan Byers & Nancy Wheeler & Barbara Holland || Nancy Wheeler/Jonathan Byers || ~17k, complete || Complicated Relationships || Canon Typical Violence || Trauma || Mutual Pining || Friendship ||

Nancy’s jaw felt tight–aching with how hard she's clenching it as she walks the halls of the school. Beside her, Barb’s shoulders were curling forward, rounding in in a way that made her furious. If she’d known going to one of Steve Harrington’s famous parties would end like this, she wouldn’t have bothered.

They’d both heard the rumors by now. They’d seemingly circled throughout the school, passed on from person to person like a messed up game of telephone. It’d started innocuously, word spreading that she’d had a fight with Steve, and Barb had been there, but by the time she’d reached her locker,  it’d mutated beyond recognition.

Nancy had glared at the girls loitering by her locker that morning as one whispered in the ear of the other, purposefully loud enough to carry—Did you hear Steve Harrington’s loser girlfriend tried to get his friend to fuck hers? 

She’s heard too many iterations to count. Barb tried to have sex with Tommy, and stormed out of the party when he said no. Nancy tried to have a threesome with Barb and Steve. And, most hurtful, Steve cheated on Nancy with Barb.

Each one was whispered with such weight, like they didn’t have any other cares in the world. Not grades, not extracurriculars, not even the fact that there’s still a kid missing. Jonathan Byers keeps putting up missing posters, but that’s yesterday’s news. There’s new gossip to be passed around. 

Everyone knew someone who knew someone who’d seen it all go down last night in the Harrington’s living room. No one, apparently, had seen Tommy call Barb a loser and then drench her in his shaken up beer. 

Worse, Steve wasn’t here to put the rumors to rest, his words holding more weight than either Nancy or Barb’s. She was starting to worry that he’d skipped on purpose—who knows what excuses had come out of his own mouth once they’d left.

By lunch, she’s ready to stand up on a table and shout, if only it would stop everyone from looking at them.

“It’s not worth it,” Barb mutters as they sink into their old, familiar seats in the cafeteria, abandoned weeks ago for the more central popular table.

It’s nice, almost, to be back to just the two of them, no boyfriends or parties where people picked on her friend.

“Do you think Steve knows about this?” Nancy asks, voice hushed as she glares around the cafeteria, huffing as peering faces suddenly whip down to full lunch trays when their gazes lock.

Barb doesn’t answer right away. She picks at her tepid lasagna, not meeting Nancy’s eyes. 

“Barb?”

She sighs. “I don’t know,” she says, that mulish tilt to her chin that only comes out when she’s made up her mind but isn’t admitting to it. “I never thought he was good enough for you.”

Nancy picks up a carrot stick and bites it in two with a sharp snap. Steve wouldn’t have done this, not on purpose; she knows it. But one way or another, she’ll find him after school and get to the bottom of this. And if he had? She knew of an extremely sharp drop-off in the quarry he could stumble off. 

Barb plays reluctant chauffeur after school, idling in her car as Nancy pounds on the Harrington’s front door. 

Even though his car’s in the driveway, no one answers. 

Nancy goes around the side of the house. The gate’s still open, and the yard’s a mess of cups and overturned chairs, exactly as she’d seen it last night.

A kernel of worry sinks into her gut. Steve’s fussy about a lot of things—his hair, his possessions, his clothes—and she’d always thought that would transfer over to his own house. And yet, he’d left it like this?

The sound of a car door slamming echoes through the deserted cul-de-sac followed by Barb’s jogging steps.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

Nancy tries the side door, peeking her head through when it opens. “His car’s here,” she says, stepping inside when no one immediately jumps out to arrest her. “He’s here.”

“So you break and enter?” Barb demands, but she follows Nancy inside, shutting the door behind her. 

“Steve?” Nancy calls. 

The house is big enough that her voice seems to bounce off the walls and echo right back at her. No one else says a word. She makes her way through the house, kicking abandoned cups out of the way.

She jogs up the stairs, Barb hot on her heels. When she reaches Steve’s bedroom door, she knocks quietly before pushing it open just enough to poke her head in and peer inside. 

It’s neater than she’d expected, what with the state of the rest of the house. There’s nothing on the floor aside from his backpack, no clutter on his desk, no clothes strewn about. His bed’s even made. 

“Steve?” she calls again.

No one responds, so she steps inside, peeking into his en suite bathroom, opening his closet, pulling back his blankets like he can somehow be inside. She stalls in the middle of the room, surrounded by Steve’s things, no boy in sight. 

Something that feels uncomfortably close to worry starts to pool in her stomach. “Where would he have gone?” she asks the empty room.

Barb’s the one that answers with an exasperated, “I don’t know, Nancy.” Nancy turns to find her standing in the entryway to Steve’s bedroom, arms crossed, clearly fed up with all of this. “Maybe he’s off with his parents vacationing in Europe or something. Who cares? Can we go before someone calls the police?”

Nancy looks around the empty room again. “Will is missing, though,” she replies. “Do you really think that’s a coincidence?”

Barb throws her hands in the air with a vehement, “yes!” 

Barb’s exclamation rings through Steve’s bedroom, filling up all that vacant air. 

“What if something’s wrong?”

Barb sighs, slumping down and softening her voice. “Look, I’m sure he’s fine,” she says. “If he’s not in school tomorrow, you can always ask those two trolls if they’ve seen him.”

Nancy nods, looking down at her feet. She doesn’t want to talk to Carol or Tommy who very clearly share her mutual dislike. But, Steve’s not allowed to just up and leave when he owes her an apology and answers both. 

***

They use the side entrance to leave again. Barb’s tiptoeing out, some part of her waiting for Steve Harrington to step out of the recesses of his house and call the cops on them. But, when she closes the door behind them with a quiet click, all that greets them is silence. 

The pool’s got plastic cups floating in it, and there’s a pile of what looks like vomit gathering flies by the diving board. Her nose wrinkles when she catches a whiff. 

“Come on,” Barb says, heading toward the still-open gate and her waiting car. But Nancy’s circling the perimeter of the pool in the exact opposite direction. “Nancy?”

“I just want to make sure he’s not back here,” she says, peering into the trees like Harrington will be passed out drunk in the woods almost twenty-four hours after his rager ended. 

Barb stands by the gate, glaring at Nancy’s back until it’s entirely obscured by trees. All this fuss for a boy who couldn’t even be bothered to show up and apologize. 

Something snaps in the woods, like Nancy stepped on a felled branch and it broke beneath her foot. Nancy calls, “Steve?” and Barb’s ready to roll her eyes at whatever practical joke the guy’s pulling, but then there’s another sound.

It’s guttural, and twisted up on itself, and entirely indescribable. Nancy gasps, and there’s a thump. That’s when Barb comes running. Her sneaker slips on a wet patch and she almost goes tumbling into the pool.

Nancy rushes out of the forest, barreling into her hard enough to send both of them sprawling on the hard pavement. Nancy jumps up, yanking Barb upright right alongside her before dragging her by the wrist, trotting toward the gate at a fast clip.

“What happened?” Barb asks, craning her neck to look behind her, trying to catch sight of whatever made that noise, whatever freaked Nancy out this much. “What did you see?”

Nancy doesn’t answer until they’ve both slipped into the car and Nancy’s locked her door with shaking hands. Sensing the urgency of the moment, Barb hits her own lock and starts the car, backing out as quickly as she can.

Nancy stays twisted in her seat, peering out the back window until they’re down the Harrington’s long driveway and off his street entirely. “Nancy?”

Nancy finally turns forward, face blanched white. “There was something in the woods,” she says. 

“What, like a wolf?” Barb asks, thinking of that sound, the way it almost echoed through her head. 

When Barb glances away from the road, Nancy’s shaking her head. “It was bipedal,” she replies, staring at the windshield more than through it. “And it had no face.”

Barb scrunches up her face. “Like a person in a ski-mask?” she asks. It hadn’t sounded like a person. It hadn’t even sounded like a wolf. Barb never wants to hear it again. 

Nancy shakes her head, and all she says is, “I have a terrible feeling about this.”

Barb does, too. She wants to go home, and forget this entire day completely. She almost manages it, but it all comes rushing back when Harrington still doesn’t show the next day.

Barb nibbles on her lunch, watching Nancy talk to Carol and Tommy in hushed whispers. Tommy leans back in his chair, laughing at whatever Nancy said. Carol doesn’t look amused, but when Tommy wraps his arm around her, she leans into his side, glaring up at Nancy. 

Whatever Carol says next has Nancy storming out of the cafeteria entirely, not even glancing at where Barb’s sitting at their usual table. She still follows, the remains of her lunch left abandoned on the table, but Nancy’s nowhere in sight. 

There’s a pit sinking into her stomach as she walks to her next class without Nancy by her side. 

*** 

Jonathan doesn’t stay for the well-wishes and the throwing of the roses. He can’t, not surrounded by all these people who know Will–knew Will. Not when his Mom’s standing right beside him and still a million miles away. 

He shuffles out of the graveyard, head bowed, shoulders curled, hoping to remain unnoticed. He collapses on the sidewalk, letting his head rest against the fence surrounding it even though it’s rusted. Maybe he’ll get tetanus and die. Is that how tetanus works?

Will was always the smart one, but now there’s a grave with his name on it, not even a body to bury beneath all that dirt.

He knows he should feel bad, that’s what a good brother would feel, but all Jonathan feels is empty, sucked dry of everything. His whole life’s crumbled at his feet, and he feels nothing. 

Something warm settles against his side. He sighs, expecting his mom, but it’s Nancy Wheeler, smiling uncomfortably across at him.

“Hey,” she says, quietly. Private.

“Hey.”

“Can we talk for a minute?”

Jonathan feels his lips quirk up, but it’s a nothing gesture, empty of everything. “We are talking.”

“Steve’s missing,” she says, no further preamble wasted on useless condolences.

It takes him a second to connect the name to a face, but when he does, Jonathan leans away, creating distance between their bodies without having to get up. He keeps staring at her face, waiting for her to continue, but that’s apparently it. “Why would he be here?” he asks, words coming out dead on arrival. 

“No,” Nancy says, scrunching her nose up. “No one’s seen him since the party.”

Jonathan knows the party she means. He’s got a few photos from it in his room right now, developed in haste in the school’s darkroom. But there hadn’t been any hints of Will, no matter how hard he’d scoured them. 

He’d still kept them, couldn’t bear to throw them away. There was just something about the way when you flipped through them, the people slowly dwindled, shrinking down until the photo was just of two subjects. 

Steve Harrington, hand clenched as it drips blood onto the grass beneath him while Eddie Munson sits, staring up at him with his usual manic grin where he sits beside the pool. 

Jonathan had left not long after. He knew what that particular look on King Steve’s face meant, and he wasn’t keen to get caught in the fallout.

“Did you call the cops?” Jonathan asks because that’s what he’s supposed to ask, right?

Nancy nods, throat bobbing as she swallows. “They’re not doing anything,” she says, and there’s something righteous in the way she sits up straighter, neck high, spine stiff. 

What would it be like to live in Nancy Wheeler’s world, where everything is just so? Where you’ve got the time and money to dot every i in your planner, cross every t? Where every minor injustice is immediately rectified? 

Jonathan’s just so tired. 

But then Nancy says, “even after I told them what I saw,” under her breath, and an electric current runs through him. 

He leans back toward her. “What did you see?” he asks fervently. 

She ducks her head as he gets close, picking at the seam on the end of her black dress with perfectly rounded fingernails. “I went back to Steve’s to look for him,” she asks, lilting up at the end like it’s a question, so Jonathan nods. “And I thought I…saw something. Some weird man?” she glances at him out of the corner of her eyes before shaking her head. “I don’t know what it was.”

She stops talking again, pursing her lips. Jonathan wants to reach over and pluck the words from her throat. “Why are you telling me?”

Nancy straightens, turning fully to him again as she says, “your brother, and now Steve,” before stalling out, biting her lip as she finally meets his eyes. “I just thought, maybe you’d seen something?”

He stares at her, mind ticking away against the fog he’s been in since they’d fished Will out of the quarry. He must take too long, though because she starts to stand, muttering quiet apologies, as she smooths down her dress.

“Wait!” Jonathan cries, desperation bubbling out of him until he’s reaching for her arm and gripping it too tightly. She drops to her knees, and Jonathan lets go, holding his own wrist to his chest like it’s the one with a blooming red mark on it. “Sorry, just…”

But he trails off, not sure what to say. It’s just that Nancy had seen a man, and he’s at his brother’s funeral, and nothing is connecting right in his brain anymore. “What did he look like?” he asks finally, after another too-long pause.

Nancy settles back down, almost smiling as she shakes her head and says, “I don’t know.” Jonathan thinks that’s it, because the smile drops and she’s looking down at the pavement. “It was almost like he, like he—”

“Didn’t have a face?” Jonathan says it by rote, finishing the same delusions his Mom has been spouting.

But Nancy’s meeting his eyes now, brows furrowed as she asks, “how did you know that?”

The thing that bubbles up in Jonathan now is delicate. Dangerous. He’d just buried his brother, but Mom’s been talking to him through the lights for days. If one delusion is true, who’s to say another isn’t. 

Hope is the most dangerous killer, but he grasps it with both hands. 

*** 

“What’s up with you?” Barb finally asks, unable to stand the quiet a moment longer.

Nancy startles, eyes wide as she whips her head around to look at Barb for the first time since she’d hopped into her car before school.

“What do you mean?”

Barb sighs. “Is this still about Steve?” she asks.

Harrington’s corner of the cafeteria has been growing quieter every day, the empty spot where he usually sits growing a presence of its own. Like, even in absentia, Harrington is determined to haunt their minds.

Nancy smiles, but it’s her fake, lying to her parents' smile – she’s never used it on Barb before. “I’m fine, Barb.”

Barb digs her ragged nails into the steering wheel, jaw clenching painfully as she pulls into a parking spot. Nancy keeps up her prattling small talk all the way to class, like covering up the silence with meaningless words will distract Barb enough that she’ll forget the car was ever quiet at all.

Something’s wrong though, and Barb won’t be shaken off, so when she sees Nancy skulking around with Jonathan Byers of all people, Barb trails them. It’s better than eating lunch alone again.

They disappear into the dark room, Jonathan flipping the sign on the door to “in use, please knock” before letting the door slide shut. The hallway’s deserted, so Barb presses her ear to it, just barely able to hear the intonation of their words through its thick wood. She stays there long enough to grow bored, torn between barging in and walking away, when the volume of Nancy’s voice raises.

“That’s it!” she says, “that’s what I saw.”

Her mind goes to that sound, the inhuman growl that had sent Nancy running. Alone in the brightly lit hallway, Barb freezes like she’s prey being hunted by something bigger and scarier than she is.

She wants to leave. 

But Nancy’s in there, doing something stupid the way only she can, so she knocks. All noise on the other side of the door stops entirely for a second before whispering starts up, too quiet for her to make out.

When the door finally opens, it’s not Nancy behind it, but Jonathan. Up close, she can see the bags under his eyes from too many sleepless nights, the way the worry lines at the side of his mouth look like they’ve somehow been permanently etched into his skin in the past few days.

Barb’s never been in the dark room, but it’s about what she expected: a cramped bare room with a couple of sinks and a clothesline, all bathed in a light so red that it feels like it’s drilling into her skull. 

When she steps in, Jonathan skulks away from her toward the corner, like she’s switched from prey to predator. Behind him, Nancy’s got her fingers frozen mid-reach toward a photo. Barb ignores Jonathan to go look at the photo she’s standing in front of.

It’s grainy and dark, but she can Eddie Munson grinning, and the edge of someone else’s arm, and there, on the edge of the photo, is something else. It looks tall, like its body has been distorted, fingers stretched out to improbable points. 

“That thing has Harrington?” Barb asks, leaning closer, trying to get a better look at it, but there’s not much to see. Where the face should be, there’s what looks like folds of skin, tightly sealed against each other.

She tries to imagine the thing making that sound, and can’t. There’s no mouth visible by which it could growl through.

“And maybe Eddie Munson.” Nancy says, and Barb looks back at the guy’s grinning face. She hasn’t been subjected to a tabletop rant all week. 

“And Will,” Jonathan says, finally uncurling from the corner to join them by the picture.

“Isn’t he dead?” she asks, wincing once she realizes what she’d just said, and who she’d said it to. She hadn’t gone to the funeral, but she was there when the news broke, saw the shock of such a young death hit the small town. 

“Mom doesn’t think so,” Jonathan replies, not meeting her eyes. 

Barb looks back at the thing in the photo. There’s no way it’s real, probably doctored or a prank gone wrong, but even with her feet planted firmly against the floor, all she wants to do is run out of the room and never look back.

But, Nancy’s here, and she’s clearly not leaving, so all Barb says is, “what’s the plan to get them back?”

*** 

The car’s quiet, the heater pushing around stagnant air the only sound aside from Nancy’s well-loved Blondie tape, still stuffed into Barb’s car’s tape deck. Halfway to Nancy’s house, Barb reaches out and smacks the eject button abruptly enough that Nancy flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re mad,” Nancy says, not looking away from the cassette now sticking out of the player, waiting to be taken out or pressed back in.

Barb snorts, but doesn’t reply. Nancy’s hands curl into fists in her lap.

She loves Barb—she’s her best friend, but that doesn’t make her any less frustrating. It’s like she doesn’t know how to face an emotion head on. Sadness comes out as isolation, and anger? That comes out in snide comments and cold silences.

Nancy hates it.

“Can we just talk about it?” Nancy asks, glancing at Barb out of the corner of her eye, wincing at the way her jaw’s clenched. “Just this once? There’s a monster, and we don’t really have time for—“

“That’s the problem, Nancy,” Barb interrupts, voice even, tone cold. “There’s a monster, and instead of telling me you, what? Snuck around behind my back with that loser, Jonathan?”

“Jonathan’s not a loser,” Nancy replies quietly.

“God, Nancy!” Barb throws her hands in the air in clear exasperation, before grabbing the steering wheel again as the car swerves toward the sidewalk. “That’s not the point, and you know it!”

Nancy looks down at her lap, picking at the debris beneath her nails as the silence settles between them, a third passenger looming in the backseat. Barb’s right; she does know what Barb’s talking around, the question she wants answered without having to ask it.

Why did Nancy tell Jonathan Byers and not her?

“You don’t like Steve,” Nancy says, finally glancing Barb’s way. Her fingers are clenched hard enough on the steering wheel to turn white, and there’s that same mulish tilt to her jaw, but she’s not interrupting, so Nancy keeps speaking, keeps answering unasked questions.

“And I thought Jonathan might know something, you know, with his brother?” Nancy asks, wincing when that just gets another huff.

It’s the truth, but there’s a bigger, deeper truth that she doesn’t want to speak into existence, doesn’t want to give the weight of her words, lest it come true. But, that’s just useless superstition—the same kind of horse shit that makes Steve wear the same pair of tube socks for every away game.

So, when Barb still doesn’t have anything to say, she opens her mouth, and voices it out into the world. “Mike’s devastated, after Will,” she says, picking at her nails again, digging her thumbnail hard enough into the cuticle of the pinkie on her opposite hand that a bead of blood wells up. “And this seems dangerous, Barb. That thing in the woods? It was—it was like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Barb parallel parks in front of Nancy’s house so her dad doesn’t get mad about being blocked in, and cuts the engine. When Nancy looks over at her, Barb’s looking back, eyebrows still furrowed, but she’s no longer got a death grip on the wheel, and her jaw’s relaxed, teeth no longer grinding themselves into nubs.

Nancy meets Barb’s piercing gaze and finally says what she’s been talking around. “I don’t want to lose my best friend, too.”

Barb softens, reaching across the distance, the silence, the secrets separating them to take Nancy’s hand. Her fingers are soft as they squeeze around her own.

“I’m not going  anywhere,” Barb says, squeezing her hand once, hard enough that Nancy jolts. “And you’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you go search for your boyfriend alone.”

Nancy laughs. She doesn’t bring up that Jonathan will be there, the moment too fragile and easy to shatter. “Steve’s not my boyfriend.”

Barb snorts, noise full of humor this time, as she steps out of the car, Nancy following her lead. “You might want to tell him that.”

Nancy’s mouth twists. Maybe she’ll tell Steve, maybe she’ll fall into his arms, maybe they’ll yell at each other about their fight at the party and go their separate ways. She’s not sure, but it doesn’t matter right now. First, they have to find him.

*** 

It turns out to be less of a plan, and more of reenacting a hodgepodge of training montages that they’d seen on TV. Barb can’t even blame them—as Nancy practices swinging a baseball bat like she in any way knows how, she’s doing the exact same with the crow bar nabbed from Ted Wheeler’s trunk.

They look like fools, and if there really is a monster, they’re going to die, but Barb still climbs back into her car and drives them out to meet Jonathan. She’s in this now, had damn-near begged to be involved, and no matter how stupid this whole thing is, she’ll stick it out to the end.

They go to her house next, but it’s got less options for weapons than Nancy’s own, neither of her parents sporty enough for a bat or handy enough to own a crow bar. They sit out on the front porch, waiting for Jonathan to show up after grabbing his own supplies.

When he finally arrives, Barb climbs into the backseat without complaint.

Her conviction is tested as she stands behind Jonathan and Nancy, watching as they flirt their way through a shooting lesson, somehow segueing from Jonathan’s failed hunting trip as a kid into their parent’s failed relationships.

“Yeah, I guess he and my mother loved each other at some point, but I wasn’t around for that part,” Jonathan says, lowering the gun after failing miserably to hit even one of the glass bottles he was aiming for.

Nancy holds out her hand impatiently, and Barb watches as she looks down at the gun like she’s never seen one before. “I don’t think my parents ever loved each other,” she says, and Barb flinches.

Nancy’s parents have always been a sore subject. Her dad’s as absent as a parent you live with can be, and her mom flits around Nancy like she’s trying to relive her glory days through her daughter. These sorts of conversations are usually reserved for two in the morning during sleepovers, the space between them in the bed just enough to keep their shoulders from brushing.

Hearing her talk about it so freely now, makes jealousy churn in Barb’s stomach like bile.

“They must have married for some reason,” Jonathan says, staring at Nancy with a focus that makes Barb twitch.

“My mom was young, 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.”

There’s scorn in Nancy’s voice—it’s the way she always sounds when she talks about her parents’ relationship, but she’s not talking to Barb this time. Barb’s behind her, almost a specter in this moment, lost in the face of attention from Jonathan Byers.

It almost makes her wish Harrington was back, such a shallow pool of a boy that there was no way Nancy was ever going to stick around. There was always a looming end to their relationship, and it looks like it’s well past its expiration date, with the way Nancy’s flirting with Byers right now.

“Screw that,” Jonathan says, and Nancy smiles, shoulders shoring up like what he said was profound, unexpected, unique.

Barb and Nancy had made plans to get out of here together. Chicago, Los Angeles, New York, anywhere with people who had bigger dreams than settling down and marrying the closest eligible bachelor. As she watches Nancy line up the gun, squinting at the targets with the same focus she usually reserves for pop quizzes, Barb can feel that future crumbling beneath her feet.

“Yeah, screw that,” Nancy says, punctuating her words with the loud bang of the gun going off, exploding one of the glass bottles with unerring accuracy.

Barb claps condescendingly. Jonathan and Nancy both whirl, clearly having forgotten she was there at all based on their wide eyes. “Congratulations, Nance, you’re a crack shot,” she says. Nancy’s cheeks darken, whether from the compliment or being caught flirting with Byers, she’s not sure. “Now can we get this show on the road? Daylight’s burning.”

Jonathan nods, picking up the bat and not meeting anyone’s eyes as they shuffle off into the woods to look for a monster that probably doesn’t exist, no matter what Jonathan’s camera had captured in grainy film.

*** 

“You’re cooler than I thought you would be,” Jonathan says, walking close enough that their shoulders brush.

Nancy elects to pretend she can’t hear Barb scoffing from behind them. “Yeah?” she asks, smiling down at her feet as she steps over a root in her path.

“Yeah,” Jonathan replies, swinging the bat foward to hold a branch out of their way, waiting until even Barb’s made it through before jogging to catch back up with Nancy. “When you started seeing Harrington, I thought maybe you were just like the rest of them, but now? I don’t know.”

Nancy’s gut sinks. She takes a step to the left, creating distance between them, face dropping into a scowl. “Steve’s actually a good guy, you know,” she says, unsure if she even believes her own words. She had thought so before, but after Steve had defended Tommy H’s actions at his party, she wasn’t so sure anymore. But Steve’s missing, and he deserves the chance to explain himself.

“Sure he is,” Jonathan replies, tone derisive.

Nancy bristles, angry, as she replies, “Steve’s missing,” like it’ll mean anything to him. Maybe it does, because he goes catastrophically quiet beside her, the only sound filling the silence the sound of their stomping feet. That’s almost worse, somehow. Nancy doesn’t want this quiet; she wants a fight—something, anything that’ll get this bubbling dread out of her throat.

“You know, I was actually starting to think you were okay,” she says, waiting until she feels Jonathan’s gaze on her to continue speaking. “I was thinking, Jonathan Byers, maybe he’s not the pretentious creep everyone says he is.”

Jonathan snorts, sounding so much like Barb that Nancy glances back at her. She’s walking a few feet behind, crow bar still clutched in her hands as she looks down at her feet, clearly uninterested in joining the conversation.

Looking at her now, all Nancy wants to do is go back to when things were simpler, last week, last month, last year. It’s been nearly a decade of just the two of them—she’d had Barb, and Barb had her, and that’s all they’d needed. Steve had changed that. Something had twisted in on itself, Barb taking the change in lunch tables like a betrayal, and now she’s not sure how to crawl back in time to where they were before.

She’s not sure she wants to.

“Well, I was starting to think you were okay,” Jonathan says, and she snaps back to the present, turning forward to find a pretentious sneer plastered on his face.

“Oh,” she says, watching as his face cracks right down the middle, something gaping and hollow shining out of his eyes as he lands the final blow.

“I was thinking, Nancy Wheeler, she’s not just another suburban girl who thinks she’s rebelling by doing exactly what every other suburban girl does until that phase passes and they marry some boring one-time jock that now works sales, and they live out a perfectly boring little life at the end of the cul-de-sac exactly like their par—“

“Hey!” Barb snarls, pushing between them and crowding into Jonathan’s space, crowbar held like a silent threat. “If you finish that sentence, I’ll put this crowbar somewhere you won’t enjoy.”

To emphasize her point, Barb raises the crow bar above her head and steps forward until Jonathan’s back hits the trunk of a tree. He looks like a startled deer, doe eyes wide and scared in a way that would usually make Nancy feel bad, but his words are still ringing in her ears, cruel and pointed unerringly at her soft underbelly.

Nancy continues walking, and it’s Barb that catches up and takes her rightful place at her side, Jonathan trailing behind, a quiet skulking shadow to their fruitless searching.

By the time the sun’s setting, Nancy’s worried that there’s nothing to find.

But before she can open her mouth and suggest they turn back, she hears it: a quiet, moaning sound that makes her blood pound, fight or flight kicking in harder than ever before. She stops, Barb and Jonathan halting with her as she tries to strain her ears past the sound of her blood rushing through her ears.

“What’s—” Jonathan starts before she shushes him, eyes closed in concentration, hand raised to silence them both.

It happens again, and Barb clearly hears it as well because she immediately starts walking that direction, stepping cautiously, clearly trying not to make any sound. Nancy and Jonathan follow, the darkness hemming them all in.

She doesn’t know what she expects, but the deer isn’t it. It’s on its side, blood leaking slowly from its side, leg mangled, panting like a dog left out in the sun to bake. Barb and Jonathan just stare, but Nancy drops down, fingers fluttering over its side like there’s anything at all she could do.

“It’s been hit by a car,” she says, finally brushing her fingers against its bloody flank, like somehow her touch will heal it. All it does is pant and moan. “We can’t leave it.”

When she looks up, Barb’s looking down at the gun in Nancy’s pocket. Nancy shudders, but stands and draws it out, pointing it at the poor thing’s head. She shudders, staring into its rolling eyes, gut roiling right along with it.

“I can do it,” Jonathan says, taking the gun before she even responds.

She’s a better shot—she doesn’t take the gun back, the emptiness in her hand feeling worryingly like relief. Jonathan lines up the gun, hand shaking slightly. It won’t matter from the close of a range, but he doesn’t get a chance to pull the trigger.

There’s a growl, something unearthly and clacking, and the deer’s yanked sideways so abruptly that her eyes can’t follow its movement. Then it’s just—gone.

“What was that?” Jonathan asks, lowering the gun, eyes wide.

When Nancy looks at Barb, there’s a knowing look in her eyes. Nancy’s not surprised; they’d both heard that same sound outside the Harrington house.

“Did it leave a blood trail?” Barb asks, and Nancy looks down. There’s nothing there, the deer’s body snatched up too quickly to leave any of it remaining.

“It can’t have gone far,” Nancy replies, already walking forward, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.

Barb follows her, but Jonathan goes a separate direction without a word, slinking off to search nearby patches of the woods. It’s quiet, so quiet Nancy can hear Barb’s rapid breathing in her ear, can hear Jonathan’s steps as he foolishly separates from the group.

There’s nothing but trees, dark and silent around her, almost choking her with the fear of the dark she was sure she’d kicked years ago. But, this isn’t just the dark—there’s something in here with her, she knows it.

It’s still just trees, but she stops, stunned as she stares at the bark of one of them, squinting as she trains the beam of her flashlight precisely on it. It’s red, and she’d think it was blood if it wasn’t for the way it was almost pulsing, like the tree had a heart beating beneath all that wood.

“Nancy!” Barb hisses, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s reaching out to touch it.

It’s colder than the air around it, a shock to her system as she presses against the tree, only for it to give under her touch. It feels like pinching an egg’s yoke between her fingers, cold and sticky before the membrane gives and splatters back into the bowl with the whites.

Her whole hand goes through, then her arm, then the rest of her until she’s all the way through, Barb’s panicking voice still calling her name, words now muffled like she’s talking through a straw.

She’s still in the woods, but it’s colder now, and the sky’s a nauseating red, almost pulsing the way the tree had. She stares up at it, heart almost beating straight out of her chest. But then there’s a sound, wet and slurping, and Nancy looks back down.

It’s not a man in a ski mask like Barb had asked. It’s not human at all, despite the way it stands on two legs, hunched over the dead deer, impossible mouth pressed into its intestines. The deer twitches with the thing’s movements, body jittering around almost like it’s gasping for breath.

Nancy can’t help it—she screams.

The thing stops eating its meal, somehow looking straight at her even with its lack of eyes. She stands frozen as the thing straightens, looming over her with its impossible height, backlit by the deep red sky. Nancy shrinks into the trunk of the tree behind her as it takes a threatening step forward.

Then, Jonathan’s voice joins Barb’s, almost drowning it out as he calls for her, trying to get her to come back, like she’s not frozen like a fly beneath a microscope, pressed between two slides.

But then Jonathan says, “follow my voice!” and without question, she does, slinking slowly sideways, matching the thing step for step in a dance she never wanted to be a part of. She doesn’t look away until her hand touches a tree and sinks in. She turns, peering into the red hole in the world she’d slipped through.

She’s about to slip right back out the way she’d come and hope she can make it before that thing gets her, but before she can, she hears a scream, loud and angry and terribly human. She spins back around just in time to watch Steve Harrington, dirty and bloody and alive, punch the monster in the head and flee into the woods, that horrible thing right behind him.

“Steve?” she calls, staring at where he’d just disappeared, willing him to come back. He doesn’t.

“Eddie!” She turns toward the shout, and there’s Will Byers, yanking a resisting Eddie Munson toward her.

She reaches out when they’re close enough, snatching Eddie’s hand and falling back toward the hole in the world, hoping the momentum of her falling body weight is enough to yank him and Will both through. She tumbles painfully to the other side, Will and Eddie on top of her restricting her breathing until Eddie scrambles up off her and pounds against the tree trunk, now a damningly normal brown color, and wails for Steve Harrington, trapped and alone in that horrible place they’d just fled.

*** 

Jonathan stares at his little brother, his little brother, dirty and tired, but whole in front of him. The brother he’d identified a body for, had picked out a coffin for, had lowered into the ground, never to be seen again.

And now he’s here, staring at Eddie Munson having a meltdown in the dirt.

“Will?” Jonathan says, voice strangled as it croaks out of his throat.

Will turns, brown eyes wide as he looks up at Jonathan. That’s all it takes to get him moving, knees hitting the dirt hard as he scoops Will into his chest, grip almost crushing as Will melts into him, small arms going around his waist.

“You’re okay,” Jonathan murmurs into Will’s greasy hair, like he can make it true, even as Will shakes in his arms, never taking his eyes off Eddie. “You’re okay, right? You’re okay.”

Will doesn’t respond, instead calling, “Eddie?”

Eddie turns, eyes wild, clearly not all there even now that he’s stopped clawing at the bark on the tree like it’ll somehow open for him and let him go back to wherever he’d been. Jonathan wants to hide Will behind his body, shield him from whatever the hell’s wrong with Munson.

“I’ve got to go back,” he says, finally turning away from Will to look up at Nancy with those same imploring eyes. “How do I go back?”

Jonathan turns his head toward her, still clutching at Will’s shaking frame. Nancy’s shaking too, voice trembling right along with her as she says, “I don’t—I don’t know,” with more hesitation than he’s ever heard from self-assured Nancy Wheeler.

“Why the hell would we go back?” Barb asks, finally voicing Jonathan’s own thoughts into the world.

Eddie’s hysterics reach a fever pitch at that—he sobs into the dirt, no longer looking any direction at all. Jonathan presses a kiss to the top of Will’s head, ignoring the way dust coats his lips, because Will’s shaking worse now, as he says, “it’s Steve,” voice quacking with emotions Jonathan doesn’t, can’t, understand. “He’s still in there.”

Steve Harrington, the jock, the king, has Eddie Munson, has his brother, quaking with emotion at the thought of losing him. It writhes in his gut, a rancid jealousy, he can’t voice. It curdles more, the dregs of a milk carton turning viscous and sweet on the kitchen’s counter as Will climbs into the backseat of his car and latches onto Munson like he’s the only thing keeping him tethered to his seat.

That used to be Jonathan’s job—how could so much have changed in five of the longest days in Jonathan’s life?

The car’s quiet as Jonathan drives, steering wheel creaking beneath his grip until he pulls into his driveway and cuts the engine.

When they get to the house, it’s in disarray—Mom’s hung Christmas lights haphazardly in the living room, the dining table’s overturned, and the same dishes have been in the sink long enough to mold. 

He’s sure Harrington’s house is pristine, it probably smells like lilacs instead of the mildew and damp that’s always clung to their home. The roof’s been leaking for years, and the insulation doesn’t keep it from rotting the walls somewhere underneath where they can’t quite reach.

“Mom?” Jonathan calls, desperate suddenly to see her, to have their family unit together when he’d thought they never would be again. “Mom?”

He goes through the house, turning on lights and opening doors, but it’s an empty shell, no one inside.

He stalls out, unsure of next moves as Nancy orders him around his own house. He follows her lead, making sandwiches, and doing the dishes, one eye on Will where he’s curled up on the couch, tucked into Munson’s side.

Jonathan’s not hungry, but he eats his sandwich anyway, watching as Will eats two, looking so much like a starving dog given snacks that it makes Jonathan sick. Plans are made to get Harrington back—desperate, stupid plans, but Jonathan barely listens, only interjecting to make sure Will stays with him.

Even as he gets in the car, Nancy once again in the passenger seat, Will in the back, all Jonathan wants is to find his Mom.

***

Barb watches Jonathan and Nancy riff off each other’s ideas, syncing up seamlessly even in this catastrophic situation. In contrast, Will and Eddie are crumbling into themselves without Harrington. They want him back with such ruthless vigor that it makes her curious.

She sits on the fringes of two fractions, not quite fitting into either, left floundering on the sidelines as the world crumbles around her.

Until she’d seen Nancy crawl through the fabric of reality, she hadn’t really believed any of it. Even with the photo, and the growling, none of it convincing enough to make her stop doubting the impossibility of the world she’d found herself in.

But then Nancy had disappeared into a different world and come back with two out of three of Hawkins current missing persons.

Steve Harrington sits like a ghost between them.

So, when Nancy volunteers to go with Jonathan to the army surplus without a glance in Barb’s way, she volunteers to take Eddie to go see his uncle after they pick up her car.

When they’re alone in her car, she asks, “you live in the trailer park, right?” not even waiting for his affirmation before heading that way. They’re not friends, but Hawkins isn’t that big—she knows where he lives.

Eddie’s quiet, staring out the window at the passing houses like he’s looking for something. Barb’s got a sinking suspicion it’s less of something, and more of someone.

“Why are you so focused on Steve Harrington?” She says it before she even knows she’s going to open her mouth. It’s just, he’s Eddie the freak Munson, and the last she’d heard, Harrington wouldn’t spit on people like him even if he was on fire.

“He’s not what you think,” Eddie murmurs, still looking out the window even as his hands clench in his lap.

He looks mad, like he’d like nothing more than to reach out and hit her with one of his fisted hands. But, beneath that there’s that same desperate edge, and it’s not violence he’s desperate for.

“Coming from you, that might actually mean something,” she says, trying to reconcile the look on Eddie’s face with the last glimpse she’d gotten of Harrington, laughing as Hagan had shaken his beer up and squirted it in her face.

The subject drops in favor of walking up the Munson’s short drive and stepping into his trailer. When Eddie walks in, she follows, hovering awkwardly as Eddie’s uncle scoops him up in a hug tight enough that it must hurt.

It’s only as introductions are made that she realizes that Eddie doesn’t even know her name. She reaches her hand out to shake Wayne’s hand, smiling tightly as she introduces herself. Wayne shifts his gaze between the pair of them, eyebrow raised as he asks Eddie, “you got something to tell me?”

The implication of that hits Barb as Wayne glances down at her stomach. She grimaces, shaking her head against the disgust at even the thought of having sex with Eddie Munson, much less carrying his spawn. It flies right over Eddie’s head entirely.

He breaks down. Again. She’s getting tired of hearing Eddie cry like the world’s ending. She steps past them, settling into their dinky dining room table as unobtrusively as possible as Eddie cries into his uncle’s arms, babbling about having gone to hell, about leaving Steve there.

“Steve Harrington?” Wayne asks incredulously. Barb’s never empathized with something more in her life.

“He saved my life,” Eddie says, and she watches in real time as the look on Wayne’s face turns determined.

He leans over and pulls a shotgun from behind the recliner he’s sitting in, laying it across his knees as he says, “let’s go save your guardian angel.”

It’s only as Eddie’s cheeks burst with the most vibrant blush she’s ever seen that Barb clues in on what must be happening here. Eddie is in love with Nancy’s boyfriend. God, this is going to blow up in all of their faces.

But she’s in it now, and she’s curious enough to want to see what all the fuss is about. There’s got to be more to Harrington than hair to put that look on Eddie’s face. Besides, she’s always been too nosy for her own good.

*** 

They’ve got all the weapons they could find at the army surplus in town, garnering strange looks from the cashier. But, he takes Jonathan’s money anyway, so they scoop it all up and take it back to his car.

“You know, last week I was shopping for a top I thought Steve might like,” she says, smiling nostalgically as she drops her load into the trunk, Will and Jonathan following her lead. “It took me and Barb all weekend.”

Barb had complained for the first few hours, but as the trip had drawn on, they’d fallen back into their usual dynamic, goofing off in dressing room stalls and picking out terrible outfits for each other. Now, Barb’s tongue has gone back to being barbed. Nancy wonders if things will ever be that simple again.

“It seemed like life or death, you know?” she asks wistfully. She doesn’t think she’ll ever wear the shirt again, not after it had been tainted, first by Steve’s actions, and then by his disappearance. “And now—”

“You’re shopping for bear traps with Jonathan Byers?” Jonathan asks, that ironic tone to his voice that always makes her laugh.

“Yeah, and I don’t know if I even want him to like me like that anymore.”

It’d started with Tommy H’s cruel words, then rumors spread around the school the next day had felt like the final nail in their relationship’s coffin, but it’s more than that now. There’s Jonathan and the way, even when he’s hurling insults at her, she can’t seem to look away.

“We got into this fight that night he disappeared,” she continues, remembering the way his laughter had sounded almost mocking as Barb had wiped the beer from her face. “And I was so mad, but now I just hope he’s alive.”

She’s mad, still, but she wants to yell at him, to forgive him, to see him at all after all this time.

“He’s alive,” Will cuts in, and she jerks, having forgotten entirely that he was there, too caught up in memory.

She looks him in the eye and nods, firm and assured until the kid relaxes. Will’s always been a little anxious, but it’s understandably worse now, after whatever the hell he’d been through over in that terrible place. Still, she’s happy they got him back, would trade almost anything for the relief that’s going to flood Mike’s face when he sees Will again.

They just need to get Steve back first.

*** 

Wayne Munson doesn’t hesitate to take charge once he’s joined the fray. Jonathan stands in his own house and watches Will lead Mr. Munson to the kitchen and over to the phone, determined to get ahold of mom.

As Mr. Munson hangs up the phone, assured that both her and Chief Hopper will be arriving shortly, the tension on Jonathan’s shoulders finally eases. They’ve been fumbling in the dark for days now, and it’s a relief to have an adult doing something useful.

When his mom stumbles into the house after Chief Hopper, all Jonathan wants to do is collapse onto the couch and not move a muscle for an entire week. His brother’s back, everyone he cares about is in his line of sight, there’s nothing else he needs to do.

In contrast, Eddie and Will only seem to get more worked up as they spill the entirety of the sordid tale across the kitchen table. It hurts to hear, just like it had the first time. He doesn’t want to picture Will alone in that place with no one but Eddie and Harrington to protect him.

It rankles, and keeps on rankling as Eddie pulls Will into his side the same way Jonathan always has to comfort him.

“You mean blood draws this thing?” Hopper asks, only looking more fed up as Nancy, Barb, and Eddie shout entirely different answers at him.

“We’ve got a plan,” Nancy cuts in, self-assured, even in this. “To test the theory.”

They do have a plan, but it’s stupid and reckless from start to finish. Jonathan knows this, Eddie knows this, even Barb knows this. It’s only Nancy that’s affronted when it’s shot down from all sides. Her fists clench and her chin juts stubbornly forward.

Before she can argue further, mom yells, “this is not yours to fix!” with enough furious indignation that everyone shuts their mouths immediately. “It’s not you kids’ responsibility to save another kid.”

It embitters him, right down to his marrow. 

He’s a kid now, but why has it always been Jonathan’s responsibility to watch Will? Why is it Jonathan’s fault when he goes missing? He would do anything for Will, give up anything for Will, but he can’t help but feel that he shouldn’t have to. Why does she get to pick and choose when it’s convenient for him to step up and be an adult, and when he should sit back and let the adults fix his problems?

He bites his lip against the words that want to pour out. He bets Harrington has always got to be the kid, big house with parents to cover up all his messes. 

“Anyone called the boy’s parents?” Wayne asks, and Jonathan’s surprised by the derision everyone answers him with, like the Harrington’s caring that their son is missing is out of the question.

Jonathan’s gut churns as the implication of that response hits, Lonnie an invisible specter to this horrifying conversation. He looks down at his own knees and tries his best to disappear into the chair beneath him.

It’s only mom saying, “Will?” so worriedly that brings him back to himself in time to watch Will disappear down the hall toward his bedroom, Munson hot on his heels.

When his mom makes to follow, Jonathan grabs her mom, says, “Munson’s got him,” even though that rankles, too. Even in his own family, he’s been pushed to the side. Mom’s only got eyes for Will, and Will? All he seems to think about is Eddie and Harrington, like a couple days with them really has overwritten all their shared history.

While Nancy and Chief Hopper argue about next steps, Jonathan does what he does best: he sits and waits for someone to tell him what he’s supposed to do.

***

Nancy doesn’t understand how Barb and Jonathan can be so calm about this. They’d spent hours on this plan, and it was a good one, and now, what? They’re not allowed to do it because a few people that hold no authority over her have forbidden it?

She loathes it.

It gets even worse when Will comes out of his room, hands shaking and tells them that some “bad men” have her brother and his friends pinned down in the junk yard, her house being watched by unknown government entities. And the chief of police is trying to leave. Without her.

“He’s my brother,” Nancy hisses, standing with both her fists balled, rage boiling up her throat.

“I don’t care,” Chief Hopper declares, looking down at her like she’s a bug he’d accidentally squashed beneath his shoe. “You’re not coming.”

“You want me to just sit here?” she demands, hating how quiet her foot is when she stomps it down, hating the derisive snort the Chief sends her way—hating, hating, hating.

“You are staying here,” he asserts.

Neither Barb nor Jonathan make a move to back her up. Nancy stews in the feeling, unable to do anything else without a license or a car. She’s stuck.

Nancy joins Ms. Byers at the table and maps out their locations, knowing even as she does it that it won’t help at all. But she needs something to keep from yanking her hair out in little clumps the way Munson is.

“You’re not the only one worried, you know,” Nancy grits through her teeth when she can’t stand to see him pacing along her periphery anymore.

It works, but now his big, wet, accusatory eyes are pointed right at her as he asks, “excuse me?”

“Nancy,” Jonathan cuts in, going so far as to place a hand on her shoulder, like she’s a wild dog he’s keeping leashed. She shakes him off and takes a step forward.

“My parents’ house is being watched,” she says, the horror of it not touching her voice even as it permeates her. “Mike is out there, trapped and defenseless.”

“Yeah, but–”

“And I care about Steve, too,” she interrupts, her hold on the situation dissolving beneath her hands.

Munson doesn’t say anything else. He just stands there, chewing on his hair. She wants him to talk back, wants him to fight, so she can fight back before the silence lingers long enough for the knot in her throat to form in her tear ducts and trail down her cheeks.

Before either of them can make a scene, Mike rushes through the door, bypassing her entirely to barrel into Will, knocking him and Munson both down with the force of his hug. It doesn’t take long for the whole thing to end in a mess of kid’s limbs and jumbled conversations, catching the kids up with what’s been happening.

It’s only when Lucas asks to go home that anyone brings up Steve.

“We’re not leaving Steve,” Eddie cuts through their loud voices, glaring around the room like anyone had even suggested it.

“Steve? Nancy’s stupid boyfriend?” Mike demands.

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

The words are out of her mouth before she even thinks them. She wants to stuff them back in her throat and swallow them down. It feels wrong to announce it to the room, Steve missing, gone, maybe dead when the last words Nancy would ever say to him were used to tell him how much he’d disappointed her.

She wants him in front of her so she can yell at him about all the rumors circling the school about Barb, tell him that his friend is rotten, and she’s upset that he’d taken Tommy H’s side over hers. She wants to be able to break up with him, if they were ever even dating at all. They’d never talked about it. Before this, there was always more time.

As the conversation moves on without her, Jonathan squeezes her shoulder. She leans back into him, and doesn’t think about how Steve would feel about it.

*** 

Barb doesn’t even know why she’s surprised when they all end up at the middle school to set up some sort of sensory deprivation chamber to help the girl with super powers get them to work. Barb’s not sure how a bandana and a kiddie pool are going to make a lick of difference in finding Harrington, but she’s not the one in charge of the plans here.

She’s pretty sure the whole thing is bullshit, but then the lights go dark, and she finds herself huddling against Nancy and Jonathan as they stare down at the floating girl. When she says Steve isn’t in the Munson’s trailer like Eddie had suggested, Nancy reaches down and squeezes Barb’s hand tight enough to cut off her circulation. She can see her other hand clutched in Jonathan’s, a trio on the fringes of this entire fucked up situation.

As the girl finds Harrington in his own damn house, as Eddie bullies his way into the search party, as Ms. Byers corrals the kids left waiting on the bench, she’s not sure why she’s even still here.

“We have to do something,” Nancy says, voice quiet but firm.

Barb sighs. She knows that tone of voice—no matter what anyone says, Nancy’s already decided on her course, and with most of the adults off on a suicide mission, there’s no one left to stop her. She also knows that no matter how fucking stupid it is, Barb will be going right along with her.

She’d done it at seven when Nancy wanted to sneak out and go to the library, done it last week when Nancy had wanted to go to that party, and she’ll do it again now.

Jonathan’s not as up to date on the way Nancy Wheeler operates, though, so he asks, “what?” in such a befuddled voice that she almost wants to laugh.

“Demogorogn’s are drawn to blood,” Nancy whispers, looking furtively over at where Ms. Byers is fussing over Will. “The hypothesis is sound, even if we didn’t get to test it.”

Barb sighs again. She wants to climb into bed and sleep for the rest of the year. This has been the longest week of her life so far, and Nancy’s determined to make it longer.

 “So, bear traps?” Barb asks, exhaustion hitting her even more as Nancy nods firmly.

Jonathan’s not looking at either of them. His eyes are fixed on his brother sitting on the bleachers with the rest of his friends, “But, Will is—”

“Fine!” Nancy hisses, loud enough that Lucas looks suspiciously their way, glaring over at them until Dustin sucks him back into whatever inane conversation they’re having. “Will is fine, but he’s going to be devastated if they can’t save Steve.”

Jonathan’s whole face drops, tinting almost green like he’s going to be sick at the thought. It’d almost be funny if it wasn’t destined to break that poor little kid’s heart.

“Munson’s the biggest freak in the school, and he seems pretty determined to get him back,” Barb says. She winces as both of their eyes turn straight to her, piercing her where she stands. “Shouldn’t that be enough for us to give him a chance?”

Barb grimaces, Jonathan making the same face right at her. She means it, really she does. She doesn’t know Munson, but he seems nice, and if he’s willing to risk his life to save Harrington, maybe there’s something there that she’s not seeing.

Jonathan sighs. “So, bear traps?”

He blushes when Nancy smiles with all her teeth, pointed directly up at him. God, she can’t even blame him. There was a time when she’d turn just as red at the force of Nancy’s smile. But they don’t have time for whatever weird courting ritual they have going on right now.

“Should we go before Ms. Byers stops fussing over Will long enough to notice us leaving?” Barb asks.

Nancy jumps, like she’d forgotten Barb was even there. Again. But they all file out of the gym quietly, entirely unnoticed. As she slides into the back of Jonathan’s car, all she feels is tired.

*** 

Tension knots up Jonathan’s shoulders as he watches the middle school disappear in his rear-view mirror. It feels wrong to leave Will after only just getting him back, even with mom there to keep an eye on him. But Nancy’s words are ringing through his ears—if Steve dies, Will will be devastated.

He doesn’t get it, can’t get Harrington’s smirking face out of his mind long enough to see anything else, but maybe that doesn’t matter. It’s not about him, it never is. This is about Will. And Jonathan would do worse things than save a guy he hates to keep Will happy.

“Where are we doing this?” Jonathan asks, rolling his shoulders as he drives, trying to unknot them as best he can. It doesn’t work.

“Harrington’s house, right?” Barb asks, leaning forward between him and Nancy. “That’s where the girl said he was in the Upside-Down.”

Without question, Jonathan turns and heads toward Loch Nora, happy it won’t be his own house they’re trashing.

It’s late enough that the streets are vacant as he drives through them, and all that’s in Harrington’s driveway is Steve’s own douchey car. He parks behind it, cutting his noisy engine as fast as possible to avoid getting the cops called.

“How are we getting in?” Jonathan asks, turning to look at Nancy, only to find she’s already out of the car waiting for him to unlock the trunk.

“The side door’s unlocked,” Barb replies, following Nancy out.

Electing not to ask how the hell they know that, Jonathan sighs and follows them. Now that it’s time, the supplies in the trunk seem inadequate. Still, he piles it all into his arms and follows the girls through an open gate and into the Harrington’s yard.

There’s a pool, in-ground and everything, surrounded by precisely trimmed bushes. It would be a perfect depiction of the upper crust’s suburbia if it wasn’t for the red cups scattered all around, abandoned and not cleaned up, even all these days after Harrington had gone missing.

He follows them through a side door, and the house proper looks just the same. Huge, colorless, and empty if not for those cups scattered around. It isn’t until he sees the abandoned house, almost a week after their son went missing, that Jonathan really lets the insidious thoughts creep in. Big house, no parents has always been something said about Steve, lauded as the perfect life for a perfect king.

Now, with the king absconded from the throne and his castle abandoned, it just seems lonely, and the castle isn’t much more than an empty shell of a place.

Nancy and Barb seem to share none of his compunctions. Barb goes through the house, turning on all the lights she finds until the whole thing’s lit up bright enough to show all its pristine corners, and Nancy kicks all the cups to the side to make enough room to set their main trap.

She pulls the Harrington’s auspicious rug back from in front of the couch and drops the bear trap down hard enough that Jonathan’s worried the floor will dent. Still, he follows her lead, pulling nails and a hammer from the box so he can nail the thing down, make it sturdy enough to hold the monster.

When he steps back, the set-up looks macabrely like whoever’s on the couch is supposed to watch the spectacle, view of the fuck-off huge television doomed to be obscured with whatever’s caught in the deadly points of their trap. Jonathan elects to never, ever sit on that couch.

Nancy puts bullets in his dad’s gun, Jonathan hammers nails into the bat, hoping for a weapon that has a chance of making a dent in a monster, while Barb pours gas all over the Harrington’s fancy hardwood floor.

The finishing touch is Will’s yellow yo-yo, commandeered without his permission, hung precisely over one of the Harrington’s dining room chairs placed just inside of what must be Mr. Harrington’s dusty office, a fucked-up warning system to let them know when the monster’s ensnared.

It’s a mess, and the more they prepare, the less he feels sure that any of this is going to work. But, there’s a steel behind Nancy’s eyes, so when she grabs three knives from the Harrington’s butcher block and asks, “ready?” he holds out his hand just like Barb does.

The steel feels heavy and cold in Jonathan’s hand. He clutches it, fingers shaking just a little as Barb says, “on three?”

“One,” Nancy replies, not giving them any more time to hesitate.

“Two,” Barb continues in the pause between words.

When they both turn to him, he looks between them, panic sinking into his stomach like lead. All this for Steve fucking Harrington. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Jonathan,” Nancy says on a disappointed sigh.

“I’m just saying, we don’t—”

“Three,” Barb cuts in, and Jonathan moves before he knows what’s happening.

The knife’s sharp enough that he doesn’t feel it at first, even as it parts his palm like butter. It’s only as blood starts pooling out of the cut into his cupped hand that the pain hits, sharp and clarifying.

“Shit,” Barb says, clutching her own hand to her chest, getting blood all over her shirt. 

Jonathan doesn’t look at either of them. He’s looking up at the lights, looking for any of the flickering that shows something from the other side is present. Nothing happens. The house is cold, and empty, nothing faceless creeping free of any nooks or crannies to kill them.

“Is that it?” Barb asks.

Did they trash the Harrington’s house—worse than it already was—for no reason at all?

“Maybe it takes a while?” Nancy replies, but she sounds the least sure Jonathan’s ever heard her, voice small and scared, not that the monster might come, but that it won’t.

Blood’s dripping down from his hand, splattering against the hardwood until he cups his other hand and catches it. Nancy moves abruptly enough that he jumps, their self-inflicted wounds giving her enough purpose to find her footing as she heads over to their supplies to fish out the bandages.

She wraps Jonathan’s first, moving quickly to Barb’s and then, finally her own, staunching the blood flow enough not to let it drip everywhere. It’s only as Nancy uses her teeth to rip the final piece of her bandage from the roll that the lights in the Harrington house start flashing, fast enough to be blinding.

Nancy picks up the gun, shuffling backward until she’s pressed against Barb, who’s snatched the bat from the carpet and is eyeing the house wildly. Left without his own weapon, he grabs Barb’s crow bar and settles into the circle, back to back to back.

Barb’s indrawn breath is the only warning he gets. He spins, eyes roving wildly until he catches sight of what’s caught her attention. He stands, transfixed, staring at the Harrington’s ceiling. There’s something wrong with it. It’s turned elastic and it’s pulsing as something presses on it from the other side, pushing and pushing as it descends until it gives way entirely.

What comes through isn’t what he pictured. It’s bigger, standing taller than any man, legs and arms bending at angles that should be impossible. They all stand, frozen, as it drops to the ground with barely a sound. No amount of prepping or planning could have prepared them for this.

They stay like that until the thing turns toward them, opens its face, and screeches loud enough to reverberate through his head and bounce around inside his skull. He hears the sound of Nancy shooting at it, close enough to make his ears ring, but the thing just screeches again and begins coming their way.

Jonathan grabs the closest wrist and runs, following the plan by rote, heading toward Harrington senior’s office. It’s only as he skids to a stop just past the threshold that he realizes it’s Barb he grabbed. She’s panting, staring wide eyed at him.

“Where’s Na—” he starts to ask, turning back toward the open door just in time to catch her in his arms, barely stopping her momentum without taking them both down.

Barb slams the door and they all three shuffle back, staring at the closed door, and Will’s yellow yo-yo stationary where it’s slung over the top of an office chair.

Nothing happens, The house is eerily still.

*** 

The longer the yo-yo doesn’t move, the tenser everyone gets. Steve’s house is eerily silent, and the lights are no longer flashing. Nancy holds her hand steady, gun pointed unerringly at the closed door, waiting for the heavy wood to splinter and let the monster through.

“Can you hear anything?” Barb whispers, voice quavering.

Nancy can’t blame her—she’s sure that if she opens up her mouth, bile will be the only thing that comes out.

“No,” Jonathan murmurs.

No one moves. The gun’s warmed up beneath Nancy’s hands with how tight she’s clutching it, how fast her blood is zinging through her veins. But, she’s the one who’d dragged them into this. She’s the one who’d insisted they distract the monster, help give the rescue party a better chance at success.

If anything happens to either of them, it’s on her. Besides, Steve’s her—friend. She wants to help him, so she takes the first step toward the closed door.

“Nancy,” Barb hisses.

She doesn’t answer her, just reaches out and opens the door, gun raised to shoot anything that so much as twitches on the other side. Nothing does. The air’s still, house silent and settled in its foundation. It feels like a herculean task to step over the threshold and back into the hall, but when she hears two sets of footsteps follow her out, her stride gains assurance.

The trap is still in the living room, intact but empty. The whole house seems empty, lights on and no longer flashing.

“Do you think it’s gone?” Jonathan asks, and as if his voice had summoned it, the lights begin to flash.

Nancy snaps her eyes closed on instinct, only opening them again when Barb and Jonathan’s backs press against hers, completing the circle. Moments later, the lights go out, leaving them in the relative darkness of the unlit Harrington house.

“Shit,” Barb says, and before Nancy can even turn, something heavy hits her back, knocking her down and sending her gun flying out of her hand just before she’s pinned to the floor.

Something screeches and Nancy rolls, terrified that the monster is atop her, but it’s just Barb. Nancy’s scrabbling for the gun, hands running over the floor, desperately trying to locate it in the dark.

Just as her hand closes around its reassuring metal handle, finger automatically resting against the trigger, Barb screeches and there’s the meaty thwack of a something hitting a living body. She scrambles to her feet, gun already raised.

Jonathan’s on the ground, crowbar raised in defense as Barb crashes the nail-studded bat into the thing’s back. It turns away from Jonathan, mouth open as it screeches in Barb’s face, that unholy sound reverberating through the house with such force that she’s surprised the walls don’t shake.

Nancy points and shoots, nicking the thing’s head just as Barb raises her bat again and yells right back in its face, bringing it down into its flesh again and again, nails embedding into the thing’s side. Afraid to clip Barb in any attempt to help, Nancy rushes forward to haul Jonathan to his feet, both of them stumbling to right themselves

Nancy’s brain’s not working, it’s shut off sometime between the monster dropping through the ceiling for the first time and Barb knocking her flat on her ass. So, when Jonathan clutches at her shoulder to steady himself, she just stares up into his eyes, brain ticking against itself as he stares right back, the sound of Barb’s assault gaining an echoing quality the farther away it gets.

They don’t snap out of it until Barb calls, “it’s in the trap!”

Jonathan drops his hand from her shoulder and turns, running toward Barb’s shout, Nancy hot on his heels.

Barb’s got black ooze splattered on her face, and her glasses are missing, but she looks remarkably calm and collected as Jonathan pulls the lighter out of his pocket and drops it to the Harrington’s gasoline-soaked floor. The flames lick up the hardwood remarkably fast, and Nancy’s caught watching the moment like it’s a movie and not real life, frozen and staring at the growing fire. 

The thing screeches as the flames caress its feet, almost dancing in the bright light like it’s trying to escape the heat even if it means losing the foot that’s caught in the trap. She watches, entranced as it writhes in the split second before the monsters entirely engulfed in flickering flames.

Nancy stands there, staring at the flickering fire, bathed in the relief of surviving the night, entire body shaking, when Jonathan Byers surges toward her, cups her face in his big hands, and kisses her like he wants to consume her.

***

For a second, it’s perfect. Nancy’s lips move against his, firm, and warm, and open just enough for the air to moisten between them. It’s the best moment of Jonathan’s life, his first kiss since Nicole in fifth grade who’d only done it for a dare. He wants to live in this moment, suffocate on Nancy’s breath and die happily.

But, then there’s a sharp, hissing sound, and they both jump back just in time for Barb to put out the remains of the fire with the extinguisher they’d brought for just this reason.

There’s nothing left on the Harrington’s fancy hardwood except a black scorch mark.

“Where is it?” Nancy asks, and when Jonathan looks her way, her lips are spit-slick and swollen, like their kiss really had lasted eons instead of the seconds that must have passed.

Jonathan jerks his head away, abruptly reminded of the real-life danger they’re in, eyes roving over ceilings and floors and walls, trying to find the Demogorgon, or any clue as to where it had gone. A tear in the Harrington’s gaudy wallpaper, a spot on the ceiling that’s distending bizarrely. But, there’s nothing.

“It has to be dead,” Jonathan says, looking back at the burnt patch of floor.

The Demogorgon had been entirely engulfed in flames, not visible past the flickering oranges and red that entombed it. Could anything survive that?

Barb snorts, dropping the empty fire extinguisher down with a clatter. “That thing’s from an entirely different world, why would you assume it’s dead just because it’s not here?”

She sounds exhausted—Jonathan doesn’t blame her for slinking around the burnt patch of floor to slump down on the Harrington’s hideous floral couch. She leans back into the cushions, head slumping back like it’s too heavy to carry. Nancy follows her lead, settling on the middle cushion, feet tucked beneath herself, her shoes no-doubt getting dirt and soot all over the cushions.

Despite promising not to, Jonathan sits beside her, facing forward as Nancy uses the hem of her shirt to wipe the black blood from Barb’s face. He keeps his feet planted on the floor, staring forward at the black TV screen, eyes dipping down to the burnt floor every few seconds. He’s right—it does feel macabre to see that trap there, even now that it’s signed and closed. What would it have been like to sit here and watch it burn?

He almost wishes he had—for Eddie, for Will, and hell, even for Steve fucking Harrington who might be dead right now. Whose girlfriend he’d just kissed. Whose girlfriend had kissed him back. God, this is fucked.

His shoulders hurt from wielding the crow bar with tensed muscles for so long, so he follows Barb’s lead and leans back, hoping to sink into the cushions and finally relax.

“This couch fucking sucks,” he says, and on the other side of the couch, Barb laughs.

“Fucking rich people,” she echoes, reaching her hand past Nancy to whack him on the shoulder in a way he’s pretty sure is supposed to be companionable, but just fucking hurts.

They stay like that, quiet and exhausted in each other’s presence. Jonathan doesn’t know what time it is when he closes his eyes, mind drifting in that place between sleep and awake, thoughts flitting in and out of his brain too gentle to be caught.

“We should clean up,” Nancy says, and Jonathan shakes himself back awake like a dog after a bath.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep—maybe they all had with the way Nancy’s slumped into him, head resting on his shoulder, feet curled up into Barb’s lap. Nancy gets up first, hair tickling Jonathan’s chin as she removes her body heat from his side.

On the other side of the couch, Barb groans, eyes blinking to half-mast, short hair mussed, and drool coming out of the side of her mouth. It’s cold on the couch without Nancy’s body heat. Jonathan’s tempted to lean into Barb instead and fall back to sleep for a few more blissful minutes, but then Nancy turns on the living room light and Jonathan shuts his eyes against the blinding light.

Nancy comes back, Barb’s glasses held out to her, and Barb levers her body upright, knee popping as it changes position. She takes her glasses and puts them on her face, still squinting as she dutifully begins following Nancy’s lead.

Jonathan’s own body feels weighed down with too many sleepless nights, but he levers himself up, entire body aching from his uncomfortable slumber as he joins the girls in cleaning up their mess.

There’s not much to be done, in the end. They pry up the nails securing the trap with the end of the hammer, cover the tarnished portion of floor back up with the rug, put the dining room chair back where it belongs, and make sure the knives they’d used are back in their respective slots in the block, sans blood stains. Once they’ve carted all their supplies out of the house and stuffed them into Jonathan’s trunk, the house is still a mess, but it’s like they were never there at all.

Jonathan slides into the driver’s seat, turns the key in the ignition, and stalls out, staring at the blinking 3:03 on his dash. God, they must have been asleep for hours. There’s no way his mom still has the kids at the school this late. Should he check the hospital for Harrington? His house for mom and Will? What’s he supposed to do here, now that all his goals have been accomplished?

“Where am I going?” he asks, finger poised to turn the key once one of them tells him what to do.

Barb stays silent in his back seat, but Nancy hums, that small little sound she makes when she’s thinking. “My house?” she asks. “Visiting hours at the hospital are over, so we should get some sleep and check there in the morning.”

Jonathan follows her direction, driving toward the Wheeler house in exhausted silence. He wants to check on Will, but his mom’s bound to have some angry words to shout at him over his disappearance, and he just can’t right now. Nancy’s house is dark, only the porch light on to guide them in once Jonathan’s parked on the street. They slip on silent feet through the house, and Jonathan’s reminded of how quiet they’d tried to be after they’d found the dying deer. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it.

When they finally reach it, Nancy’s room is nice—it’s organized, clean, and full of light pinks that suit her. Jonathan stares around at it with tired eyes and wonders how many times Steve Harrington has been in here, how many times he’s settled into her pink paisley sheets, Nancy beneath him.

Nancy’s sitting close to him, shoulders brushing as they wait for Barb to get back from the bathroom to turn out the light.

“Nancy,” Jonathan whispers, reaching out to take her hand. “With Harrington—”

“Not now,” she cuts in, squeezing his hand gently, the bandages on their palms brushing together. “Not until I talk to Steve, okay?”

Jonathan shudders when she says his name. Steve, Steve, Steve, as if Nancy hadn’t kissed him back. As if they even know if Harrington’s even around to talk to. But Barb’s words echo through his head. Eddie likes him, and so does Will. Shouldn’t that be enough for us to give him a chance?

“Okay,” Jonathan says, squeezing her hand right back. He’ll try his best to offer up that chance and hope against all that he is, that he doesn’t regret it.

When Barb gets back, she climbs into bed right alongside them, shuffling until her back’s to Nancy. Jonathan does the same just before Barb reaches over to turn off the lamp, ready to watch both of their backs for one more night.

*** 

“Where the hell were you?”

Nancy bolts up out of bed, disoriented. Mike’s standing in her doorway, backlit by the bright light in the hallway. He’s wearing yesterday’s clothes, arms crossed, and a ferocious snarl on his face as he glares down at her.

“Mike?” she asks, rubbing her eyes, trying to wake up. “What are you—”

“The bad men came, and you were all just gone,” he hisses, quiet enough not to disturb their parents, wherever they are. “El almost died.”

“Bad men?” Nancy prompts, brain still fuzzy with exhaustion. “El, what…?”

“They pointed guns at us,” he says, taking a step into her room to loom more effectively over her. “I’m fine, if you even care.”

“Mike—”

“But good to know you were all too busy sleeping together to care!” And with that, he storms out of the room, slamming the door hard enough that mom yells at him from somewhere downstairs.

She stares at the closed door for a minute, mind still clogged to work all that well.

“I need to go check on Will,” Jonathan says, and when Nancy whips her head toward him, he’s already up and out of the bed.

“Jonathan—” she tries, hand reaching out toward him, but he’s already too far away, grabbing his keys off her desk and shoving them in the pocket of his jeans.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” he says, pausing at the threshold of her bedroom door, soulful eyes staring back at her. “Maybe after you talk to Harrington?”

Nancy’s gut twists. “Okay,” she says, voice as small as she feels as Jonathan walks out the door.

She drops back onto the bed with a groan, beyond frazzled. Beside her, Barb still breathes deeply, always an absurdly deep sleeper. The shape of her warmth is a comfort, now that Jonathan’s stormed out, his side of the bed slowly growing cold.

She should talk to Steve.

Should she talk to Steve? From what Eddie and Will had said, he’d been through hell. Did he really need all of this on top of everything else? But, didn’t he deserve to know? Wouldn’t she want to know?

It seems like hours before Barb rolls over with a yawn, blinking confusedly over at Nancy where she’s staring up at the ceiling.

“Where’s Jonathan?” she asks, voice sleep-rough and low.

“Should I tell Steve?” Nancy asks, the question sitting on her tongue long enough that it escapes her mouth at the first chance of a willing audience.

“About Jonathan?” Barb asks, scratching her stomach beneath her t-shirt as she waits for Nancy to nod her affirmation. “Definitely. Kind of fucked up if you didn’t tell your boyfriend you kissed someone else.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she blurts out, and for the first time, she wonders who she’s trying to convince. “Besides, I thought you didn’t even like him.”

Barb shrugs her shoulders awkwardly against the mattress. “I don’t,” she confirms, heading out of Nancy’s room. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to know.”

Barb doesn’t close the door behind her as she heads down the hall to the bathroom.

After Barb goes home, Nancy stews on it. Barb says Steve deserves to know, but what if knowing does more harm than good? What if it sets back any progress he’s made? No matter what fight they’d had, it feels stupid now. She doesn’t want to hurt him, and this will.

Nancy collapses back down into her bed, stewing in the silence of her bedroom, the other side of the bed feeling cold without Jonathan to warm it up. 

***

He finds Will at the hospital, tucked into Eddie’s side as they both stare down at Harrington like he’ll disappear if they don’t keep their eyes on him. When Jonathan sees the state Harrington’s in, he’s not sure he can blame them.

His hair’s all shaved off, and he looks sunken down tucked under a thin hospital blanket, like he’s lost an impossible amount of weight in the few days he was gone. He’s got bandages wrapped around his shoulder, peeking out from beneath his hospital gown.

He looks washed out, tired, sick, nothing left of King Steve, just a boy who’s lost his crown.

He steps into the room, staring down at his prone form in the bed, something swirling through him, a mix of pity, and jealousy, and a nauseous sort of shame that’s only quelled when Will calls his name and jumps up, throwing his arms around Jonathan’s waist.

“You’re okay!” he cries, small arms wrapping Jonathan up tight and holding all his squirming guts inside.

Jonathan drops his hand on Will’s head and cards his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine,” Jonathan replies, voice choking as he remembers Mike’s words about bad men and guns. “Are you?”

Will nods, head rubbing against Jonathan’s ribs as he turns his head back toward Harrington lying lifeless on the bed. “I’m okay,” he whispers, “but Steve…”

He doesn’t have to finish the thought, he can see it in the sallow tint to Harrington’s skin. “What’s the prognosis?”

“They won’t tell us anything.” It’s Eddie who replies, barely glancing up from his vigil at Harrington’s side. “Johnny boy.”

“Eddie,” Jonathan replies, leading Will back over to his chair, pulling another over to his side so they’re all stacked against each other, staring at Harrington as he sleeps on, unaware.

He doesn’t wake up this time, or the next time he brings Will by, or the time after that. Eddie’s always at his side, looking more skeletal and drawn at each visit, like whatever umbilical cord is tying those two together is sucking all the life from Eddie to keep Harrington alive.

Jonathan just hopes Will won’t go down right along with him.

He doesn’t hear from Nancy or Barb, wonders if either had come to see Harrington at all, or if they’d both washed their hands of him now that he’s relatively safe. A small, quiet voice in the back of his head wonders if they’re doing the same thing with him.

It’s on their fourth visit that something changes: Harrington’s eyes are open, and as soon as they walk in, they��re trained on Will with that same unerring intensity that Will and Eddie have when they look at him.

“Will,” he says, and by the cracking of his voice, it must hurt, but he’s smiling. Smiling as Will clambers onto his bed, smiling as he burrows into his chest, smiling as he bursts into tears.

Jonathan follows him in, settles uncomfortably in that same hospital chair as Steve murmurs platitudes into Will’s hair, and Eddie rubs his back. He’s left to the side, watching his little brother break apart in front of him, two people who aren’t him or his mom piecing him back together with kind words and gentle hands.

It burns, like acid reflux boiling up his throat after movie nights with Will where they both eat too many off-brand chips, and chug sodas like they’re at one of Harrington’s house parties shotgunning a beer. He’s not a part of this moment, out on the front lawn watching a picture-perfect family moment through someone’s warmly-lit window.

Jonathan clears his throat, and Will shuffles back away from Harrington, rubbing his tacky eyes. While his eyes are covered, Harrington winces, hand coming up to cradle his side, like Will’s hug had hurt him, and he’d held on just as tightly anyway. By the time Will’s dropped his hand from his face, Harrington’s hidden any pain behind a smiling face.

“Thanks, man,” Jonathan says, speaking before he even knows what’s going to come out of his mouth. Steve’s eyes look startled, wider than they normally would with his shorn hair and gaunt face. Jonathan looks down at his lap, unable to meet his gaze as he continues. “For saving my little brother. I don’t know what I would’ve done if–”

There’s a sob building in his throat, at the thought of Will alone over there, Will dead in the coffin they’d buried. Will gone. He’s choking on it.

“Hey, man, your brother’s a badass,” Harrington says, like he’s trying to comfort Jonathan. “He would’ve been fine. You would’ve found him.”

“Yeah, Baby Byers definitely saved my life,” Eddie chimes in, going so far as to reach over and pat Jonathan’s back roughly, like he’s trying to burp a baby.

The sob in his throat dissolves as he looks between the two who’d saved Will when he couldn’t, who’d still wanted to see him once there wasn’t a monster to kill. They’re both smiling, and not at each other: at Jonathan.

“Well, still,” Jonathan says, voice cracking on all that saltwater he’d refused to shed. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Steve replies, clearing his throat uncomfortably even as he smiles up at Jonathan, small and shy, and so far from the usual King Steve that Jonathan remembers from across the cafeteria that for the first time, Jonathan wonders if he actually means it.

***

Nancy waffles for three days, the guilt over not even visiting him growing with each consecutive day. God, what must he think?

For the entire three days, she doesn’t hear from Jonathan at all.

It’s a relief when Barb agrees to go with her. Nancy feels almost sick with how clammy she feels as she slinks into Steve’s hospital room and catches sight of him for the first time. He’s sallow, thinner than she’s ever seen him, and his hair’s gone, shaved down until it’s just stubble.

Nancy’s throat clogs up as she looks at him, pale enough to blend in with the pillows he’s propped up against. In the chair closest to his bedside, Eddie sits, staring fixedly at her. She stares back, trying not to blink. It feels like he’s flaying her open. Does he know, somehow, what she’s done? Can she see the press of Jonathan’s lips against hers?

“Harrington,” Barb says, Steve’s answering response croaky enough that it must hurt to speak. “Glad you’re not dead.”

She can see Steve shuffling out of the corner of her eye, but Eddie’s still staring at her, and she won’t be the first to break.

But then Steve says, “I’m sorry about Tommy,” with such a contrite tone of voice, that she snaps her gaze toward him. He’s looking down at his own lap like he’s trying to hide his expression behind his hair, but it’s all gone now, and she can see everything. His mouth’s twisted up, eyes squinted closed, like a little boy being shamed for not doing his homework in front of the entire class. “That wasn’t cool.”

Nancy watches him, nauseous at the way he just says it, what little anger she’d been able to hold onto leaking out of her and leaving shame in its wake.

“You’re not responsible for Tommy Hagan,” Barb replies, caustic and biting. “I don’t give a fuck about him. I care that you’re friends with such a piece of shit.”

“Barb!” Nancy cries, trying to get her to shut up. Barb doesn’t even look away, eyes trained solely on Steve’s wide eyes.

“You don’t get a free pass because you tried to get eaten by a monster.”

Nancy gasps, but all Steve does is laugh, mouth twitching up at the corners like he thinks it’s funny, looking more alive than he had since they’d walked into his room.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Steve says, still smiling up at her, open, honest, happy to be called out on his shit. She doesn’t know the Steve Harrington that’s sitting in front of her.

Like that’s all it takes, Barb sits down beside Eddie, quizzing the pair about Steve’s injuries. Nancy watches, shocked as Eddie and Steve banter, jumping off each other’s sentences like that’s how it has always been. When Eddie had been so desperate to get Steve back, this hadn’t been what she’d expected.

There’s something there, she can almost see it.

It’s gone as soon as she steps further into the room, all candor in Eddie’s face dropping as she inches toward the trio, settling on the foot of Steve’s bed, carefully keeping distance between them, if only to stop Eddie from lunging toward her and slitting her throat.

“Steve?” Nancy asks, all conversation dropping away as Steve and Barb turn to look at her as well. She feels small under their eyes, twisted and wrong, as she says, “I’m sorry,” and really, really means it.

“For what?” Steve asks.

For Jonathan. “For leaving you at the party,” she says, catching Barb’s scathing glare. She swallows the knot in her throat and finally, finally says what she really means. “And for—you were gone, and Jonathan—”

She stops, can’t force the words past the lump in her throat. She stares at Steve, trying to beam the knowledge into his head, as he looks from her, to Eddie, to Barb in turn.

Barb, always both a thorn and salvation for Nancy, says it for her, looking Steve head on as she says, “Nancy and Jonathan have a thing going on.”

It feels like both more and less than it really is. They’d kissed, they’d slept side by side in her cramped bed. They’d saved each other’s lives, and spilled their own blood in Steve’s living room, and they haven’t talked in three days. Only three days, and she misses him, wants to kiss him again, see if she can recreate those handful of seconds where things seemed simple.

“Nancy, it’s fine,” Steve says, voice soothing even beyond the scratch of its disuse. “We kissed a few times, that’s all.”

Her gut sinks, and then balloons up and out of her entirely. Momentary hurt swept away on a tidal wave of relief.

“Really?” Nancy asks, eyes watering as she looks at him, ignoring Eddie’s scathing question from Steve’s side.

“Really,” he replies, like it’s easy. Like he means it. This is not the Steve Harrington that she knew. But maybe, that’s okay. Maybe that’s better.

So when Steve asks, “Friends?” all awkward and shy, she smiles and says, “friends” right back.

And when she climbs into the passenger side of Barb’s car after their visit she asks, “can you take me to Jonathan’s?” feeling hopeful for the first time all week.

*** 

Barb drops Nancy off at Jonathan’s house, and she can feel it coming—Nancy, Barb, and Jonathan becoming Nancy and Jonathan. She’d felt it coming curled up in Nancy’s too-small bed, pretending not to notice the other two curl into each other on the other side of the bed.

It’s been a waiting game ever since. Waiting while Nancy muddled through her feelings about Steve, waiting until Steve was allowed visitors, waiting for Nancy to break his heart so she can move on to Jonathan.

It hurts, that she’s right.

It’s not like they cut her out. She sits at their table at lunch, watching them hold hands beneath the table. They still talk to her in stints before getting wrapped back up in each other.

She can’t remember the last time her and Nancy had a sleepover.

It curdles, makes her bitter and mean, but she’s got nowhere else to go. It’s always just been her and Nancy. She hasn’t bothered to make any other friends. But, maybe she should.

When Steve comes back to school, part of Barb expects Nancy to approach him, make good on his request that they stay friends, but she doesn’t even seem to notice he’s back. Barb watches him as she stays at Nancy and Jonathan’s side.

He’s wearing Eddie’s clothes, bags dark beneath his eyes, hair still shorn startlingly close to the top of his head, and all the students part to let him through like whatever’s wrong with him is catching. And Eddie’s attached to his side like a barnacle Steve’s not even trying to shake loose.

She stands behind Nancy and Jonathan in the lunch line, waiting for them to pick out their lunches so they can sit down at their usual seats. They’re flirting over the school’s atrocious lasagna, so Barb lets her gaze wander over the rest of the cafeteria. She’s unsurprised to find Steve settled at the freaks and geeks table, Eddie tucked close to his side.

She leaves the line, heading straight for Steve and Eddie, unsurprised when neither Nancy or Jonathan notice she leaves.

“Barb would cry if she heard you say that,” Eddie’s saying as she walks up.

“I would cry if Steve said what?” Barb asks as she sits down at Steve’s side. She’s curious, nosey, warmed by them thinking about her when she’s not here.

“Steve here said you two aren’t friends,” Eddie, always the consonant shit-stirrer, replies.

That twinges, but she looks over at Steve, there’s no King Steve in sight. He looks awkward, worried, shy, as he picks at his lunch without actually eating it.

“You’ll do, I guess,” she replies, watching the pleased smile bloom across Steve’s face before she looks back at where Jonathan and Nancy are sitting at their usual table. Their bodies are pointed toward each other, closed parenthesis containing their inner circle, neither having seemed to notice she’s not in her usual seat across from them. “Besides, I’m going to need some new friends at this rate.”

Eddie nudges her sympathetically, but if anything, Steve seems more confused as he squints across the cafeteria at the pair, so she explains further, pulling the sandwich her mom had made that morning from her back pack and nibbling on it.

“All Nancy cares about right now is Jonathan.” As if to punctuate her point, Jonathan reaches out and tucks one of Nancy’s loose curls behind her ear, Nancy’s face blushing a rosy pink. Barb looks down at her sandwich, unwilling to watch it anymore. “At least with you, I knew it wouldn’t last. Now, when am I going to get my friend back?”

When she looks up from picking at her lunch, Steve’s staring at her, eyebrows still furrowed. “She’s right there,” he says, going so far as to point directly at the lovebirds. “Can’t you just go hang out with both of them?”

As if she hasn’t spent weeks doing just that, being left to the wayside while they stare soulfully into each other’s eyes. “They’re all…wrapped up in each other,” she explains, trying to keep her temper in check.

“Didn’t Hagan and Perkins go through a honeymoon phase?” Eddie asks. It’s not a phrase Barb’s heard used about high schoolers before, but it seems right. Phase implies it’ll end at some point, Barb just hopes it won’t take too long. Nancy’s smiling around the carrot stick in her mouth, and Jonathan actually looks fucking charmed by it. “What did you do when they used to go on their romantic dates?”

“Go with them?”

Barb snaps her gaze back to him, Nancy and Jonathan’s mating display all-but forgotten in favor of the conundrum wrapped inside a jock package in front of her.

“You’re shitting me,” one of Eddie’s loser friends cuts in.

“Wait, no. Let’s let this play out,” Eddie says, sounding gleeful. Barb glances at him across Steve and there’s a manic gleam in his eyes. “So, let’s set the stage. It’s Valentine’s day, 1982. Tommy Hagan has set up a candlelit dinner with Miss Perkins to celebrate their eternal love. Where are you in this scenario?”

“Have you been like, stalking me?” Steve asks, and it takes Barb a minute to realize the implication of that question.

Steve Harrington had gone on their fucking 1982 Valentine’s date.

“So, you, Steve Harrington, showed up at your best friend’s Valentine’s date last year and that was just fine?” Barb asks, voice devoid of all emotion.

“I didn’t just show up, I was invited” he says, glaring at her as he finally picks up his burger and begins eating it. “Usually, I help Carol do her make-up before. She’s not good at doing her own eyeshadow without looking like a hooker.”

He’s not looking at them anymore—he’s staring across the cafeteria at Perkins and Hagan with the same, forlorn look Barb knows has been peeking out of her own face for weeks now. Barb turns away from the rest of them to stare across at Nancy and Jonathan again. They’re even closer now, like whatever they’re saying is too private to be said above a whisper, even with all the vacant space at their table.

They still haven’t noticed the entirety of Eddie’s usual table staring at them, much less Barb herself, and maybe that’s the difference: Nancy and Jonathan haven’t invited her anywhere, have barely left a space at their side for her to settle into.

“I don’t think I can go on Nancy and Jonathan’s dates,” Barb finally says, something sad and churning within her as she crumples up her sandwich bag and sweeps it into the almost-full trash can at the end of their table.

“Oh, they’re both freaks,” one of Eddie’s other friends cuts in, the entire table dissolving into giggles.

Jonathan leans forward, planting a shy kiss at the corner of Nancy’s mouth that makes her smile, small and shy. Barb turns away, facing Steve and Eddie still arguing good-naturedly at her side.

Nancy and Jonathan may not have left room for her, but Steve had dutifully scooted closer to Eddie so she’d had room, both of them including her in the conversation like she’d always been there.

Maybe Barb was right all those weeks ago: Steve deserved a chance, and as he delicately ate his shitty cafeteria burger, she was happy to give him one.

As always, shoutout to my beta @queenie-ofthe-void who both made this flow better, and also pointed out that when I said it was done, it, in fact, very much was not! I hope the few of you who read this will enjoy it <3