#I animated this in like an hour don’t bully me

[vynnie47]

Very very shitty ShadowMaru gif

[artificial-condition]

I’m going to lose it I fucking hate working full time

[blkkizzat]

ꨄ︎『Toji x TumblrSmutWriter!Reader』ꨄ︎

Toji x TumblrSmutWriter!Reader

18+ Minors - DNI

Summary: You shouldn't have left your phone out in the open bestie because now Toji just discovered his cute lil gf has a big slutty imagination and that means you're really in for it ❤︎ . CW: daddy/dilf kinks, humiliation, backshots, outdoor sex, toys, voyerism, breeding, overstimulation, lots of mentions of various kinks, light spanking, light spit play, meta concepts WK: 4.2k Black fem reader coded but no descriptors.

A/N: Y’all can blame my forgetting to take my adhd meds and my hangover yesterday for this one. I was laying on my bathroom floor regretting life choices, waiting on McDs Doordash and thinking up outlines for kinktober when this popped into my head. I thought it would be a quick drabble like 1k words to help my writers block with the "Bumpy Ride" Geto fic but lord knows I can't write shit under 3k, who am I foolin? I don’t even have a song inspo for how spontaneous and random this shit was lmfao but I still had to do a graphic for this one regardless (editing those notifications were hell). Edit- I lied the song inspo is: Girls Need Love Remix - Summer Walker ft. Drake.

Enjoy!

Imagine you are dating Toji and he finds out you secretly write Tumblr smut fics on the low. 

He comes over to your apartment one night after one of his ‘jobs’ ran late. He has a key, but is wondering where the hell you are as you usually greet him at the door. Going into your bedroom, he finally hears you in adjoining bathroom shower. 

Toji begins to strip down in order to join you but he barely has his shirt off before he notices your phone blowing up. 

Picking your phone up off the bed he sees 206 notifications from an app called “Tumblr”. 

Toji has no fucking clue what the hell a Tumblr is but his jealously starts to soar. He already made your ass go private on Instagram and deleted your Tiktok dances. He got tired of threatening every loser who tried to slide in your DMs or even leave a comment for that matter. 

Imagine his surprise when he unlocks your phone (of course he had made you give him the password) and instead he finds out his new vanilla-as-fuck girlfriend is actually a kinky cockwhore who loves writing character x reader stories about fictional men plugging any n' every one of her holes. Sometimes it was multiple men simultaneously, with their massive cocks bullying your readers until you had them crying. Not to mention them fucking you absolutely stupid in every scenario imaginable, with a huge daddy kink/love of dilfs to top it all off. 

Y/N clearly has type, Toji thought smugly as he saw some art on your page of these animated dilfs that looked similar to him.

But goddamn, some of this shit even he hasn’t considered doing with you yet. Honestly, he’s been holding himself back for your sake as you had been pretty shy at first. His sweet naive little college girl, yet here you were a filthy closeted slut this entire time. 

Tsk, Y/N been holding out on me, eh?

At this point you were probably a bigger freak than he was, he mused with an arched brow as he scrolled through what you called your ‘masterlist’.

It was nothing but a collection of pure unadulterated filth. 

More than anything though while going through your Tumblr, Toji is rather impressed at how popular you are. He reads your intro post where you deem yourself the ‘Self-proclaimed DILF Smut Queen’ and an evil grin appears on his face.

Toji abandons his plans to join you in the shower and he waits for you on your bed while he links-surfs through more of your so-called fics, drabbles and thirsts.

You made your own little pictures to go along with your dirty stories too? Aw, what a sneaky yet talented little whore he had. 

ꨄ

When you finally exit the shower, wrapped only in a big fluffy white towel and your hair pulled back into a ponytail, you are surprised to see Toji sitting shirtless on your bed. 

Toji had promised to be here hours ago. He never even sent a text saying he would be late and you’ve been bored waiting for him all evening so he could give you some of the attention you've been craving. 

Your body is already warm from the shower and your legs rub together as you are already feeling a bit horny just seeing him bare chested.

Walking toward the bed you are eager to go pounce on his lap. That is, until you see it’s your phone he’s scrolling through again without your permission.

You loudly sigh which made his head snap up to look at you.

You’re so ready to tell him off again and remind him your Insta is still private and you only use TikTok to mindlessly scroll, not post dance videos anymore when gives you a dangerous look.

You stop dead in your tracks.

Your eyes grow wide as saucers as you recognize what he’s actually looking at when waves your phone around tauntingly in his hands. 

No.No.No. Not this. Please god, not this!

But your worst fears are confirmed when he starts reading aloud with a huge shit eating grin. 

“You moaned loudly as you threw your head back and bucked against him hungrily. You knew you had to finish quickly unless you wanted his wife to come home to discover the babysitter on top of her husband, making a mess all over his face. His thick tongue lapped into your drenched folds and he spread your puffy pussy lips wider to suck and nip at your swollen clit….” 

Your mouth was agape in shock. You were a deer in headlights.

A million and one thoughts raced through your mind as Toji continued on. He swiped over to the next one, this time a daddy and breeding kink drabble.

“Or how ‘bout… ‘Take it all like the good little slut you are for daddy, Y/N’. ‘N-No daddy, please I can’t cum anymore!’ You babbled as you succumbed to the overstimulation of him ruthlessly breeding your stretched cunt and filling you as you squirted on his dick for the fifth time that night…” 

You could only continue to stand there and gawk at him. This couldn’t actually be happening to you right now.

“Ya really wrote all this nasty shit, Y/N?” Toji teased while still looking at your phone as he found more of your filthy smut to read aloud to you despite the horrified expression on your face.

You of course had written all that ‘nasty shit’ but most of it was before you started dating him, breaking a long dry spell.

You really weren’t one to run the streets and sleep around but you had some kinky ass fantasies and you not getting any action had you needing to express them somehow.

It’s not like you didn’t eventually plan to open up and share a few of your kinks with Toji down the line. But this was a relatively new relationship and Toji was still a bit intimidating to you. Even though Toji treated you with way more care and concern than he did anyone else you’ve seen him interact with, you still had an insecure fear that he would reject you for a few of your kinks. 

Your last boyfriend had called you a weirdo for wanting to call him daddy in bed, so you resolved then to no longer share that part of you.

Hell, not even your IRL friends knew what you got up to. Only the Tumblr followers and moots, who you all shared peaceful anonymity with, were familiar with you and your writing.

Fuck. You had finally found the perfect DILF daddy too, you didn't want to scare him away. 

You cursed yourself for even opening Tumblr earlier. You did so out of restlessness waiting on his ass to come over. You just were going to read a few fics before you realized you had a story in your drafts you never posted that just needed to be proofread.

Wanting to kill time you decided to edit and post it on a whim, not knowing the mess it would be getting you into now. 

“Earth to, Y/N.” Toji snapped his fingers, interrupting your thoughts.

"Where did my perverted baby’s little mind go off to now, huh? So obsessed with being ruined by imaginary cocks you can’t even respond to your own daddy.”

You could have combusted on the spot as you were sure there was more steam coming off you from embarrassment than from the hot shower you had just taken. 

But wait– wtf, your frazzled mind just connected the fact Toji had referred to himself as your daddy. 

Those words sinking in made your entire body tingle. Your pulse quickened as you chewed your bottom lip and fidgeted with the edge of your towel.

Was he also into this?

The fact was Toji was very into this and you were about to find out just how much he was.

Enjoying your reactions fully, Toji stood up and made his way toward you with a crazed look on his face.

“You’ve written 96 pieces of filth Y/N…”

He inched closer and you instinctively moved back. Every fiber of your body sensing the danger in front of you. You wondered if this is how the targets of his ‘jobs’ felt when he approached them. Toji never lied to you about what he did for work but you never felt like you were his prey, until now.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl, have you nothing to say for y’erself, princess?” 

“I-I-I-”, you stumble over your own words. This was all way too much, way too fast, for you to process in order to say anything coherent back to him.

“I-I-I-” Toji mocked your pathetic tone, an evil grin back on his face. 

“Lost your words, Y/N?”

Your body instinctively keeps moving back to keep distance between the two of you as he continues to advance on you.

“But you have so many words to say here, isn’t that right slut?”

Toji toyed with your phone in his hand, spinning it around.

“Slut. That’s what you liked to be called in these stories, eh? The dirty slutty whore with a sloppy cunt just ready to slime all over her daddy’s cock, yeah?”

You gulped as your back hit the glass of your bedroom balcony door with a ‘thud’. You had no more room to run while Toji closes in on you.

He pressed both of his massive hands against the glass as they framed your head, his body hovering over you. You couldn’t help but notice how much bigger than you he was as his frame enveloped you and blocked out the rest of the room. You were trapped.

Too nervous to look him in the eyes, you settled for his chest and Toji’s muscles flexed tantalizingly under your gaze. You lost yourself for a moment as the familiar scent of his heady masculine musk invaded your senses.

Your eyes roamed lower and lower before resting on the bulge beneath his sweats and you softly pant. 

“You’re staring at my dick like you want me to stuff that pretty little throat cunny of yours full. You aren’t making good use of your mouth right now anyway Y/N, might as well see how much of me it can fit.”

You looked away from him completely but that only ignites Toji's flames more.

“Look me in the eyes little girl...” Toji’s hand roughly grabbed your jaw and squished your cheeks together as he brought his face closer to yours.

“This shy act won’t cut it anymore, slut.”

His intensity was overwhelming you. Various emotions threaten to bubble to the surface as you squirm in his grasp and your eyes become glossy with tears.

“You didn’t think you finally had a man who would be into this wild ass shit, now did you?”

You wanted to question him further but you felt your gravity shift as the balcony door whipped open behind you. Toji ripped off the towel covering you as you practically tumbled backwards onto the small landing buttass naked.

The crisp fall night air hits your dampened skin giving you goosebumps. You shiver and immediately drop down in a crouch to cover yourself. 

“T-Toji!! Are you insane?!” You gasped at him in a hushed tone, your silence finally broken. 

Promptly, you scan the seemingly deserted neighborhood streets through the railing for any sign of movement or signal that someone else was outside.

To your relief there was no one in sight.

Thankfully this was a relatively quiet neighborhood and no one was ever really out at this time of night. Nevertheless the shock of it all was sending your nerves into overdrive.

“Toji my ass bitch. It’s daddy to you moving forward–,” he roared jerking you up off the ground, “–and we are going to do every single fucking thing your slutty mind has ever fucking written starting NOW.” 

Your eyes darted as around him if you wanted to run back inside but there was no getting past his brutish build as he quickly slammed the door shut, shaking the frame.

Frankly, you didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified as you had written some depraved ass shit over the past year in the midst of your cockdrought. Some of it you had never even seriously thought of actually doing IRL. 

“Let’s start right ‘ere, eh? Did you think I wouldn’t notice the description of the place in your little balcony story matched your own?” 

Your eyes almost popped out of your skull as you recalled what you wrote in that particular smut fic.

ꨄ 

“A-AH! N-NOOO TOJI, W-WAIIIIIIIT!” You whined through gritted teeth. 

You tried (and failed) not to release any noises from the unrelenting backshots Toji was currently giving you as he folded you over the balcony railing. The tips of your toes barely rested on the cold floor as your ass bounced back into him and had your clit throbbing when his heavy balls smacked against the sensitive nub.

You had previously only fantasized about Toji being this rough with you, but now that it was actually happening for real you couldn’t think straight. Your lungs burned from sucking in the frosty night air and your cunt pulsed from his thick girth stretching you open. 

Shockwaves ran along your body with every cruel thrust of his hips. The force of it reduced your legs to jelly and you were sure you would have collapsed had he not had you suspended like you were, between him and the railing. 

Toji seemed both unfazed by the cold and your cries for mercy as he shushed you with a harsh spank. He enjoyed the way your fat ass rippled under his heavy hand in the moonlight so much he gave you a few more for good measure.

Your tits violently swayed over the edge as one of your hands grasped the railing for stability and the other held your phone in front of you. Toji was making you dictate your story for him as he reenacted the play by play assault on your cunt.  

The bright screen you held was near blinding to your teary eyes. You mentally cringed as you knew it would act as a shiny beacon to view your activities if anyone walked by the small apartment complex or hell, even stepped out on their balcony. 

“T-Toj- Daddy, w-what ‘bout– neigh-h-b-bor-s?”

You managed to croak out over the sloshing of your cunt and slapping sounds of flesh that echoed into the atmosphere everytime he rammed into you. You couldn’t bear to look around to see if any of your neighbors had started to investigate.

“Pshhh, Fuck your neighbors Y/N! They clearly don’t have a cockcrazed baby to please that writes dirty little stories about imaginary men like I do.”

If you didn’t know better you would think he was actually jealous of the DILFs in your stories too from the way he was sadistically fucking into you. 

His thrusts caused your icy tears to run down your face and sent your tits bouncing into the wind. Your cold and neglected nipples hardened in the chill to the point of delicious pain.

“B-but- it's too c-cold out D-Daddy!”

“Mmn, yet your pussy feels warm enough, Y/N. Too hot even. This is for your benefit, you know–,” Toji stated matter-of-factly while he increases the speed his pounding into you, “–So you remember you have your own Daddy who will fuck you anyway you want, anytime you want…just, fuck, tell Daddy what his slutty baby needs.”

The way his hips are driving into your core knocks the wind out of you. Toji tightens the already brutal grip on your hips which assists him in pressing deeper into your cunt. The movement has you almost slipping. You nearly drop your phone off the balcony when your toes stepped in the growing pool of shared juices flowing down your legs and collecting at your feet.

“Hold that shit tight for daddy baby, got it? You drop it and we gotta start over, yeah? I’ll make you walk downstairs ass naked just like this to get it too,” Toji breathed out huskily. 

You realize you’ve never heard him sound this needy before now.

“What’s next, in y’er lil’ story huh?… Speak up so I can hear it over this messy cunt.” 

There was an edge of desperation for you clear in his tone. Although to your dismay it causes your body to gush around him harder meaning you would have to speak up even louder as your pussy squelches grew more vulgar in volume. 

You nearly shouted out the next part groaning and mixing in incoherent babbles throughout the smut filled paragraph as Toji doesn't slow to help you. If anything Toji picks up speed and grows even harder inside of you as he's encouraged by his baby's filthy words.

“...H-he- lifts your leg, r-resting your knee on the edge of the bal-c-cony. T-T-The angle allows h-him, fuck, deeper access to your c-cunt. Ah-h-h-a clear view of his c-cock badgering your core f’er a-anyone who happens to p-pass belowwww-ohmygod. Y-you seeeeee s-stars as he callously s-slams into your c-cervix, shitshitshit, n-nearly fa-fa-fucking you off the balcony if not for his s-strong hold on youuuu–ah. Y-you violently t-tremble as you c-cum s-screamiiiiing, not fuckdaddyfuckkkk, caring if your n-neighbors could s-see or h-hear you any l-longer.”

“HA! Is that so–” Toji lifts your leg just like you wrote in your fic, “–guess I am gonna to have to keep fucking this tight cunt until you no longer give a fuck about anything else but this dick, eh?”

You hear what sounds like a door slide open near you and you begin to whine about your neighbors again before Toji jerks your head back by your ponytail to whisper in your ear. 

“I wouldn’t worry that nasty, pretty little head of yours about these neighbors babydoll…” 

The new angle allows Toji to bury himself deeper into you just like you told in your story and his tip hits your cervix so hard you think he might actually penetrate. 

“...if I were you Y/N... I would think about how daddy’s needy lil whore is gonna make it through an entire day of classes tomorrow with clamps on your nipples and a remote control vibrator up your cunt.”

He licked the side of your face and spit in your mouth before carelessly pushing your head back. You loudly moaned as his bruising grip returned to your meaty hips as his nonstop aggressive assault on your cunt proceeds.

You feel yourself getting close, your eyes rolled back into your head and drool seeped down the corners of your mouth. You cursed your weakness for this shit as you felt yourself give into the pleasure. You surprise even yourself as you never actually thought this kinda sex could be so fucking good you wouldn’t care about shit else for real. 

“Goddamn mamas, squeezing me so hard–” Toji’s hips snapped into you with every syllable, his voice becoming more animalistic, “–you want me to fill this pussy up? Mmm, I fucking know you do the way she’s milking me. Fuck, might even put a baby in you, give ‘gumi a sibling. We won’t be able to do some of that kinky shit you wrote unless I knock a baby up in this cunt, ya know.”

Of course, Toji being the sexy ass DILF straight out of your dreams would love breeding kinks too.

His ramblings cause you to tighten and clench around him even more. You’ve wanted to beg for him like this since you first started dating. Just thinking of the words spilling out of your mouth nearly pushed you over the edge.

You were so close to release.

“I-Inside me D-Daddy pleasepleaseplease!,” you slobbered out, struggling to make sentences from all the pleasure within you.

“F-fill me– fill me D-Daddy, knock this tight little cunt up, w-want it– want it– w-want it–!!!”

Your voice caught in your throat and you nearly choked once you felt your peak hit. Your pussy sent tremors around his dick as you creamed around him. You can't think of anything else but him inside of you.

You just came but Toji allowed you no rest. He still pummeled inside you as he chased his own high and slurred vulgar curses of praise for his pretty lil’ whore's dirty mind, while planning the next debaucherous smut for you both to reenact.

“Ya think it's too late now f’er prime next day delivery for those toys, baby? Fuck, look that up while y’er still holding that phone.”

You didn’t even realize you still had your phone in your hand but were just thankful you didn’t drop yet. You didn't think it would survive the fall.

Groaning you tried to rally the strength to even lift the phone to face unlock when you locked eyes with someone below. You instantly recognized the person as the elderly woman with the flower garden from down the street.

The old lady had always been very kind to you, making pleasant conversation, offering you fresh flowers for your kitchen and praising you for how reminded her of her own sweet young daughter at your age. 

Unfortunately for you both, she was casually walking her two mini poodles when her eyes were affronted with you practically hanging off the balcony. A blissed out expression plastered across your face while Toji held you, battering your slick pussy full of his thick cock.

The old woman’s eyes widened in terror as if she actually witnessed a crime scene as she panicked, yanking her two dogs away swiftly back in the direction of her home. You knew you would have to take the long way home from now on.

Nevertheless Toji, who was none the wiser and wouldn’t give a single fuck regardless, merely continued planning out your next smut fic enactment.

“Nah fuck it, we’re going to the library tomorrow. See how many pages you can read of that dull ass biology book while y’er warming my cock... Tch, or should we do the one where y’er fucking the coach in the men’s locker room, whacha think baby?”

"Hmmmnmmrgh", you could only moan in reply.

You were already near hyperventilating from your own climax, the shame of now having to avoid your neighbor for life and Toji’s fiery body creating a storm of friction clashing with the freezing temperatures.

But your senses were now wholly overloaded once you felt him reach down to pinch and rub at your clit. 

“Cum again with Daddy baby, shit, can ya do that f’er me?” Toji sounded like he was close and he slapped your clit even harder causing you to scream out.

Cockdrunk and overstimulated you could no longer communicate as your entire body felt like it was an extension of your pussy. The thick fluids flowing out of your body increased the sizable puddle already at your feet. You utterly surrendered to the feeling and your body wrecked with pleasure electrifying you. 

You almost blackout as you feel his cock bust hot seed into your tummy melting your insides and causing you to cum all over again.

"Fuck, that’s it, take it all. Can't wait to see this belly and these tits full mama."

The aftershock of your orgasm feels near endless as Toji continues to fuck thick ropes of his cum into you. 

Losing track of time you weren’t sure how long it was before Toji finally pulled out and took you off the railing. Holding on to you so you can balance and turning you to face him he places you down on your unsteady feet. You immediately bury your head into his chest as his heat envelops your cold skin. Your breathing finally starts to calm in his embrace. 

“So good f’er daddy babygirl,” he murmurs into your hair, savoring your scent.

“Warm bath, yeah?”

“Sure, but you gotta carry me daddy.”

You yawned while Toji’s already lifting you princess style in his strong arms. You were exposed still in the night but at the same time you have never felt safer. 

You curl further into his warmth as he kisses your forehead and finally brings you back inside.

Once inside the bathroom Toji sets you down on the edge of the tub while the water runs and he leaves to grab some fresh towels.

You can’t help but feel euphoric as you smiled to yourself. You are too giddy!

You finally have the DILF daddy you always wanted and could be open about your kinks without any judgment. 

However your mood shifts when Toji returns. You give him an incredulous look as you see your pink waterproof vibrator in his hands. 

Toji turns it on and saunters over to you, his scar twisted into a devilish smirk.

“95 more fuckfics to go ma’, we don’t have time to waste…”

Fucking hell, you had entirely forgotten about the overstimulation in the bath drabble. 

You quiver in both anticipation and distress as you aren’t sure how your completely spent and nearly frozen body is gonna be able to cum four more times tonight. 

Could there ever be too much of a good thing?

You weren't sure what those limits were exactly.

“Ya know, Y/N–," Toji started slyly, interrupting your thought.

”If I hit up Shiu and you asked him nicely with that pretty lil' mouth, I’m positive he would be down for some double daddy Eiffel Tower action.”

However from the feral grin on Toji’s face he appeared determined to test those limits with you.

You could thank your Tumblr smut fics for that. 

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

A/N: I honestly have to say I am a bit impressed with myself as I’ve never finished a story in one day before ever (although it took most of today to proofread and I still think there might be errors soz). Hopefully this is a good sign for powering through those Kinktober fics once classes start up again this Weds. Also If there is any interest possibly a PT 2 after Kinktober featuring a threesome with Shiu at his office.

Edit: errors/grammar fixed as of 9/26.

This one goes out to all of us dilf smut queens who simp Toji ❤︎

Please reblog to have DILF Daddy Toji dick you down, but likes and comments are always appreciated just the same!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Creepy Bunny Hybrid

After a criminal conviction, the claimed hybrid shelter responsible for sourcing most of the beloved species of hybrid is set to shut down

It’s employees pleading with the public to take in their hybrids who’d be otherwise left on the street

Enough for your parents, who you’ve come to live with, to worry

While they were undecided about the morality of owning hybrids

Humanoids with some animal features

They were determined to be helpful 

whether they truly felt such justice or enjoyed the good samaritan role they’d take in a low-maintenance hybrid

A White rabbit with crimson eyes 

In your opinion one of the more beloved species that would’ve found a home somehow but you couldn’t complain

“Welcome Hori! We hope you can find a home with us!”

“Yeah make yourself at home. Don’t mind our kids they’ll be happy to explain anything you need.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Come come I have to show you all the cool things I have!”

Your family takes to him like metals to magnets 

Hovering near him and waiting on him like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread

But he’s just so incredibly…quiet

Not just because he doesn’t speak unless spoken to 

But because he just doesn’t move

You’ve peaked at him sitting in the living room on a chair with no book, no TV on, windows closed, no music playing

What kind of bunny sits in the dark and does nothing

His large red eyes are huge, his ears incredibly long and upright

Skin  so pale, he could pass as the undead

Hori won’t even eat like other bunny hybrids

When your parents first gushed over his photo too many evenings were spent looking up what a bunny hybrid would need

Vegetables, fruits, bunny-hybrid pellets were what they filled the cabinets and fridge with

But he ate none of that 

Barely nibbling when your brother excitedly presented the spread

“This looks…good.”

Barely a quarter of the plate was gone

Before he claimed he was stuffed

The second your family slipped up though and handed him a plate full of steak 

he left nothing on the plate

“I thought bunnies weren’t omnivores?”

“...Maybe the original animal doesn’t but I am a hybrid. Things are…different.”

“Yeah (Y/n), things are different! Stop bullying Hori!”

It oddly feels like Hori is not all he seems 

Constantly seeking out hotdogs over the fruit you offer

Or spending unusual amounts of time staring at the passing neighbors

Or coming home at unspeakably late hours

But every time you tried to bring this up your family would scorn you

Writing off your observations as you being nitpicky

Or even jealous of the newest member of the family

“Just know (Y/n) you still hold a special place in our hearts.”

“Yeah no need to whine, we won’t forget you.”

“Just don’t take it out on Hori he’s been through so much.”

So you settle to avoid him

Just let him be in his parts of the house and you in yours 

But that doesn’t seem to work with his edition

“(Y/n)...will you accompany me on the grocery run?”

“I thought my older sib was taking you?”

“Originally…but I’d like for you to take me!”

“Uh…”

“Come on (Y/n)! Take this time to bond with Hori! Maybe you’ll find something’s in common between you two.”

It’s annoying that he insists on doing things with you

But it’s just some things

And of course, because he’s so creepily quiet it almost feels like you’re by yourself

It just gets worse

“I want to sleep with you, (Y/n).”

It was way past midnight and Hori was above you 

Caging you between his arms as he practically laid above you 

There was blood around his mouth and if you had the space you’d check over you body for a wound

“W-wh-what?!”

“Hori? (Y/n)? Please?!”

“T-t-that’s not even a real sentence! Please get off me!”

Once he does reluctantly give you space

You flick on a lamp or use your phone’s light to light the room

Hori’s hair is much longer, flowing past his tail 

Which was no longer a small puff ball now bloomed into something larger

His ears were incredibly long and twitching as though it was filled with joints of its own

His teeth seemed like they had no end, just rows and rows of spiny teeth all coated with the gunk and gooey mess of a carnivore’s meal

“All that blood?!”

He licks an abnormally long tongue around his mouth

“The left-of-overs from dinner.”

“Dinner was hours ago!”

“Not your dinner my dinner.”

The implication made your stomach twist

“Uh was it good?”

“Very. Now, sleep with you?”

You hoped he’d forget but if only to get some semblance of control and maybe be able to fall back asleep 

You relent

“Fine, but I’m not going to share my blanket…you’re a lot bigger than before.”

“It's okay those covers are not the heat I am after.”

You decided not to comment on it, wrapping yourself in your comforter

Letting Hori’s much larger limbs wrap around you tightly

This creepy bunny continued to surprise you

You could only hope that you’d figure him out soon 

Or your family might be the one to pay the price

[suugarbabe]

magical creatures | m.r. x reader

prompt: may i suggest hufflepuff!reader, or just shy reader who often hangs around by herself or at hagrids hut helping w the magical creatures. yknow the type of person who no one notices is in class cuz she’s so quiet and he’s like,, enamored lowkey bc she’s so gorgiana but so shy. maybe draco calling her a mudblood and matty’s like abt to get in a fight w his own cousin bc of it.

word count: ~2.1k

warning: fluff

an: the end is a little shite, but the rest is good so bare with me.

It was both a blessing and a curse to see thestrals. They were very unique magical creatures in that only those who have seen death can see them. It makes sense, given their appearance. The black skin, the skeletal body, the reptilian face and the wide leather wings. To the unknowing wizard, the animal looked like it came straight from muggle hell. Historically, it was an omen of misfortune to see one, but they were protected on school grounds and oddly enough, they gave you comfort. 

You often found yourself out in this part of the forest after you had a particularly hard day. Hagrid was always kind enough to give you some raw meat to feed them, and this was the first day you could see the new foal since she was born. You tossed a portion of meat its way, the foal slowly coming up to sniff it. Once it had a taste, it came up to you, sniffing your bag and begging for more. 

You laughed at its enthusiasm, gently petting its neck, “You’re just trying to find your way, aren’tcha bub. That’s okay, me too. This world is hard, but you’ve got your mummy here, she’ll protect you.”

A snapping of twigs made you freeze. No one came to this part of the woods, no one but you and Hagrid, and he was going to be gone for another few hours. You stood up slowly, taking your wand from your jacket pocket. 

You held it tight to your side, trying your best to make your voice sound intimidating, “W-who’s there?”

A boy slowly crept out from behind a tree, his hands up in a surrendering position, “Don’t stupify me, please. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Your grip on your wand loosened slightly, but to say you were confused was an understatement, “Riddle? What’re you doing out here?” 

“Could ask you the same thing. What’s a badger like you doing out in the forest?” He wore his infamous smirk, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to be charming, or getting ready to bully you. The lot he hung around, was the leader of more like, made it tough to decipher his motives at times. 

“I was just…feeding the new foal,” you gestured towards the creatures behind you. 

He looked at you curiously, “You can see them, too?” 

You stood up a little straighter, “Yes, Mattheo. I can see them. Slytherin’s aren’t the only ones who can come from a tragic past.” 

Mattheo chuckled at this, “Okay, fair point.”

You looked at him curiously, “What're you doing out here?” 

He smiled sheepishly now, “I was watching you.” You raised your eyebrows at this.

“Not in a creepy way!” He tried to assure you, hands straight out in front of him. “I just, I’ve been noticing you.”

“You’ve been noticing me?” 

“Yeah, I mean. You’re…nice to look at. And you’re…cute when you’re with animals.” His cheeks tinted pink at the confession. 

You couldn’t help the blush that crept up your neck, definitely not expecting that from him. You offered him something to feed the foal and he quickly accepted. You watched at he knelt down to the ground, hand extended as the foal slowly walked up to him. 

He spoke in a hushed tone, “S’alright, mate, I won’t bite.” You smiled at the scene before you, rough and tough Mattheo Riddle being soft and gentle. He stayed with you in the forest for another hour or so, both of you getting lost in conversation. 

He had offered to walk you back to the castle, but you insisted on needing to stop by Hagrid’s before dinner, encouraging him to go on without you. 

After that first encounter in the forest, you expected yours and Mattheo’s relationship to go back to the way it was, which was nonexistent. But the next day, when he saw you in the hall’s he ran up to you, quickly falling into step to ask you how your day was going and if you planned on “feeding any strange animals after classes”. He started doing that often, finding you in the hall or after class, asking when you were going to visit some magical creature and asking if he could tag along.

He found himself fond of how soft you were with them, no matter how rough the creature seemed. He would tell you about the grindylows he could see from his dorm window, and the way your eyes lit up made him wish he could take you there and show you himself, just to see your smile take up your whole face again. 

He had made a vow to himself to never subject you to the ridicule you would get if he brought you to the Slytherin dorm. Not because you were a hufflepuff, but because of your blood status. 

As a half-blood he knows that most Slytherins would look at you like a roast to feast on and their utensils would be harsh words and hexes. Over the last several weeks he found himself growing protective over you. 

Around you he didn’t have to put on a mean face, didn’t have to act tough, he could let his guard down. The Mattheo you knew was not the Mattheo that everyone else saw. Where others saw brooding and flying fists, you saw gentle touches and whispers. 

You never expected you would ever call Mattheo a friend, but it seemed that’s what he became. Where you were once invisible in classes, you found Mattheo staring at you. When you were always able to slip past your peers in the corridor, his hands always found you, pulling you to his side. 

You weren’t naive, you knew the looks you were getting, but with Mattheo near you, you just couldn’t find it in yourself to care. At least that’s how you thought you felt, until you found yourself being dragged by said boy to the Slytherin table for lunch one afternoon. 

“Mattheo, no, there’s no way,” you really thought he had lost his mind. 

“Oh c’mon, darling, it’ll be fine. We’ll sit at the end or something. I just wanna have lunch with you, pretty pretty please?” He was batting his eyelashes at you. His stupid, dumb, long and beautiful eyelashes and looking at you with the most pleading amber eyes. 

You huffed out a long sigh and Mattheo cheered silently in victory, slinging his arm over your shoulder and leading you to the table. 

You sat down across from him, listening to him ramble about his latest potions assignment as you filled your plate. The longer he talked and joked the more relaxed you felt. It seemed like it was not going to be as bad as you had made it out to be, until a head of bleach blonde came into view. 

“Ya lost, badger?” Pansy Parkinson thought she was clever, but in reality she was just the same as a lap dog, following Draco around like a pathetic lovesick puppy. 

You shook your head no, looking down at your plate. “Fuck off, Parkinson,” Mattheo’s harsh words head your head snapping up to watch the scene that was unfolding in front of you. 

Draco tsked, “Oh cousin, ran through the lot of Slytherin women already? Needed to find yourself a little mudblood to entertain you?”

Mattheo was up so quickly it seemed like your eyes had glitched. The smirk was immediately gone from Draco’s face as Mattheo gripped the collar of his robes, teeth gritted as he spoke to him, “Don’t use that bloody fucking language around her, you understand me?” 

If looks could kill Draco’s funeral would’ve been yesterday. He seemed to understand how serious Mattheo was because the most he answered was a grumbled ‘yes’ before brushing his robes off and walking away, not even sparing you a second glance. 

When Mattheo turned back to you his eyes were full of remorse. You spoke before he got a chance, “S’okay, Teo. Let’s just go. We can feed the thestrals before curfew if we leave now.”

You started towards the doors, Mattheo quick to fall in step beside you. When you reached the top of the hill you stopped. Mattheo looked at you quizzically, “Y’alright, love?” You nodded your head, giving him the biggest grin before taking off running toward the forest. 

Mattheo stood frozen for a moment, in shock of how cheeky you were being before his brain caught up with him and he darted after you. 

“You know I’m captain of the quidditch team, love!” he shouted towards you. You shouted back over your shoulder, “Yeah, well you seem to be struggling without your broom, sir!” 

This bit of banter seemed to spur Mattheo further, his feet seemingly moving faster and getting closer and closer to you. You could sense him getting closer, and you could help the butterfly feeling that started to build in your chest. 

You reached your familiar spot, bracing yourself on a tree when you felt hand grab your waist and turn you to face him. “You cheated,” he was breathing heavy, but his tone was still playful. 

“I thought Slytherin’s were cunning, guess I was wrong,” you shrugged your shoulders, biting your bottom lip gently. 

He reached up, cupping your cheek. The pad of his thumb tracing your lower lip, dragging it down slightly. Your breath hitched slightly, watching as his eyes flicked from your lips meeting your eyes again. 

You stared into his eyes, wondering if what you think is going to happen is about to actually happen. 

“Can I…” he questions, trailing off tilting your chin up. You nod slightly, then his lips capture yours. It was tentative at first, like he was afraid if he kissed you any harder you’d disappear like a dream. 

He pulls back, breathing slightly heavy, giving you a silent look as if to ask, ‘is this okay?’ You press your lips back to his as an answer, with more passion this time. It’s wet and messy, tongues dancing as his hands caress the soft curves of your body, pressing you harder into the tree.

He bites down on your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth causing a whimper to leave your throat. You pull him back by his hair and he lets out a desperate huff. You start to kiss down his neck, finding his pulse point and sucking a fresh hickey to his otherwise flawless tan skin. 

You lean back, a smirk spreading on your face as you admire your work. “Proud of yourself, love?” Mattheo’s voice vibrates against your skin, his nose nudging playfully along your jawline. You nodded your head, “Very proud.” 

He was looking at you now, hands resting on your hips, but still pressing you into the tree slightly. His face had fallen ever so slightly, looking a little sadder than the moment called for. 

“I’m sorry for Draco earlier,” his tone was pained, like he was hurting just thinking about the earlier interaction. 

“S’okay, Teo. It’s not the first time someone’s said that to me. Honestly I don’t even think that’s the first time Draco has said it to me,” you laughed a little, but Mattheo could see it didn’t reach your eyes. 

He cupped your face again, thumb rubbing soothingly on your cheek, “He’s never going to call you that again, I’ll make sure of it. He should’ve never said that to you in the first place, or ever.”

You grabbed Mattheo’s face, holding it in your hands and making him keep eye contact with you, “Thank you for being so protective of me. It really does make me feel safer.” His cheeks were straining against your hands as he smiled. 

“Please, please understand that as long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter what other people say. Even your cousin, okay? And if he is ever ever mean to me again, which I think is likely. You have my full permission to transfigure him into a ferret again.” 

Mattheo laughed at this, a full hearty, deep laugh and you wanted to hear that laugh all the time. Wanted to bottle his joy and happiness and release it on your toughest days to bring you cheer. 

Mattheo followed you back to Hagrid’s hut, getting the supplies you needed to feed the thestrals. You watched as he played with the foal. He looked as carefree as you’d ever seen him as you wished he could feel this way every day. The way he looked back over his shoulder, child-like grin adorning his face, you knew you wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.

[kingkatsuki]

You can’t tell me Bakugou wouldn’t threaten a child to protect his daughter, okay? Girl dad Bakugou loves his little girl.

Just imagine Bakugou turning up to his daughters school one afternoon to pick her up after he finds out that she’s being bullied. It’s been happening for a few weeks now, and he feels guilty that he had to find out from you. He hasn’t been home as much as he’d like to be, long hours and unsolved cases taking their toll on his home life as he takes the afternoon off especially today. Leaving his sidekicks in charge of his agency as he waits at the school gates, looking out for his little girl. And when he sees her he can feel his heart begin to melt. The downtrodden look on her face immediately switches into a smile as she catches sight of him. He crouches down as he sees her little relieved face running towards him with arms wide for a cuddle, scooping her up as he presses a soft kiss to her cheek and asks how her day was. But crimson eyes are already scanning the school grounds behind her as he asks the important question.

“Which kid is it, sweetheart?”

And with that he’s marching across the playground, making a beeline to that poor kid that’s messing around with his friends before he goes home— and Bakugou beckons him over with a whistle and the point of a finger. Crouching down again so he’s eye level as he tells the kid that bullies end up in Tartarus and if he ever even so much as looks at you in the wrong way again he knows Dynamight and he’ll get him to turn up to take him there himself.

“Understand, kid?”

And the poor kid is shaking as he nods his head, wide eyes as he watches Bakugou’s retreating back as he walks towards his daughter to take her hand. Of course, he stops for ice cream on the way home so when they come in he greets you at the door with bright blue lips and an extra cup of ice cream in your favourite flavour for you.

“Daddy got bubblegum like me, look!” Your daughter sticks out her tongue as Bakugou leans over to plant a sloppy, wet kiss on your lips.

“I can tell,” You grin, tasting it on your tongue as you lick your lips clean, taking your ice cream from him, “But now it’s gonna ruin your appetite for dinner, baby.”

“It’s fine,” Bakugou grins, wrapping his arms around you as you ate a spoonful of ice cream. Watching your daughter, now evidentially more at ease, take a seat in front of the television to watch her favourite anime, “I dealt with her little problem today.”

“The kid that was bullying her?” You turned to face him, pulling the spoon from between your lips in surprise, “You spoke to his parents? The school said they were going to do that—”

“I sorted it.” Bakugou cut you off, puffing his chest out with pride as he presses another soft kiss to your lips before stealing a bite of your ice cream, “It won’t be happenin’ again.”

“You threatened a CHILD?” You shouted across the room to Bakugou who was now sprawled out on the couch.

“What?” He gave you an uncharacteristically sheepish look that told you he knew exactly what you were talking about.

“The school just called and said the child that was bullying our daughter is terrified of going to school now in case Dynamight finds him.”

And Bakugou couldn’t stop his lips from curling into a smug grin at that, giving you a shrug as you held your hand to your forehead in shock.

“Maybe Dynamight should show up to really make it clear.”

“Katsuki, don’t you dare.”

[lovebugism]

forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick <3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss. 

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you. 

But he is. 

Quite dreadfully so. 

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town. 

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room. 

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand —  the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford. 

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign. 

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is.  “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.” 

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence. 

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect. 

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed. 

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend. 

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to. 

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work. 

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve. 

You want to. You just don’t know how. 

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.  

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least. 

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him. 

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again. 

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that. 

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet. 

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him. 

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge. 

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store. 

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him. 

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook. 

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it. 

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile. 

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records. 

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you. 

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway. 

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval. 

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with. 

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly. 

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room.  That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride. 

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head. 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care. 

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend. 

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy. 

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside. 

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation. 

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows. 

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal. 

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway. 

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp. 

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you. 

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette. 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be. 

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one. 

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now. 

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you. 

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones. 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes. 

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into. 

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers. 

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot. 

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts. 

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him. 

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms. 

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy. 

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. 

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for. 

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect. 

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage. 

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get. 

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun. 

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way. 

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work. 

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face. 

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim. 

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so. 

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge. 

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward. 

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it. 

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought. 

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you. 

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. 

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary. 

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true. 

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine. 

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day. 

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke. 

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you. 

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful. 

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you. 

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong. 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of. 

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake. 

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be. 

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket. 

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor. 

Until now. 

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing. 

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it. 

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power. 

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead. 

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.” 

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke. 

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do. 

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought. 

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze. 

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again. 

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real. 

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for. 

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you. 

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue. 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you. 

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it. 

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him. 

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month. 

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone. 

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door. 

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup. 

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits. 

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation. 

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive. 

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer. 

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch. 

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs. 

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect. 

[metalomagnetic]

Snippet for 'It runs in the bood'

I was so moved by all the lovely comments I got, that it made me want to work on the new chapter immediately, even if I probably should rest, instead.

Anyway, here is a little taste of Sirius being his horrible self.

-----

He finds Snape crowding Quirrell against a wall, acting all intimidating.

However, he’s a fucking looser that can only intimidate little children; it’s only when Sirius shows up that Quirrell bolts, making himself scarce so quickly, Sirius could swear he more flew away that walked-

I must be tired. Sirius must be seeing things that aren’t there. He had a very rough Samhain night, like all Samhain nights are for him, and after that, he had to open a letter to read Harry fought a fucking troll.

“That’s how you do it, Snivellus,” Sirius barks at him. “See, I just have to show up and people flee from me.”

Now it’s Sirius that crowds the miserable twat against the wall. “I hear you’re trying your hand at bullying, Snivellus. The problem is you’re trying it with my boy. I thought I should remind you why that is a terrible idea, the worst you’ve had in ten years.”

Snape glares at Sirius, with those black holes he has instead of eyes.

“How is it possible you got even uglier?” Sirius asks, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

Snape pulls out his wand, face twisting with hate.

Sirius laughs. “Really? You want to curse a Hogwarts Governor? Not only you got uglier, but stupider, too. Truly, life doesn’t seem to agree with you. Shut up!” he growls, when Snape opens his mouth. “I don’t care to hear what you have to say; I never did.” He steps closer, towers over Snape, who still holds his wand firmly, but hesitates to do more with it.

“You know what I think, Snape? I think you should have another moonlight encounter with a four legged, furry animal. I think the first one wasn’t enough to teach you a lesson. You know why it wasn’t enough? Because James saved you. But you got him killed, you sniveling worm. You got him and Lily killed, and now there’s no one to save you when I send Greyback after you. And I will, if I hear a single complaint against you from Harry. You know I will.”

“You-” Snape hisses, going red and deathly pale at the same time. It’s a funny combination. “That’s all you do these days, threaten to set the werewolf on people? Brave Gryffindors should fight their own battles-”

“You’re unworthy of my wand. Curses are wasted on you. I even feel sorry for Greyback, to stain his fangs with your disgusting body…a pity. Alas, that’s why I have minions, to spare me of such undignified tasks. You’d like to have minions, too, no doubt. You’d love to have the means to set a werewolf on someone; that’s why you’re on a power trip with the children, you fucking arsehole, because they’re the only ones powerless enough to listen to you. But you don’t have anything, that’s the truth. Remember, I used to tell you, when we were kids ourselves? That you’ll die alone and unwanted? Seems I was right. No doubt you’re still sleeping with Lily’s picture on your pillow, since the poor photograph can’t exactly protest to your pathetic presence. At least have the decency not to antagonise her son- the one that you orphaned.”

“Sirius,” a firm voice calls from the end of the hallway.

It’s Dumbledore’s no nonsense voice, very different from how he sounded half an hour ago.

“Oh, sorry,” Sirius hisses at Snape. “I forgot you do have someone. A master to serve. A new one, that is. You’ve forsaken the first one, after all-”

“Sirius!” Dumbledore’s voice gets even steelier, and it’s coming closer.

“Stay away from Harry, you greasy pice of shit!” Sirius warns, and then turns and storms away.

And if that weird Quirrell stalks after him again, he’s going to meet the bad end of Sirius’ wand. He’s reached the limit of his patience for the night.

For the entire fucking year, actually.

[d0youc0py]

Ummm I'm obsessed with your writing- I think I've gone through your blog more like a ravenous animal than a reader.. thank you for giving such beautiful angst to the starving ferals. A complete Soap stan but I definitely died over the Price extended fights and fast cars piece too shdfkajgf.

I'd love to see your take on Soap being himself and accidentally taking it too far. Not in a genuinely mean way- reader getting overstimulated/overwhelmed (just not in the mood) and it flying over his head. Accidental bully syndrome with a sad puppy combo? Can be a fluffy ending or angsty ending, whatever you feel is more accurate!

Anyways I will happily snort the alphabet in any order you deem appropriate and thank you for keeping us fed!!

Warnings: Soap being a butthead, reader gets their feelings hurt(totally valid), cursing, sad Soap, use of Y/N, GN reader

“Mac.” You groaned. You were currently trying to work your way out of a headlock. You usually didn’t hate being trapped by Johnny’s perfect arms but you just weren’t in a good mood today. You didn’t sleep good last night. You had been surviving off a piece of toast from this morning. You were late for training with Ghost causing him to rip you a new one. You wanted nothing more than to make a quick microwave meal and sleep for fifteen hours.

“Can’t even get out of a headlock? Bit of an embarrassment to SAS, kiddo.” Johnny teased, tightening his grip.

“If I wanted to I could kick your bubble butt.” You gasped, tapping out. He quickly let go, patting your shoulders. He tsked his tongue shaking his head in disagreement.

“Johnny eat your food.” Ghost grumbled, taking a bite out of his own food. You watched patiently as your food spun around in the microwave, ready to grab it as soon as the neon green read end. You probably should’ve just grabbed it and gone to your room, but you plopped down at the kitchen island. “You did good today Y/N.” Ghost broke the silence. You looked up at him with wide eyes. “When you finally did show up.” A small smirk across his face.

“How come Y/N always gets compliments?” Johnny interjected before you could thank your Lieutenant. “If I was late you’d write me up.”

“Because they’re improving and putting in work. The only thing you put work into is that landing strip on your head.” Ghost chuckled, pushing Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny gave a fake chuckle and slapped his hand away.

“I still don’t buy that.” Johnny continued through a full mouth. He hopped up from his seat, beginning to wash his plate. “If it wasn’t for that big brain Y/N would be as useful as a rock.” He quipped. Your stomach dropped. It’s true you weren’t the strongest on the field when it came to combat, but you were a modern day Sherlock Holmes - able to find a way to get the team through any mission no matter the circumstances.

The pit in your stomach caused you to toss your dinner in the trash, retreating into your room without a word.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ghost growled. Johnny set his dish on the drying rack, turning to face Ghost.

Then he realized you were gone.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Johnny stumbled quickly. A wave of guilt washed over him. You knew he was kidding right? Did he tease you- of course, but he always made it obvious he thought the world of you. Constantly spewing out compliments and praises your way.

“You called ‘em useless you arse.”

“As a joke.” Johnny pressed, cringing himself at his words. “Shite.” He growled. He took note of your barley eaten dinner in the trash, grabbing bread and cheese from the fridge. He hoped a grilled cheese would be a decent peace offering.

“Y/N?” Johnny tapped his knuckles against your door gently. He didn’t hear a response. He took it upon himself to slowly open your door. You threw the covers over your head, wanting to hide from him and the light seeping into your room. “I’m sorry for what I said Kiddo. Y’know I didn’t mean it that way.” He apologized softly. He placed the plate down on your nightstand, siting on the edge of your bed. “We both know I couldn’t do what you do. I’ve toasted too many brain cells for that.” He chuckled nervously. He scratched at the back of his neck, growing more and more worried as the silence grew. “I made you a sandwich.” He rambled. “Come out and eat it please. I know I wrecked your appetite but you need to eat, keep your strength up.”

“Strength for what. Rocks don’t need nutrients remember.” It wasn’t your best comeback but you didn’t care. Johnny cringed.

“I was a bastard.” He apologized again. “I’ll let you sleep now.” He sighed heading towards the door.

After Johnny closed the door you quickly drifted off to sleep not waking up until your alarm went off the next morning. You instinctively braced yourself for your door to slam open and a heavy body tumble through it but that never came. You shut your alarm off, groggily pulling yourself out of bed. The cold grilled cheese on your nightstand brought back the memories of last night.

“Oh Mac.” You mumbled sadly. You grabbed the plate and made your way out to the kitchen. There was no sign of Johnny. You continued your morning routine hoping to bump into the Scot. You had no such luck. You were finally able to track him down in the training room. “Tavy!”

He swiftly placed his weights back on the rack sitting up to look at you. His eyes were red.

“Hey kid.” He smiled. Your demeanor seemed more like yourself. “I’m sor”-

“I know Mac.” You interjected. “You wouldn’t try to hurt me on purpose. Yesterday just wasn’t my day.” You explained, picking at your fingers. He gripped your hands in his.

“I know, that’s the worst part. I should’ve backed off but I pushed you. I won’t do it again, I promise.” He spoke sincerely. “I don’t think your useless either. If it wasn’t for you I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Probably?” You smirked. The familiar playful glint came back to his eyes.

“Definitely.” He corrected.

(Mac/Tavy)= nicknames for Soap. You can’t tell me that man wouldn’t gobble up any nickname thrown at him

I feel so bad this has been rotting in my drafts! Thank you for your kind words and love of angst🥰

[naturesapphic]

Hello, there! Can you do a Jade West x reader, please! Reader, who is a farm child, is an easy target for bullies at Hollywood Arts, due to their homemade dresses, their large family, and their unusual music interests (rock n roll, jazz, and whatever else). Reader one day meets Jade as she is skipping school. Jade, instantly attracted, one day takes R on a date through the desert (which reader wanted to see) and asks reader if she would like to go out with her. Reader agrees.

Perfect match

Jade west x country!fem!reader

Warnings: cussing, fluff

It was around 8:30 when school officially started and here you were sneaking outside in the parking lot. You were planning to skip school today so you could avoid everyone, including your bullies. So when you heard someone follow behind you, you tensed up and looked behind you, ready for them to attack. When you did look behind you, you didn’t expect to see the Jade west looking at you with confusion on her face.

“What are you doing out here?” She asked sternly and you let out a sigh of relief. You weren’t scared of Jade per se which is kinda funny considering show she’s the most scariest person here but she never bullied you. “I’m skipping school. What about you?” You answered and you saw jades face turn into many emotions at once. She gave you a small smile and walked towards you. “Well since I’m skipping too. Why don’t I show you around Los Angeles some?” She asked and your face lights up which made jade’s heart feel weird as she watches you get all excited.

“Can you show me the dessert too?! I’ve never seen one in person!” You said happily and Jade chuckled and nodded at your request. “Sure. Let’s go before someone comes out here.” She said and pulls on your arm to follow her. The two of you got into her car and y’all drove off to explore Los Angeles. You were completely captivated by the beaches, the buildings, the parks, everything! Hours went by and it was afternoon now as y’all were driving through the dessert. You were telling Jade all about herself and strangely she listened to every word you said.

She didn’t get annoyed or disgusted by the words that were coming out of your mouth and she was surprised. “I’m originally from Tennessee which you could probably tell by the way I dress and talk. I grew up on a farm too and the only friends I really had was the animals, I know that’s pretty sad. I have six sisters and five brothers and that makes me one of the middle children in my big ass family. I also love jazz and rock and roll!” You said and Jade nodded. “I like all types of music but I really love rock too.” She said and you smiled at her. “See! You get it!” You playfully punch her in the shoulder and you immediately tense up.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. We always do that back home.” You apologized and she waved you off. “It’s fine. I get it. Just expect a punch back though.” She said looking over and winking at you. You felt your cheeks heat up and you looked over at her with a smile. “I look forward to it.” You said and she chuckled. It was around ten o’clock at night and Jade was dropping you off at your house. You’ve spend the whole day with her but you didn’t want to leave her now. “I don’t know why y/n but I’m drawn to you. Go on a date with me.” She stated and you were shocked at her bluntness but thought it was endearing. “Of course! I’d love to!” You said happily and leaned over to plant a big kiss on her cheek to which she slightly blushed at. You got out of the car and waved bye as you went inside. Jade made sure that you were inside and safe before she sped off, having you in her mind.

A/n: hey @rocknroll900 ! I hope you enjoyed this and thank you for the request. I hope the rest of y’all enjoyed it! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest I love y’all!

[olomaya]

Student Council (Afterschool Activities+)

18 August: This mod has been updated. Please refer to this post for more information before downloading.

12 March: Updated: Thanks to the people that let me know about the missing strings in non-English languages. It's been fixed and you can redownload the MAIN file. I also adjusted the skilling for the student council roles because sometimes it wouldn't stop after Student Council meetings so I fixed that.

7 March Update: PLEASE REDOWNLOAD Hi! Please re-download the "olomaya_StudentCouncil_MAIN" file if you downloaded it already. There was an issue with the milestone tracker so it will reset your Sim whenever you try to canvas for donations. If you have the other files, no need to redownload them, just the "MAIN" one.

I just played TS4 High School Years. The items are really cute but there's about 6 hours of gameplay in the whole pack, lol. But it got me thinking about how I wish we had more child and teen-specific stuff to do in TS3. Like Afterschool Activities which could have been more…active. So I started making a few active afterschool activities for teens. This is the first I'm releasing.

With this mod, your teen can join the Student Council where they can then take on different activities. They can run for office in the council and support school issues to try and make their school a better place. There are 8 different student issues your Sims can try to address, like buying new textbooks or running an anti-bullying campaign. Each one will require your Sim to get a certain number of signatures and raise X amount of funds. If you don’t do so by the deadline all the students will hate you (not really but also, yes). If you are successful, then all the students will get some kind of reward related to the campaign and it will increase your popularity. You can learn about student issues and the like through the Bulletin Board object.

There are 3 different Student Council elected positions you can run for which also have extra perks and each have their own unique interactions they can do as well so they are a bit more personality-based to the role.  There's more details in the documentation.

Download here

Credits/Thanks: @bioniczombie for the TS4 HSY Bulletin board object conversion and all their wonderful conversions. Battery TS3 Script Template Creator for making modding easier. 

You'll need NRaas Careers in order to load custom afterschool activities and of course, the Generations EP. Let me know if you run into any issues!

Future Updates/Additions: I do want to create some activities for council members to organize, like a beach clean up or school charity events. So that would be the plan for a V2. Also maybe doing a proper animation for the collect signatures interaction. I know TS4 has one, I couldn't get it to load through a social xml. It's a whole thing but yes, I'm aware Sign Autograph is not the ideal animation.

[blacksunrequiem]

Disclaimer: I wrote this post as an enthusiast for Dune: Part Two (2024) and the ‘seductively sick’ portrayal of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Any other thoughts or comments are welcomed and appreciated! TL;DR: The aesthetic choice of Feyd’s blackened teeth aligns well with the widespread custom in ancient Vietnam — a sign of beauty, maturity, and even brutality. Read more below. Original photos belong to their respective owners.

Teeth blackening in Dune: Part Two (2024) through the lens of Vietnamese culture

One thing that mesmerizes me about Feyd in the 2024 Dune movie is his blackened teeth. Not only does this provide an impressive physical appearance for Feyd, but it also reminds me of a long-lost fashionable custom in my home country.

Original inspiration. As far as I know, the film crew creatively invented this aesthetic for the movie from the inspiration of the black mamba (a type of venomous snake in sub-Saharan Africa) and images of geisha with black teeth. Similar to folklore and legends, other countries and ethnicities also dyed their teeth black with their local traditional recipes.

Vietnam-specific. Particularly in Vietnam, teeth blackening was once a popular aesthetic choice for both commoners and noblemen. As teeth blackening was a sign of elegance and decency, it was prevalent for Vietnamese women to adhere to this practice. This custom was deep-rooted as early as 400 BCE and grew so profound as an indicator of being ready for marriage or fierce on battlefields. Side note, Vietnamese people would not dye their teeth black until they came of age; it was indeed a statement of maturity.

A clash between the East and the West. It is also hilarious that until the early 20th century in Vietnam, white teeth were regarded as barbaric; only animals, savages, and evil spirits would have white teeth. During this time, one may casually make a sarcastic remark about pretty girls with white teeth such as “Oh you’ve got a pretty face but your teeth are as white as doggo.” On the contrary, in the eyes of the French colonists, the locals had impressive straight teeth but those were “as black as sewer pipes”.

Cannibalism? In some online discussions, internet users theorize that Feyd’s blackened teeth may indicate cannibalism. This fan theory is reasonable enough, because during World War I, to curb the abuse and bullying from the larger and stronger Moroccans and Senegalese mercenaries to the smaller Annamese counterparts, a French officer spread the rumor that black-toothed people were cannibals and could devour two legs in just an hour, terrifying the African mercenaries and bringing peace to the Annamese ones.

How to? So, without the privilege of wearing an Invisalign filled with black dye like Austin, how did the Vietnamese dye their teeth? In short, one must generally undergo the following stages to dye their teeth black: mouth sanitization, red dyeing, black dyeing, polishing, and maintenance, which on average took around three weeks. It was reported that the first teeth-dyeing session would rather be physically painful due to swelling mouth and lips, stinging sensation of the dyed teeth, and strict dietary restrictions (e.g., refraining from fatty and hot food, smoking).

On another side note, I don’t know exactly what the food that Feyd chewed in the early morning attacking Sietch Tabr and degrading Rabban, but to maintain the sheeny stylish black teeth, ancient and older Vietnamese often practiced betel nut chewing.

Dear Dune fan fic writers, please consider adding this long-lost social custom into your fics; multi-cultural representation would be greatly appreciated and respected.

Please let me know if you want me to delve into greater details of the teeth blackening tutorial in Vietnam. I may do a part two on this for my lovely Feyd and Vietnamese culture if you guys are intrigued!

[aangell333]

thong snatching eli ‘hawk’ moskowitz x reader 💌🌸

summary: hawk winds up stealing his crush’s panties and is suddenly overcome with panic and not a single idea what to do… until he fully realised what he’s stolen

warnings: part one? maybe? kinda pervy!hawk, male masturbation, hawk having a borderline crisis, kinda mean!hawk, typical tutor x tutee, hawk’s fantasies

END IS NOT PROOFREAD.

“eli, can I talk to you after class with y/n please?” mr palmer asked.

“uh, sure. I gotta get to karate, though, so make it quick. and it’s hawk.” hawk replied snappily. his poor science teacher sighed and shook his head as he walked away. “when are these teachers gonna learn, dude?”

“y/n? as in y/l/n?” miguel asked hawk from the seat beside him, ignoring the mohawk-ed boy’s moody grumbling.

“I’m pretty sure that out of all the kids you’ve bullied in the school, I don’t think you’ve even acknowledged her!” from the table behind, demitri cracked a joke in his dry, sarcastic humour; earning a snort from miguel and a glare from hawk.

“dude, I don’t bully girls.” hawk replied in a slight mutter.

“yes. you do.” sam replied from the table in front of him and miguel, turning in her chair.

“h-hey sam…” miguel swooned.

“since when?” hawk demanded, his face scrunching. “besides, we’re getting off-track! who’s this y/n girl?”

“that’s her.” aisha pointed over sam’s shoulder to you. hawk glanced over at you and scoffed.

“she looks like a mega nerd.” he and miguel snickered.

“she is not! don’t diss my back-up bestie like that. she’s actually super cool.” yasmine said from beside demitri.

“whatever.” hawk rolled his eyes.

truth was, hawk did know who you were. god, did he know. maybe hawk was acting like he didn’t know you, but eli was screaming inside of him at even being in the same room as you. as eli, he had had the biggest crush on you. he would be jittery everytime you were around, he would blush at the thought of you- fuck, he’d even forget about his lip around you! you had consumed his every thought since middle school. so yeah, there was a reason hawk ‘hadn’t even acknowledged you’.

so when the end of class finally rolled around and hawk found himself stood beside you in front of the teacher’s desk, he had to contain eli like a fucking animal into a cage. shoved deep down so he could act like hawk — cool, calm, collected, and super fucking hot.

“eli-“

“-hawk.” mr palmer sighed as hawk corrected him.

“you’re falling behind. your grades are falling and it’s causing your gpa to decline. we can’t have that. that’s why I’ve asked y/n here to tutor you. lucky for you, she’s said yes.” at his words, hawk’s stomach turned into a rampage of butterflies. that flew up to his throat when you threw him a warm smile. “now, as you know, there was an… incident in the library yesterday due to some… karate enthusiasts. so y/n has very kindly agreed to tutor you at her home. in her own time. do you understand?”

“b-but that’s my time too! time I could be practicing karate!” hawk exclaimed before he realised the situation. you. y/n y/l/n. eli and hawk’s long, long, long, long term crush. would be tutoring him. at his home. out of school hours. “nevermind it doesn’t matter. when do we start?”

“whenever you want.” mr palmer smiled triumphantly.

“I’m free today?” you suggested. hawk’s heart melted at your words.

“y-yeah. today is good.” he stuttered back.

“didn’t you snap at me not twenty minutes ago about having karate practice-“

“cancelled. I’m completely free.” hawk melted even more as you beamed at him.

“great. wanna go now?” at your words, hawk could only deftly nod. “great!”

god, eli had only ever dreamed of being in your room. it was a perfect reflection of you. in every way.

“sorry it’s a little messy,” you laughed sheepishly as you picked up a few things off of the floor. but he didn’t care about any form mess at all. “still definitely no to a drink? or anything to eat?”

“I’m fine, honestly. thank you, though.” he said, placing his bag on your bed and standing almost awkwardly. he watched as you placed your bag on your desk and began unpacking folders and books.

“so, what would you like to focus on first?” you asked, your back still to him. hawk couldn’t help but glance at your jean-clad ass, a smirk crawling onto his lips.

“uh, anything you want to really,” he replied, his eyes unable to drag away from the sight before him.

“I was thinking start from the beginning? and I just talk you through it? you can make me stop or start again whenever you like.” he couldn’t help but smile as you turned around with the big science textbook in your hands. he nodded.

“sure. sounds good to me.” his heart melted further at the sight of your relieved smile. you were obviously glad your taking charge hadn’t upset the temperamental boy.

you turned back around and began setting stuff up.

“you sit in this chair-“ you pointed to the plush desk chair beside you. “- i’ll go grab one for me.”

you walked out of the room and eli looked around. a small hamper in the corner of the room caught his eye and he smirked as he imagined the contents. he heard your footsteps descending the staircase and decided it couldn’t hurt to peek. and that’s what he did.

cracking the lid open, he was pleasantly surprised by how a black, cotton thong sat on top of your worn clothes. he smirked.

he hadn’t meant to snatch it, but he had picked it up and had to contain a groan at the sight of white streaks where your cunt had rubbed against it for an entire day; you must’ve been needy that day. and when he had heard your footsteps coming back up, he only had one thought in his empty mind.

hide it.

so he had stuffed the panties into one of the unassuming pockets of his cargo pants and headed out of the door.

“hey, do you need help with that chair?” he chuckled.

he sat on his bed, his hands shaking and eyes wide. why the fuck had he gone and snatched the poor girl’s panties? he cursed himself for his horny thoughts.

he turned the skimpy fabric over in his hands and his breath hitched when he caught another sight of those white streaks. going out on a whim, an unsure one at that, he brought the cotten closer to his face and took a smell.

fuck.

how does someone’s cunt smell so good?

he felt his half-hard cock twitch in his boxers. he took another sniff, this time inhaling harder. his eyes rolled back as your most intimate scent invaded his senses and he couldn’t help palming himself through his cargos.

he wiggled his hand into his cargos and palmed himself through his boxers. he felt too constrained. he shimmied off his cargos and chucked them aside before reaching into his boxers and grabbing his hardening cock.

inhaling again, he began stroking. nice and slowly. he ran his thumb over his slit and the thighs in his muscles briefly clenched. he spat into his hand before resuming his strokes, soon building up speed.

he’d never felt this way about a girl. so fucking horny and desperate that he steals her dirty panties to jerk off to. but, alas, that was what he was doing. he jerked his fist harder, his hips bucking as he pressed the fabric to his nose and tried to suppress his moans. you just smelt so good, it was intoxicating.

he pictured you, studying away at your desk in your cute room with a cute little frown on your face, completely oblivious to his perverted actions. he squeezed his dick slightly and moaned at the feeling, imagining it was you clenching around him. his thoughts wandered to fucking you. having you under him, on top of him, in front of him and bent in two as he pounded into you from behind.

he wanted you in every way possible.

if fate should allow it, he thought.

but his mind soon wandered back to the wildly inappropriate thoughts of you sucking him, licking him, riding him, anything where he was inside of you. and god it made his dick strain.

his release hit him before he could register it, the only thing his mind acknowledging being your scent in his nose and fogging up his mind like a mirror after a hot shower.

his cum leaked through his boxers, staining them a dark shade of grey. he cursed himself as post-nut clarity washed over him.

and he vowed to slip you your panties back during your next study session…

…after he’d taken them for another few spins.

[sweetandgentlecreature]

Hiiii since you’ve been killing the headcannon game, if you’re up to it,

Can we please give Walter Marshall a dog? That man needs a dog. I don’t care how busy he is, I’ll even walk it for him. He gives me “dad and the dog he didn’t want” vibes where they get bullied into it then wind up being a total pushover and spoiling the shit out of the dog 🥹 That man is secretly so soft I just fucking know it.

Hey, girl! So sorry for how late this is. It's a slow day for work, so I threw Nomis on in the background and got to it.

ABSOLUTELY! Walter oozes Daddy-Bear Energy™️ and I’m always here for it. Thanks for reaching out, babe! Hope you like it ❤️❤️

In the Dog House: Walter Marshall is a Pushover

Warnings: Bring a lint roller. There's plenty of fluff to go around.

"No. Absolutely not."

He'd cross his arms over his chest and scowl. Life was hard enough, between juggling her schedule and his own, the sleepless nights and open cases that pile up on his desk, he didn't need any more distractions. Faye pouted, bat those big brown eyes up at him and stuck out her bottom lip. What started out as a normal Saturday morning grocery run had taken a detour when she saw the wet little noses in the window of the animal shelter downtown. They'd only stopped to look.

"Come on, dad, please?! Look at him!"

The little ball of fluff gnawed at her fingers and looked up excitedly, cocking his head to the side as if to say "Yeah, dad! Bring me home!"

Who was Walter to say no to that?

His apartment quickly shifted from its cold, sad status of bachelor pad to...well, still a bachelor pad, just covered in puppy pads as well. Though the little bugger had been neutered, he wasn't potty trained just yet. Faye was getting good at taking the dog out before school, and spent most evenings playing with him until bedtime. When she was at her mother's house, Walter would care of him. He felt ridiculous, standing out in the cold, holding the leash while the pup sniffed around for somewhere to do his business.

"Come on, lad," he'd encourage gruffly. "Anywhere will do."

Back inside, they'd stare at one another. Walter, sat on the couch, would pick through his leftovers while the puppy, lovingly named Moose, sat on the floor, tearing his squeaky toy to shreds. Moose with yip and growl at it, a real predator, and shake out the stuffing to rain down around him in a cloud of fluff. Walter would sigh, crook an eyebrow at the beast, and shake his head in disapproval.

"No dogs on the bed," he'd declare. He wasn't concerned about fleas or ticks (the little menace loves a good soak in the tub), he didn't think Moose would have any accidents in the night; he just didn't want the connection. Walter wasn't good at making friends, dating was a joke at this point. Faye was really all he had...Faye, and Moose.

It was late when he made it home that night. Bleary eyed, he'd toed off his boots at the door, disassembled his weapon and stashed his badge on the table beside the entryway. The house was quiet, a little too quiet, and it made him suspicious. He checked around the living room, the kitchen, and hell, even the bathroom. Nothing was out of place.

In the bedroom, he found the culprit, snug as a bug all curled up in the middle of the bed.

"No," he growled. "Down."

Sleepily, the dog lifted his head at the sound of his owner's voice. Bright blue eyes grew wide and limp, floppy ears with plenty of room to grow flopped to one side of Moose's head. The black duvet cover, once pristine, was now covered in a thin film of white and gray fur.

Walter sighed. He was too tired for this shit. It wasn't worth the fight. He didn't even bother to undress. No use in getting too comfortable, when he'd be up in a couple of hours anyway. Pulling the blankets aside, he settled in against the pillows and let the heavy shrouds of sleep overtake him. His eyes fluttered closed and his breath began to deepen. Walter never dreamed, hadn't in years, yet just as he began to doze off, he could've sworn he felt something. Warm and fuzzy, Moose nuzzled up against Walter's leg and sighed contently. For a moment, in the quietness of an empty house, Walter smiled. It was starting to feel just a little more like home.

[maryannecrimsworth]

You do need a friend

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10

Guide for tormented hearts

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Selectively mute reader

Warnings: I'm going for the slow burn and reader it's really traumatized, prepare for some angst scenes and a whole bullying session. The part two will be softer if anyone likes this.

Summary: You did it, you stayed with your brother — you were finally free from your parents. Everything goes wrong one last time but after all the police investigation and doctor visits, you were back to Nevermore, not to your parents' Lycanthropy camp. You were at school for the very first time in your life and no one would actually speak with you. At least you thought no one would until your brother makes you meet his goth friend.

Some reader's characteristics: R has anxiety disorder, selective mutism, and is a really unique type of outcast. Reader's background it's derived from my Wednesday fic, The Hunt.

You couldn't remember a thing.

No, you remember one thing: laying down and blacking out for once, after spending three nights staring at the bedroom ceiling non-stop. Then you finally closed your eyes and when you opened them again, you saw your own brother painting above you, despair in his eyes and blood covering his red skin.

He shouted questions at you as an animal crawled behind him. You blinked a few times and did not reply, your attention was on the animal, on the beast now standing in front of you.

“Y/N!” Your brother made you sit up, completely unaware of the monster in his back, and asked again: “Who made you sleep? Who guided you?”

Your mouth dried and your stomach crunched as the monster kept getting closer. You knew that monster. The Hyde. Your parents talked about it in the last few months, it was why you came to Jericho in the first place. And it was about to hit you when your brother stood up.

Hank turned his back to you and pushed the monster away, his hands now turned into claws.

You hated when he transformed, and your hatred only grew as you realized what you have done.

While your brother was fighting the beast, you stood up from the ground and looked around the place. You have never been here before but you knew it from pictures. The Pilgrim World, The Outcast Convention. There were bleachers all over the grass and spotlights illuminating the stages your parents were sitting on a few minutes ago. Maybe hours. How long have you been asleep? And why was this place so empty? Where did the crowds go? And there are—Oh. You looked at the person on your feet. A werewolf, you guessed, as she was growling and sleeping peacefully in the grass. There were about five more teenagers in the same state as hers, blacked out on the floor. Then you understood. You understood what you have done.

You have ruined the Outcast Convention.

X

He covered you with a blanket as the policemen ran through the place. They were after Tyler, your brother told you, not you. You were sitting in the paramedics' triage line when your brother broke out from the mess and noise and sat beside you.

“I need you to answer me this time, okay?” He whispered in your ear before you could see more policemen emerging from somewhere behind you. You heard the alert on their radio. The Hyde was arrested. “Who made you sleep?” You finally looked at him. "Was it mother? You can shake your head.”

You nodded slightly. Yes, you remembered your mother ordering you to go to the bed and then singing a creepy lullaby for you. It was horrible — she was horrible, but it worked. Or maybe the stinky towel in her hand that worked very well.

Your brother’s whole expression stiffened as you replied. He already knew what your mother did to you. He used to help her with it.

“You can’t go back.” Hank mumbled and instantly regretted it. He shook his head before looking at you again. “I freed myself from them, Y/N.” He whispered. “I’m not going back to their camp, and you don’t have to go either. We..we can stay here. You can study and I can work here in Nevermore. I have friends now, they can’t make us leave. Not again.” You saw a tear running down his cheek. “Do you want to? Would you stay with me?”

You felt his strong grip softing around your shoulder, all the intensity in his behavior was clear but he would never risk hurting you. Not anymore. That’s why he needed you to say ‘yes’, he needed you to run away with him.

So you accepted it, you nodded your head convincingly, and you never saw your brother so happy. You never thought he would cry for joy — but he was crying and hugging you even with so many hurt people around him. Hank then stood up and asked you to follow him as he healed the wounded people. The people you hurted, you thought, even though he made no mention of it. Your brother's curse was the perfect risk control for yours: you wounded, he absorbed the wound. No one could ever prove your guilt — your parents' guilt, and the show kept on going. But not anymore.

Now you were a student at Nevermore.

X

You liked it at first. The school, not the people. Outcast or normie, teenagers were mean in any form. But no one really tried to talk to you after the Convention, and it made things way easier. Everyone knew your name — well, your L/N, but it worked nonetheless — and your brother talked with all the teachers about you. Which meant you didn’t have to sit in pairs nor speak to anyone in class. Even some of your exams were different so you didn’t have to present anything in front of a classmate.

“The teachers and the principal are very comprehensive” Hank told you after you came back smiling from your first day. “But you’ll have to speak to some students at some point. I can help you with it.”

“Why?” You replied immediately. “There’s no need.”

“You are in high school.” You rolled your eyes in response. “You do need a friend.” You walked straight to your room and did not utter another word to your brother for the rest of the day.

Then his schemes began. Well, he was the school advisor after all. And you were now his messenger.

Hank sent you a quest everyday: to deliver a letter, a note, a corrected exam, a chocolate box.

“Chocolate?” You asked as soon as he handed you the box.

“Well, she’s having a really bad time, she needs it.” You rolled your eyes again and walked after the poor girl.

You understood your brother’s strategy: he wanted you to knock on the door, greet the person and then deliver the package. Naive man. You actually only put the package in the hallway, knocked on the door and walked away. No speaking needed at all.

By far, you have barely spoken to anyone.

Some people tried: Xavier Thorpe and Enid Sinclair, your brother’s friends, tried to small talk with you a few times, but you only smiled awkwardly and shook your head until they gave up. There was also this goth girl with them, she was your brother’s friend too, but you could not make yourself look at her. It was hard enough to look at Xavier, who you knew for years, so imagine looking at someone who seems to be a wrong word away from murdering you. Nope. Not a chance.

But Hank — oh, how you hated him sometimes — has this “getting out of your comfort zone” obsession and would never leave you alone.

“No.” It was the first package you refused to deliver. You would not walk to Ophelia Hall to deliver a blank paper note to her. “No, Hank. Please, can’t we just go home? I’m exhausted.”

Your brother looked up from the papers on his desk and watched you with concern. He had noticed how the bags under your eyes had grown, but he had refused to put you to sleep.

“I won't lock you up.” Hank reminded you. “You have to learn to control it.”

“Whatever, Hank.” You sighed, your shoulders and eyes weighing a little more than usual. “Can we go home?”

“Wednesday is with the key to my bike. You have to meet her, wanting or not.”

“Why would she—?” Hank helped her with her creepy stuff, of course, they had a deal after all. You gave up questioning and grabbed the blank note from your brother’s desk. He wished you good luck before you slammed the door.

Yeah, sure, an elf definitely needs luck.

You stomped your way to Ophelia Hall. Ophelia, the girl who was driven mad by her family. How ironic.

The Housemaster didn't even bother with your presence at that point, he just let you pass. You silently strode through the halls, as you were getting used to doing, and no students really noticed you. At least that's what you thought until a shrill voice hurt your ears.

“Pretty L/N!” Was it even a human voice? “Come here, beautiful.” You obviously ignored her. “Oh, wait.” You heard laughter. “That’s the weird L/N.” Oh, fuck, like it's even possible to mistake you for your brother. “Will you reply if we growl?” The voice grew louder on your back. “I think we need to bring a fur to crawl and sniff your ass! This way you will be a good pet, won’t you?” Do not react. Do not react. Do not—you felt the paper scratching the palm of your hand. Your firsts were so strongly closed that your arms were trembling. Your whole body was trembling and they noticed.

The voice finally gained a face and a group of teenagers appeared in front of you. You didn't even notice that you had stopped walking.

“How ugly. You are even worse up close.”

As if you are a beauty.

“It is a pity that you have absolutely nothing to do with your brother.”

Of course I have not, we’re adopted, you stupid bitch.

“Piss off, Gwen, he’s trying to help Hanky. You know, he’s his messenger.”

“That’s why he keeps ghosting our dorm? No, I do not believe that.”

“Come on, you think he’s a perv or something?”

You watched the two girls talking. Did they always have to be this tall? Your neck was already hurt because of your exemplary posture, and looking up certainly didn't help.

“Look at him. He sure is.”

You felt a drop falling into your eyes and winched in reflex. Fuck. Your forehead was totally soaked, as was your clothes. You took a glimpse of the crushed paper in your hand: it was completely wet. You ruined the blank paper note. Pathetic.

“You suck at this.” The voice laughed again. “That’s your message?” The girl grabbed the paper from your hand before you could move away. “You can not speak, you can not deliver a single note, you can not look even me in the eye.” The girl leaned over you. “Is there anything you can do?” You could feel her scoff on your face. “You worthless piece of shit.”

You did not respond. You did not look up. You were barely breathing. Sweat kept running down your face as the girl gave up. She got tired of waiting for a slight response from your and turned back. She was about to finally step away when you moved your foot.

The girl was unexpectedly face down on the ground and her friends gasped at the ugly fall. Everyone looked at you. Oh, how satisfactorily angry they seemed.

“You did it on purpose, you asshole!”

“I can’t believe you’re laughing!” You were not laughing, only smirking a little bit.

“You’ll pay for this!”

A foot kicked your shin, which prevented you from running away. Then a fist hit your face and an elbow struck your back. You stopped recognizing what was hitting you once your knees touched the ground. Your vision turned into a blur and your ears heard nothing but a whirring as they slapped your head. It didn’t actually hurt: you were too numb to describe it as something uncomfortable, and you were used to beatings. But then a boot, somehow, managed to get between your crossed arms and sunk into your stomach. You could feel the weight getting deep in your gut, and the acid taste of your lunch emerged into your mouth. You did not hold it back.

You puked on the girl's shoes and got her socks to be soiled as well. Your throat was burning and dry coughs were already escaping from your dirty lips when you heard the screams distancing themselves.

They had run off.

You crawled on the floor, moving away from the vomit that slipped down the girl’s legs. You do not even know if you have thrown up in the right one.

You growled in anger as you grabbed the dirty paper note from the ground and stood up. Wednesday’s door was only a few feet down the hallway and you needed to go home. You quickly saw her room’s door and stormed in without even knocking.

You were met by a circular window, half colored, half blank. A girl shouted to your left, and a subtle movement came from the right.

You didn’t look at anyone, you didn’t speak to anyone: you simply targeted the key on Wednesday’s desk and rushed to it. You tripped on something on the way — on Thing — but that didn't stop you from taking the key and turning back to the door. You were about to slam the door shut when a cold voice reached you.

“My message.” You were still holding the paper. Fuck. You threw the squashed paper at her feet and left without saying anything.

You felt Wednesday's eyes following your movements — analyzing your soaked uniform, your bruised face and dirty lips, but none of that mattered.

The only thing that mattered was the cold metal between your fingers, the key to your escape, to your brother's motorcycle. Your blood flowed through your veins as the wind cut through your ears, and you ran through the school until you reached the parking lot and the motorcycle.

You started the engine and ran out of Nevermore without looking back.

The cold wind didn't cool your mind, but shivers ran down your skin as you jumped off the bike and left it in the driveway. You barely closed the door and ran into your bedroom. To the glass cell that opened only from the outside. You locked yourself in and threw yourself to the floor as the salty taste of tears mixed with the acidity of everything you had eaten during the day. You were still crying.

And you kept crying until your body got exhausted.

You fell asleep.

@tnnadia @stupendousbananajudgeshark @colezb @aroaceanxietylemon @elduster @iwkaaaaa @mikooooks @chaoticteenagetrash

[rosypenguins]

Day 13! Jomies Headcanons! (I got quite a few!)

Jake:

💛Unironically listens to boy bands.

💛Has Spotify open 24/7. Is always looking for new artists and songs, and probably has over 3000 songs liked.

💛He’ll listen to any song of any genre, but tends to lean more towards alt-rock.

💛Used to listen to Billie Eilish in Middle School.

💛Whenever it’s too quiet, he’ll either hum to himself or make random noises with his mouth.

💛Physically incapable of standing still.

💛Probably ate an eraser as a kid.

💛Does not believe in closets. Keeps his clothes either on the floor or in his chair. (If it’s in his closet he’ll genuinely forget he even owns the item.)

💛”Processing your emotions? What the hell’s that?”

💛Oh yeah, he definitely has ADHD.

Drew:

🖤Really likes FPS games.

🖤Always has to have his weight shifted on one leg. He cannot stand up straight to save his life. (Heh cuz he’s gay-)

🖤Small waist. (He’s a twink in my eyes.)

🖤Could probably be picked up by the other Jomies. (Has yet to be tested due to safety concerns.) (The concerns being Drew beating the shit out of them.

🖤Doesn’t like black coffee but drinks it anyways. (Why? We don’t know.)

🖤TERRIBLE eating habits. He’ll literally just have a piece of toast and be like “welp that’ll last me for the next 48 hours.”

🖤Those hot-pink girly desserts are his guilty pleasure.

🖤Listens to a lot of rap music. Mostly emo rap. He says it’s cuz it sounds cooler but it’s actually because he finds the lyrics relatable.

🖤Stalks Jake’s instagram for purely platonic reasons.

🖤Doesn’t know how to show affection so he’ll sometimes just randomly punch Jake in the arm. No warning, no explanation.

🖤Cat person. Doesn’t really like dogs. (Terrified of Oreo but would rather die than admit it.)

🖤Bullies cats relentlessly, but will also meow back at them if he thinks no one’s around.

🖤Likes being cuddled way more than he’d like to admit.

🖤Having his hair played with puts him right to sleep.

🖤Struggled to make friends in Elementary school due to his temper. (His lack of attention at home led to him lashing out a lot.) Other kids found him to be intimidating so Drew didn’t really have any friends until Middle School.

🖤Was put in time-out a LOT in Kindergarten so it basically just became Drew’s Corner.

🖤IPad kid. Definitely had a mascot-horror phase when he was 10.

🖤“Processing your emotions? What the hell’s that?”

🖤Oh yeah, BPD. He has BPD.

Liam:

❤️Hands are always fucking clammy it cannot be helped.

❤️Definitely listens to Breakcore.

❤️Has a bunch of those weird, perverted anime stickers somewhere in his desk drawer because he thinks they’re funny. (They were included in a random anime sticker pack Henry bought online.)

❤️Had a super edgy werewolf OC back in Middle School. Drawings of it still exist in that same drawer.

❤️Lets Henry play with his hair when they’re alone together.

❤️Refuses to use chairs properly.

❤️Has so many 0.5 photos of the Jomies. (Except Drew because Drew threatened to break his phone if he ever took one of him. But Liam still managed to sneak a few bad photos of Drew as well.)

❤️Type of guy to moan when someone’s on the phone with their parent.

❤️Knows how to drive a manual. (I imagine his mom’s car is an older one soooooo if Liam wanted to drive around he had to learn.)

Henry:

💚Baby face. (Liam likes to hold his face.)

💚Wears anime merch with pride.

💚Pretends to be a girl online sometimes so people give him free shit.

💚Almost always hits Drew with the 🤓 emoji anytime he says something smart/logical in their group chat.

💚Would definitely like matcha because it tastes like g r a s s.

💚He ate grass as a kid. And leaves. And dirt.

💚The type of kid that always had to be the dog in any game he played.

💚Really likes bunnies. He held one once and felt his life was complete.

💚Oh, and frogs too. He loves frogs.

💚Typically takes the role of mediator during fights, even if he has no context on the situation.

💚Relies way too much on being funny. If a joke doesn’t land he genuinely hates himself for a couple seconds.

💚Sensitive to loud noise. (Unless the loud noise is on his terms.) (Like, he’ll have his music on full blast and shout at his friends standing right next to him and be completely fine, but if a balloon were to suddenly pop right beside him, it’d startle him quite a bit.)

💚Drew glaring at him and telling him to shut up hurts a little more than he’d like to admit.

💚Probably also has ADHD.

Zoey:

🩷This bitch knows how to steal shit. You got a necklace she likes she will find a way to take it.

🩷Can and will find a way to make everything said against her about her gender.

🩷“Oh my God, I am LITERALLY just a girl.”

🩷Definitely took dance for a P.E credit.

🩷Almost everything she owns is covered in flowers.

🩷Everything has to be aesthetic.

🩷Always had to initiate any sort of affection between her and Drew. She was always the one asking him out. Always the one to kiss him first, or reach for his hand. (Whereas Drew never really thought about that sort of stuff.)

🩷Her views on relationships were also very different from Drew’s. She wanted excitement and fun. She wanted to go out and do things. And whenever they were home alone, she wanted to make out with him and stuff, meanwhile, all Drew wanted to do was cuddle and watch stupid videos on his phone with her. (But she just found that boring.)

🩷Honestly, their best dates were their at-home ones. Where they’d watch movies together and Zoey would bring some face masks and they’d pamper each other and cuddle and whatnot. (Fun for Zoey and relaxing for Drew.)

🩷And because of their height difference, Zoey would sometimes grab Drew’s collar and pull him down to her level to kiss him. (And this definitely never once flustered Drew.)

🩷Probably knew Drew cared more about Jake than he did her and that pissed her off.

Lia:

💜Big fan of Olivia Rodrigo. (And one time, while her and Drew were waiting for the others after school, she was listening to one of her songs and singing along, and Drew ended up correcting her on a lyric, causing her to realize he ALSO listens to her music, and he was super embarrassed about it afterwards and made her promise not to tell anyone.)

💜So anyways Lia now wants to take Drew to an Olivia Rodrigo concert.

💜She’s also a big fan of Nessa Barrett.

💜Surprisingly really good at singing. She never took lessons or anything, she just sings in the shower a lot.

💜Sprays perfume on herself like 50 times in a day.

💜Always comparing herself to people online.

💜“Self-esteem? What’s that?”

💜Genuinely could not describe herself if she was asked to. She’s so used to changing herself for others she doesn’t even know who she is or what she wants to be.

💜Imposter Syndrome 100%

💜Had a huge crush on Hailey in Middle School but didn’t even know being gay was a thing so she didn’t really know how to explain her feelings at all.

@31days-of-freakblr