#IM SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT SEASON OF THE BEAR

[rotthepoet]

Wait let me correct myself enz and theo threesome but she's really shy 🫠🫠

POOKIE IM SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER I WANTED TO MAKE SURE IT WAS GOOD! MWAH, LOVE YOU!!!

Notes: I don’t think i’ve ever written a threesome before, and its been a long long time since I’ve written downright smut so bear with me🙏

Content: Hogwarts University AU, All characters are 18+, Drinking, drug use, threesome, porn without plot, piv, oral(both m and f), degradation and praising, leaving bruises, hair pulling, kinda choking?? , FEM READER, lmk if i missed anything my loves<3

It was all a blur really. One minute Slytherin was winning their last Quidditch match of the season, the next you were sitting in the corner of the common room deep below the castle as LED’s casted a layer of green over the clouds of smoke and vapor. You weren’t fond of parties. Not in the slightest. You liked keeping to yourself and your select group of friends. Alas, your select group of friends tended to be extroverts who simply… decided… they liked you, and these extroverts tended to like parties. They like you too. So why not combine the both?

So you sit quietly in the corner, laughing and smiling when one of your friends came to check on you, just so they didn’t worry. It’s not like you were completely bored, maybe a few drinks in you started taking candid pictures of your dancing friends, and as you became comfortable with the noise level and crowd, you joined in with them much to their excitement.

The night was a dream, really. Hands all over you, maybe your friends, maybe some strangers. It didn’t matter anymore. You felt good, distracted enough by the alcohol and second hand smoke in your system to let loose.

Theodore Nott and Lorenzo Berkshire were good acquaintances of yours. Maybe even friends if you squinted hard enough. Regardless, it wasn’t too much of a shock whenever you found their hands on yours.

“Never thought we’d see you at a party,” Enzo would say, his breath hot on your ear as he moved slowly behind you, his hands resting on your hips.

Theo would laugh and run his hands up to your waist, looking into your eyes with his bloodshot ones, “It’s a nice change… and you do look good.”

It’s really a blur after that. A drunken blur of groping and soft kisses along your shoulders. The heat just kept building in your lower stomach, and you didn’t argue whenever Theo asked you if you wanted to go to his room.

The idea didn’t even fully click in your head until you were topless on Theodore’s bed, letting Enzo graze his fingers over your perky tits. Stuck between the two men, feeling that pleasant buzz from the liquor and arousal, how could you ever say no?

They’re so gentle with you at first, letting you set the pace and curiously explore their bodies. Enzo’s between your legs long enough to have you seeing stars. His tongue swirls over your clit, his strong hands pressing your legs to your chest. He’s wet and messy, letting your combined slick and spit soak the sheets below you. He’s holding you so tight that it leaves bruises in the morning, and only grips tighter the more you squirm. During all this, Theo is leaving hickies all over your body. Your shoulders, your chest, your sides, hips, thighs, everywhere. He’s stroking his length slowly, teasingly, letting your watch as you whine and squirm as you’re marked. As he makes his way down your body, his deft fingers find your neglected and overly sensitive hole.

Theo is slow. Agonizingly slow. It feels like forever as he’s rubbing his fingers across your cunt, spreading you out for Enzo, laughing softly as you cry for him to finally fuck you. When he pushes his middle finger in, you let out the most delectable sound, and he barely pushes another into you before you cream all over him and Enzo. He fingers you through your orgasm, grinning at Enzo as your whines and cries quicken from the overstimulation.

Unfortunately for your well loved pussy, they’re not done. They’ve been so generous and helpful, the least you could do is take a little but more. Just for them, right sweetheart? And of course, like the little slut you are, you take it like a good girl.

It’s like a switch really. As soon as you nod your pretty little head, your breathing almost steady when they finally release you, you’re gripped by the hair and pulled up.

Enzo’s lips find yours in a messy, searing hot kiss as Theo manhandles you onto your knees. Whoever is gripping your hair doesn’t let up, even as Enzo finally leaves your bruised lips be.

It’s not for long though, not for long at all. As soon as Enzo pulls away, the tip of his cock kisses your lips, smearing his pre along the already wet skin. It’s daunting really, his size looking too big to fit in your tight cunt let alone your mouth. Your head is lifted, forced by a tug of your hair, and Lorenzo can only grin at the worried expression on your cute, fucked out face.

“Our girls a little worried, hm?”

And Theodore laughs behind you, a condescending sound that sends shivers up your spine. “She’ll be fine. Hasn’t broken yet, has she?”

It’s Theo’s tip pushing into you that makes you finally gasp, leaving Enzo to sheathe himself in your wet mouth. Count the seconds, because you only get a few before they’re using you like a fleshlight.

Theodore is ruthless, gripping your hips as he bucks into you like a man in heat, his heavy balls slapping against your clit in a frenzy while he grunts. Each thrust forces you deeper onto Enzo, his own hands gripping your hair to keep you steady.

“Such a pretty thing, isn’t she?”

“Oh yeah, especially like this. You’re having fun, aren’t you, pet?”

And you are having fun. So much fun as Theo reaches new depths inside of you, and Enzo’s cock hits the back of your throat. Tears stream down your cheeks and drool down your chin, dripping to the already drenched mattress. Their thrusts are synched, filling you up at the same time, making you see stars, or maybe it’s Enzo’s freckles. You aren’t sure at this point.

You finish without warning, your walls clenching and spasming around Theodore whose pace stutters at the sudden wave of pleasure, and his hand grips your bulging throat to steady himself.

You sob tears of pure pleasure as Enzo groans, releasing his seed deep down your throat, holding you down at his base while you choke and whine around him.

Theo doesn’t last much longer after that, his grip tightening as much as he could without hurting you, before he pulled out and let his tip spurt onto your back, coating you in sticky, warm release.

Coated in cum, and throughly fucked, you let the remainder of Enzo spill from your lips when he finally pulls away. Slender fingers collect the remnants from your chin, and push themselves into your sore mouth.

“Deep breath, darling. You can do it again, can’t you?”

Tags: @helendeath @lilyravennablack

[shuastar]

KISS 'ER UP (CHV) pt. 1

pairing: baseball player!vernon x fashion designer/fan!reader wc: 10.9k warnings: nothing for now; SLIGHTLY unrealistic meet-cute but whatever we pick and choose our battles; DO NOT meet with strangers after only knowing them for a month even if they're ridiculously hot and chwe hansol (I REPEAT DO NOT). a/n: im baaaaaaaaack!! (cue mariah carey) i am so excited to be back with a new story. this one is shorter than my wonwoo one but still (hopefully) interesting and good. ive always been a baseball fan so this is really fun for me to write up, especially with vernon as the player!! this is my first time including text message-ish things inside the story so lmk after the first part comes up if i should change the style into an actual "fake chat" picture thing that the smau's use. anyways thank u always for reading <3 taglist form here!!

previous ; next

Late March was not supposed to be this cold – fleece-lined hoodie under the pink and blue jersey, thick jeans paired with Ugg boots you had stored away for the winter until just yesterday when the weather had suddenly plummeted into the lower degrees, freezing your ass off on the 28th of March. 

The jam-packed stadium – open air – did nothing to chill the cold that was slowly pressing into your bones and the wind-nipped red-blushed cheeks. 

Your leg bounces as you lean over your knees to squint at the pitcher from the other team – Doosan Bears – toss the fat piece of chalk to the ground, a plume of white following in its wake. Your hands are rubbing up and down your jeans as if that would warm you up in this cold. 

The next batter walks out from the dugout and from your seat, you can see each and every strand of hair poking out from under Kim Mingyu’s helmet as he takes his leisurely walk to the home plate. From behind you in the main arena – where you should have been sitting until Kim Chaewon gave you her fucking floor next-to-the-dugout seat because she wanted to sit with her boyfriend in the main seats – a roar of approval echoes through the stadium. And when Mingyu taps his bat against the bruised white of the home plate, stretching his neck as he gets into position, you can hear the very loud singing of his fan chant against the announcers’ commentary of his stats throughout the season (well, throughout the last four games). 

Mingyu is good. He’s tall, strong, and can hit a ball as well as any of the Doosan players combined. You nod in approval and sit back against the chair, picking up your cup of beer from the ground by your feet, sipping as Mingyu lets a ball fly through. 

You can’t help but glance at the scoreboard: 3 to 1. And it’s the 5th inning. If Mingyu can get the ball into a homerun – like what everyone else was chanting behind you – it would bring home at least 3 players and this game would be in your pocket. And seriously. Doosan was falling off this year anyways, so it should only be natural that you should win, especially with last year’s All-Round Rookie of the Year (Lee Chan) and last year’s KMLB’s MVP and MIP (Lee Jihoon and Vernon Chwe). 

You can only watch, only slightly anxious, as Mingyu raises his bat again, squinting against the setting sun and bright stadium lights. 

It’s like a blur. 

You blink once and then the ball is a millimetre from Mingyu’s swinging bat. 

CRACK!!

The bat slams into the ball and Mingyu – as well as the rest of the stadium – watches for one second as it soars in the air. And before cheers can even interrupt Doosan’s boos, Mingyu is off like a flash, feet kicking up dust as he rounds first base, then second, and then third. 

Your jaw unhinges ever so slightly as his ball flies well over even the furthest of Doosan’s outfielders, over their heads and into the mass of Diamond fans at the other side of the stadium. 

The cheers are deafening when the ball lands perfectly in some lucky bitch’s lap, too busy filming herself on the jumbotron to actually cheer for her team. The cheers are heart-pounding when Dino, followed by Joshua, and then Mingyu race into home, their screams of delight mixing in with the fans’ booming fanchants of their names. 

From where you stand, beer forgotten on the ground, hands raised as you almost violently shake the team towel, you can almost read the team’s lips as they cheer amongst themselves. Next to you, another fan screams and screams as the jumbotron switches to the disappointed scowls of the Doosan fans. 

When your throat feels raw from the screaming, you slowly sit down, heart pounding in your ears and grin stretching wide. 

What a way to spend a Friday night. 

Suddenly, the cheers die down, replaced with a familiar sort of music that only rings from the stadium speakers during a specific segment between the 5th and 6th inning. 

Your eyes flicker up to the big screen from their past position trained on the players who were just a couple of steps from the side netting right next to you. 

The Kiss Cam. 

You glance next to you on the left only to see a pretty girl, maybe in her teens, laughing with her friends. You bite your lip, sighing in slight disappointment as the jumbotron shows a pair of people, both flushed from one too many drinks and waving their Diamond towels until the boy seems to recognize himself on the big screen, screams, and then grabs the girl next to him by the collar of her jersey and pulls her into the sloppiest and most drunken kiss you’ve had the displeasure of ever seeing. 

Really, though. If you hadn’t switched seats with Chaewon, maybe you would have heightened your chances for your first ever Kiss Cam experience. Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your jersey as the Kiss Cam picks its next victim. You swirl your beer. Five years you’ve been coming to baseball games and not once have you ever been on the Kiss Cam’s lucky victim. 

“Kim Chaewon, I swear…” you mutter, pulling out your phone to text your bestfriend when the stadium suddenly erupts into ear-splitting screams. From the right of you, near the dugout, you hear a couple of chuckles. 

And when you look up at the screen, expecting some romantic little couple kissing, you are met with Vernon Chwe’s god-given face. 

And yours. 

Stretched side by side on the big screen. 

You blink owlishly before your eyes widen and your head whips to the right, only to come face to face with Vernon Chwe’s awkward sheepish grin, also slightly surprised by his sudden appearance on the Kiss Cam.

It feels like your throat is blocked – shoved with something thick and round that cuts off your speech. You don’t think you properly calculated how close you would be to the players in your seat until now. 

Your eyes widen even further as you turn fully towards him, and Vernon – who was casually stretching right outside of the dugout – pauses mid-motion, blinking at the screen before bursting into surprised laughter. When he gives a little wave to the big screen, the stadium erupts and you can hear the high-pitched squeals of teenage girls in the crowd. His teammates are all over him too, hollering and nudging him like overgrown high schoolers and you can hear his laughter and his next few words stringed with disbelief: “Am I on the Kiss Cam?” 

Vernon, bless his baseball soul, just smiles sheepishly, taking off his cap to run a hand through his hair as if that would somehow help him (and you!!) escape the entire stadium’s attention. As he pulls his cap back on, he gives a little shrug as if to say what can we do?, before turning back to the game, just in time for the Kiss Cam to move on. 

The camera moves on. 

You do not. 

Your attention is still fixed on Vernon, even as the camera pans to a different set of people. 

What the fuck just happened?

It seems like you’ve been staring for too long because Vernon turns, only to catch your stare, which makes him grin. You clear your throat (as if anyone is paying attention) and quickly turn your head, trying to cover your burning ears with your baseball cap, sinking further into your seat, your beer conveniently forgotten by your feet. 

When you wished upon a broken star for a Kiss Cam moment, it wasn’t with a player. Not that you were complaining, of course not. But still. You would rather have a Kiss Cam with someone you could actually kiss instead of openly gawking at a dreadfully handsome player as your face is broadcasted to at least ten thousand people plus the players on the field. 

“Hey.” 

Your head snaps towards the voice and you nearly choke. 

Vernon Chwe is against the fence, pulling the side netting down that separates your section from right outside of the dugout,  just a couple feet away from your seat.  

It feels like you lose your breath because holy shit there is no way someone born of natural means can look like the man who is in front of you right now. He could pass for a K-Pop idol or at least some kind of trainee with the way the light hits his cheekbones. His baseball cap is pulled over his messy hair and his baseball uniform is streaked with dirt from when he had slid Babe Ruth-style into 3rd base after Joshua had hit a middle-punt. He grins at you from under his cap like he’s talking to an old friend, not a complete stranger who was just screaming her vocal chords out when his teammate had hit a homerun. 

His arms are crossed against the railing, looking at you – expression unreadable but eyes holding amusement, sparkling with some kind of curiosity. 

“Me?” you ask. You clear your throat afterwards, voice oddly squeaky. 

Come on, Y/n. You’ve done interviews with Vogue before. Get your shit together. 

Vernon nods. 

Well, Vernon Chwe is not Vogue, evidently. 

His hand suddenly appears from its grasp on the ledge, his phone dangling from in between his thumb and middle finger. 

When you lean forward, squinting to see his phone screen, you almost double back, falling out of your seat. Your head snaps up so quickly it almost gives you a whiplash, which Vernon evidently thinks is very funny because you see him stifle a laugh. 

“Figured since the whole stadium thinks we’re a thing,” he stars, voice low enough that it only carries to you, “I might as well ask for your Instagram or something.” 

You blink. “What?” 

His lips curl into a half-smile. 

“Can I get your Insta?” he asks, nodding to his phone. “You know, so we can at least pretend we know each other?” 

“Isn’t that like, I dunno, considered a PR mess or something?” you blurt out, which Vernon also thinks is funny because he lets out a seagull-like laugh and makes a smile rise to your own face. 

Your stomach flips when he smiles though. 

Well, yeah, because he’s so much better looking in person and like a foot from your face, but also because holy shit Vernon Chwe just asked you for your Instagram. 

And, yeah, you’re mutuals with a couple of celebrities. But that’s just a part of your job – design clothes, make clothes, sew in the details, and style it to their (your) taste. But this? This is definitely not work. 

And you’re half of a mind to just pretend and ignore whatever Vernon said, act like you have a sudden bout of memory lapse. But your mouth moves before your brain does and you’re already reaching for his phone, fumbling a little as you mumble a “yeah, yeah sure,” as you type in your Instagram handle. 

Vernon grins at you as you swallow, handing him his phone, now opened to the main page of your Instagram profile. When he grabs it, leaning forward just a little bit, your fingertips brush – just barely – but enough for you to retract your hand back like you are burned by a roaring flame. 

When he glances down at his phone, his brows raise at your follower count. 

“Dude, are you famous or something? Three point five million?” He glances up at you, almost expectantly. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, mumbling sheepishly, “I’m a designer.” 

“Oh cool,” he hums and you know he’s scrolling through your posts before his thumb presses against the bright blue FOLLOW button. “Very cool,” he mumbles. 

And you swear he’s about to say something else but then a whistle blows. Vernon perks up, alert, at his coach’s booming voice, followed by Choi Seungcheol’s call for him. 

He exhales, jumping off of the fence and stepping back, pocketing his phone. 

“Gotta go,” he says. Then, with a grin, he raises a hand in a small wave, “Nice meeting you, Kiss Cam partner.” 

And just like that, he’s gone, jogging to the dugout, laughing through a badly-made-up excuse about having to go to the bathroom or something as Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him. 

You stare at your phone.

The most recent notification is from Instagram:

[vernonline followed you] 

Holy. Shit. 

Despite all your efforts to laugh it off (inside your head), you can’t help but break out into the goofiest, widest, mouth-splitting grin at the notification, staring at it in disbelief. This is definitely different from idols following you after you are asked to style them for an upcoming red carpet event. Or models following you after a particularly good photoshoot. This is Vernon Chwe. The Vernon Chwe that you saw Chaewon fangirl over after he hit two homeruns in one game during last season’s final in-season game. You’re also pretty sure you have his jersey hung up somewhere in your closet, next to the other Diamonds jersey that you forgot to wear today. 

You look up from your phone, immediately tracking the bolded pink 12 that is making his way over to 2nd base for defense. 

You run a hand through your hair, picking up your previously-discarded beer cup, trying to hide the enormous grin that is threatening to break out on your face. 

Kiss Cam partner. 

You let out a small laugh at the insanity of it. 

The whistle blows for the start of the sixth inning. 

And you try to forget about it. Afterall, he’s not the first professional athlete in your following. 

And you do forget about it. 

For a total of three days. 

Because on the third day of successful forgetting, your phone lights up while you’re mid-sketch of your F/W collection that you have planned to release in August. 

1 message from vernonline

You blink at the notification, a strange feeling settling in your chest. 

You never expected him to text you. 

I mean, after three days? You held out hope the night of the game, but he’s a professional athlete, with better things to do than entertain the Kiss Cam girl. 

So you want to ignore it. It’s probably something stupid anyways. Or an accident, which seems more likely – he accidentally swiped up on your story, thinking it was someone else (if he even still followed you). Or maybe he’s drunk and you’re a booty call or something. So you want to ignore it. You really do. Plus, you’ve got to get these designs in by tomorrow morning to your assistant for her to send it off to the company. 

But you find yourself clicking on the notification, tapping in your phone password to click on his icon. 

And you almost laugh at the absurdity of his message. 

Vernon 버논  Hey…so this happened lol [attached]

When you click on the photo, you actually laugh out loud, staring at the image for a second. Your lips twitch as the memory floods back. The picture itself is blurry: your shocked face next to Vernon who is mid-stretch next to the dugout. You can practically hear the crowd’s reaction in your head. 

Except what are you supposed to say to this? You could leave him on read. Except someone about leaving him on read and never ever texting him against makes you just a little bit disappointed. So after a few more seconds of consideration – and saving the photo to your gallery – you tap out a response:

You great. my legacy.

He’s typing out a response almost immediately. 

Vernon at least u looked good on camera i think thats a pretty solid legacy ngl

It’s actually abominable how your heart flutters at the words popping up on your bright phone screen. You look up from your phone, glancing around your dark and empty studio like someone is watching over your shoulder at your messages with Vernon. You feel like a teenager stuck in some really realistic Wattpad-esque rom-com. 

And before you think it over, you send your response, your F/W designs completely forgotten in front of you. 

You real solid if u erase the whole scared shitless portion

You cringe at your own response. You could have definitely said something more intellectual or less awkward than that. 

Again, Vernon’s reply is almost immediate. So fast that you swear he’s staring at your chat screen (like you’re not doing the same thing). 

Vernon: tbh gotta give it to the cameras

You blink.

Vernon: got to talk to u and everything

Oh. 

This was enormously unfair – the effect his texts have on you. He’s such a dork too, asking for your Instagram just because you came on the Kiss Cam together like he’s not a world-class baseball player. But you find yourself smiling silly at your phone, legs curled up to your chest as you type out a response. 

You stare at the screen longer than you should, the words settling into something you should definitely not be overthinking. Your phone feels warm in your hands, thrumming with your heartbeat that feels a little fast under the – no, don’t overthink. The dark of your studio feels a little too quiet. You press your lips together, exhaling sharply before clicking send. 

You u mean u got to text me after staring at my insta for like an hr

A beat. For a second, his bubble doesn’t appear and you swear to God you’ve scared him off or something. You’re just about to unsend your message, praying that he didn’t see it, when his message pops up. 

Vernon: bold assumption i only stared for like 10 min max

You snort, hand over your mouth as you giggle like you’re texting some situationship from highschool. You hate that he’s so funny. 

You: glad u had time squeeze me into ur busy schedule

Vernon: had to shift sum things around but all good being pro is not for the weak

You laugh at that. You feel some weird kind of adrenaline coursing through you as you stand up from your desk chair to migrate over to a more comfortable surface to lounge on. You feel the remnants of your grin tickling the corners of your lips and the rapid beating of your heart as you re-read Vernon’s message. 

It’s worse, you think, because of how casual this seems. Because Vernon’s texting you like you weren’t some fan in the audience who was accidentally paired with him for the Kiss Cam. 

You stare into the dark of your studio, your phone close to your chest. It feels weird. You’ve texted celebrities before. Hell, you could be counted as a celebrity in your own right. You had people (rare) asking you for autographs and pictures. But texting Vernon Chwe? You didn’t know. Something is different. 

Vernon: so r u gna leave me on read or…..

You: seems like u have a lot of time on ur hands mr pro athlete

Vernon: nah

You: obv enough time to find the worst possible photo of me

Vernon: that was all mingyu  plus its like prime meme material the internet’s alr on it

For a second you panic. Because he can’t be serious. 

You: ur lying

Vernon: lmfao obv wouldnt do that to u yet….

You roll your eyes at his text but the corners of your lips betray you, twitching into that stupid silly idiot smile. 

You: i block and report u

Vernon: tragic so u comin to the next game or what

You blink. Once. Twice. Three times. 

He wants you there? 

No, no, no, no, no, no, Y/n. Don’t get ahead of yourself. 

To Vernon, you’re just another fan. Another face in the crowd. Just lucky enough to be caught up in the Kiss Cam with him. 

You: u think i have enough luck for two game tickets in a row???

Vernon: bold of u to assume i wouldnt send u tickets

You: bold of u to assume i want them 

Vernon: guess i am bold then lol

Your breath catches. It’s a joke, obviously, but the way your fingers hesitate over the keyboard, typing something only to backspace and delete every word you’ve written so quickly and forcefully that it actually kind of hurts your thumb. 

You decide on something more neutral. 

You: wdym

Vernon: ill send u season tickets whatever seat u want

You almost fall out of your couch. 

You: wait be so fr rn

Vernon: bro i am

You try to ignore the bro in his message. But otherwise, season tickets? You would have bought season tickets a long time ago, except your schedule tends to change very erratically and you never saw paying upwards of one grand for only being able to attend a handful of games. 

You: so am i paying or what

Vernon: on the house

You: lmfao … wait r u srs

Vernon: deadass as a dead rat 

You stop. There is no way he’s telling you this right now, apart from the whole dead rat thing. Those season tickets cost at leas tone thousand the last time you checked – mostly because Chaewon begged and begged you to buy one so that you guys could attend whatever game you wanted. 

Vernon: lmfao dw players r given four season tickers per season i have 1 left

For some weird reason, your heart flutters at that. He would give you his last season ticket? A girl he met just three days ago? 

You’re ready for this too-good-to-be-true dream to come to an end. 

But just to test your luck, you send one more text. 

You: we’ll see

He doesn’t reply right away. And you’re about to shut your phone off when your phone buzzes with a new notification.

You don’t even need to actually open Instagram to read Vernon’s new text.

Vernon 버논 noted

And somehow, that leaves you smiling like a stupid idiot at your phone for way too long.

For a few days, you don’t bring it up. Neither does Vernon, though he keeps your phone buzzing in the moments you think you’ve finally forgotten about him. You text about completely random things – his god-awful practice schedule (his words, not yours), your last F/W design that you sent off to your assistant only for her to lose the drawing, making you re-draw the design, a weirdly heated debate about whether you should pour the sweet and sour sauce over the sweet and sour pork or if you should dip the pork into the sauce. And all through that, the whole season ticket thing goes unmentioned. 

Until one evening, in the middle of your rerun of Hospital Playlist as you cut through a yard of fabric, your phone buzzes against the coffee table counter. 

1 message from @/vernonline

Your fingers that are curled through the scissors falter, the metal blade hitching against the suddenly-rumpled fabric. 

Vernon: left smth for u at the company ticket booth

You blink. 

You: huh?

Vernon: season pass  pick it up whenever cant have u blaming ur absence at ticket unavailability lol

You stare at your screen. It makes you mad, just a little bit, how he seems so calm while saying the most heart-fluttering things. Or maybe you’re just severely deprived of male attention or something because as you read the texts again, you feel yourself smiling. Again. 

You: u sure about this?

Vernon: too late to take it back now

You: i could be the worst luck ever for your team

Vernon: nah i think ur good luck but we’ll find out

You’re out of reply options. So you just like his last message and slam your phone down on the coffee table, turning to the back of your couch. And you stay there, perfectly still, head buried into the couch cushions, legs tucked into your chest, and eyes squeezed shut as you suck in a breath and then sigh it out aggressively. 

You can’t think straight. 

You side-eye your half-cut fabric laying out on the coffee table. Usually, you never bring back work from your studio. It’s good, mostly. You get to have separate spaces for work and for relaxation – for home. But you had to today. Because Yerin came into the studio moaning and groaning about how the company wouldn’t get off of her ass about your first five designs coming into fruition before the end of this week. So, you brought your work back home, prepared to the moon and back to pull an all-nighter to finish this design. Or, you thought. 

Because, as you sit up, cheek resting against the couch cushions, you realize something. And it comes almost as an epiphany to you. 

Vernon Chwe has materialized in your life as analogous as playing with a big roaring fire. 

And, as of right now, you felt no pain in sticking your hand into the flame. 

Which is why you increasingly start to find yourself riding the jam-packed subway at 6:00 pm to attend his games – at least the ones you could – under the excuse that you enjoyed baseball and what kind of fan would you be if you let the season pass go to waste? 

It’s warmer today, at least compared to the last game you attended. It’s a home game this time – Diamonds’ home turf. Everywhere you turn, you’re met with blue and pink, fans with player jerseys, and dangling diamond keychains designed by the team. 

You slip into your regular seat by the start of the bottom half of the second inning. The plan was to get there by the start of the game, but you had some runway design stuff to go over with the venue company about installing more overhead lights. 

Your phone vibrates between the 7th and 8th inning. 

You don’t even need to check to see who it is, based on the rather unnerving stare you were receiving every so often from the dugout. 

Vernon: ur here

You: whos to say

Vernon: i can literally see u tf

You glance up at that. You’re seated above the other team’s dugout, at a side angle from the Diamond’s dugout, where everyone is sitting right now. You squint to make out the faces of everyone under the shadow of the dugout. 

A quiet scoff escapes your lips. There is no way he can see you. 

You: liar liar pants on fiar

Vernon: thats sum kindergarten shit

You: we listen n we dont judge eyes on the game mr pro baseballer

Vernon: cant ur too distracting

If you aren’t in public, you would have screeched at that text. Instead, you almost drop your phone in the hurry to cover up your bright screen, as if anyone would have cared enough to take a risky peek at your phone screen. 

When you peek at your phone again, Vernon has sent a flurry of crying and skull emojis, as well as a very blurry photo of you taken from, apparently, his place in the dugout. 

You can feel a flush that is definitely not from the beer creep up your neck. 

You: i am not afraid to block 

Vernon: yeah yeah ok wtv

You: do my threats not seem real to u

Vernon: whats ur go to order for chi-maek??

Your brows raise. Chi-maek? Really? In the middle of the game? As you type out your response, you hear the distinct whistle of the ump, calling to start the 8th inning. 

You: spicy glaze and whiskey highball

The scoreboard reads 7 to 4, the Diamonds winning for now. You hum as cheers from your side go up as Dokyeom goes up to pitch, a bright smile on his face as he stretches his wrists. 

Your phone buzzes. 

You check it a little too quick. 

Vernon: whiskey highball is NOT beer but ok solid order but sadly wrong :( 

You: girl what

Vernon: honey garlic w cass draft

You actually let out a laugh at that, attracting the attention of literally everyone around you because who the fuck laughs in the middle of a baseball game. Especially if you’re sitting in the VIP seats above the dugout. But you can’t seem to tear yourself away from your phone. 

You: ur like those basic white girls on pinterest

Vernon: idekwtm

You: what?

Vernon: i dont even know what that means basic is undefeated

You: ok whatever u say 

Vernon: n e ways u wanna test the theory after the game?

Your heart stops for a second. It’s short. Almost a nonexistent murmur of excitement that shoots through you. But it’s enough for you to freeze, swallowing down the sudden ball in your throat. 

You: not a theory  a fact

Vernon: same thing

You: was that an invitation?

Vernon: idk only if it worked?

You should say no. 

That should be the right thing to do. Because who in the right mind goes out for chi-maek after a baseball game with a high-profile baseball player? It’s dangerous. It has the probability of being as big of a PR scare as that one time paparazzi leaked photos of you and your actor sneaky link slash hook up slash friend with a lot of benefits hand-in-hand as you left the hotel he was staying at after a particularly good photoshoot. That ended as fast as it started. 

So why are you typing out this response like your life depends on it?

You: i dont approve of ur draft choice

Vernon: ill adapt

Vernon: wanna meet me at the player entrance?

You: do i like sneak in or smth?? 

Vernon: bruh no ill let the staff know be out 20 min after the end of the game  promise

You like his promise before clicking your phone off, head dizzy, brain hurting as you dumbly look on as the teams switch offense and defense. You watch as Dokyeom hands out strikes like he’s giving out menus at a restaurant and then you watch again as Dino, Joshua, and Vernon round bases, followed by Minghao and Mingyu after he steals two bases. 

Your phone is not forgotten on the table in front of you. 

Until it buzzes as the game winds down. 

You glance at the screen, barely registering the screams around you or the score, heart already beating just a little too fast for something as simple as a text. 

Vernon: 20 min player entrance don’t ditch lmao

A huff of amusement leaves you before you can help it. You lift your phone again, thumbs tapping against the glass as the crowd around you erupts into louder cheers. 

You: yeah yeah dont keep me waiting

A minute passes. 

No response. 

It’s funny because you expect a response. 

But it’s typical, especially during a game. 

So you roll your eyes, dropping your phone back into your lap, pretending to no one that your pulse hasn’t picked up, that your heart wasn’t racing, that the anticipation sitting low in your stomach doesn’t mean anything, and the way your fingers turn cold isn’t an indicator of the sudden rush of adrenaline. 

It shouldn’t mean anything. 

The Diamonds are winning. And that should be enough to distract you. It should be easy to stay focused on the game – it’s the 9th inning for fucks sake. The energy is electric as the team nears almost a 12 point gap between them and the Kia Tigers. It courses through the stadium – through the baseball souls of everyone except for you, it feels like. It’s the kind that makes people jump out of their seats, waving banners and jerseys, calling out players’ names like they’ve worshiped them their whole lives. 

You should be caught up in it. 

But instead, all you can think about is him. 

All you can think about is him – the way he laughed on the call last night, asking if you were coming to the game today, lower than usual, quieter, laced with something unreadable and tired when he asked you so, you coming to the game tomorrow? 

You hadn’t planned on listening. 

Not really, anyways. 

You had deadlines to meet and models to contract for the runway show and fabrics to sew with your team in the studio. 

And yet, here you are. 

The last out is made and the crowd goes wild, jumping in their seats as they sing the team song, voices booming from every stacked corner of the stadium. 

You watch as Vernon jogs off the field with the rest of his teammates after a bow. A small, tiny part of you wonders if he’s going to look in your direction. He doesn’t, obviously. Doesn’t glance up at the stands or cranes his neck at the last minute to look for you. 

You shouldn’t go. 

You should leave. Now. While the stadium is still buzzing with the post-game high, while it’s easy to slip away unnoticed, while you can take back a decision that cannot be taken back after it’s made. 

But you find yourself waiting near the players’ entrance, twenty minutes later – waiting for him. 

You’re debating so hard with yourself that you almost jump out of your skin when the door to the players’ entrance suddenly opens, washing the tunnel with a soft yellow light and the chatter of voices mingling in with the steady sound of water and music. 

Head raised now, you see Vernon step out into the tunnel, duffel slung over his shoulder, posture loose, and mid-laughter at something you think Seungkwan said from inside of the locker rooms. 

God, he looks good. 

He’s not in his uniform anymore – no crisp jersey, no fitted baseball pants, no remnants of the game that just ended, no dirt stains. Instead, he’s wearing a slightly oversized blue sweater, the bold Kenzo Paris lettering stretched across his chest, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his tight forearms. A pair of relaxed-fit black trousers sit low on his hips, leaving a sliver of skin and the monogrammed Calvin Klein logo to show as he closes the metal door. 

When his gaze lands on you, he slows, head tilting slightly, almost amused. From under the dim tunnel lights and your position against the wall, you can see the water droplets clinging to his damp hair, curly at the edges. 

“You actually showed up,” he says, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. 

You cross your arms, cocking a brow, trying to disguise the fluttering of your traitorous heart. “You’re two minutes overtime.” 

Vernon exhales a laugh, shifting his duffel higher on his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, pulling your long sleeve top, “gimme a break,” he laughs, “just finished rounding four bases.” 

You click your tongue, but you can’t stop the smile that rises to your face, following him without complaint through the tunnel. “Should’ve finished rounding the last two.” 

He actually laughs at that. “C’mon. Let’s get that whiskey highball of yours. See what the hype’s really about.” 

And against your better judgement, you follow. 

Follow Vernon out of the tunnel and into the open and your fluttering heart.

The stadium is still buzzing as you step outside, although most of the crowd has dispersed into the subway stations. A few stragglers mill around near the gates and the smoking area blows plumes of nicotine smoke from disappointed fans, and the glow of the floodlights cast a long show across the pavement. 

You pull your hood over your head, the night wind biting the tips of your ears and your cheeks as the heat of the screams from the game dies down. Staring at the ground, Vernon’s strides are long and unhurried, allowing you to fall into step beside him as the two of you continue down the sidewalk, away from the glowing lights of the stadium. The streets are quieter now, save for the occasional drunken yells of college students toppling out of bars after drinking one too many glasses of beer. 

“You played well,” you say, mostly to fill the silence, but also because you feel like if you don’t say something, the rest of the night is going to be hell of a lot more awkward. 

“Thanks,” Vernon replies easily, hands shoved in his pockets. “Wasn’t my best game though.” There’s a certain tinge of disappointment in his voice like the expectations are lodged in his chest. 

You glance up at him, brows raised. He better be joking. “You literally hit a triple in the fifth inning.” 

“Yeah, but I hesitated rounding third,” he mumbles, head bowed now. Looking at him like this, under the streetlights, walking downhill to the restaurants below the stadium hill, he looks more tired. “I should’ve pushed for home. Could’ve done it too.” 

You sigh, pushing your hood off of your head to look at him fully. “Could’ve. But reminiscing on it now doesn’t change a thing. You played well.” You smile, nudging him, when you see him start to open his mouth to retort. “Just take the compliment, baseball boy.” 

Vernon gives you a look – amused, a little sheepish, and if you squint in the dark, a little grateful. “Sorry. Habit.” 

You hum, letting the conversation lull for a beat before clearing your throat. “So… do I get to know where we’re going or are you just leading me to an alleyway and then knifing me?” 

Vernon raises a brow. “Dramatic much?”

“I like to keep things interesting.”

He lets out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just a spot a few blocks away. Good chicken. Okay beer.” A pause. You can physically see his brain whirring, eyes narrowing, steps faltering. “Unless I read something wrong and you wanna back out.” He trails off with an awkward sort of laugh that dangerously makes you want to tease him more. 

You roll your eyes at him instead. “Has anyone ever commented on how you dress?” 

Vernon blinks. “What?” His brown eyes look stupidly like large orbs under the yellow lights. 

You gesture to his pants. “Those are good – nice fit and everything. Dunno where they’re from but I like them. But the sweater?” You scrunch your nose as you do another once-over at the blue Kenzo knit. “Mid, at best. Never liked blue.” 

He looks down at himself, then back at you, expression caught between disbelief and amusement. “These pants are yours.” 

“Huh?” Your head tilts. 

Vernon grins, all teeth, canines sinking into his bottom lip. “They’re from your brand. Bought it last week at the department store.” 

You blink. 

It takes a second for his words to register and you don’t even realize you’ve stopped until Vernon stops as well to look back. 

He glances down at his pants like it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

You blink down at his pants. 

They are yours – or, well, from your design. The small cat embroidered in silver thread is your marking against the black fabric right on the waistline above the pocket. It’s from three seasons ago, from a collection even you can barely remember. It was a small, limited run – maybe fifty or so copies of all of the clothes manufactured before you had to stop production to release your S/S collection in time to work on your design for the summer red carpets. You had hoped – and still hope – to continue it, especially because it was your first comfort clothing and loungewear line – nothing flashy, nothing widely publicized. The kind of piece that only a handful of people would own, let alone remember. 

But here it is. On him. 

That shocks you more than the fact that the line is still in stores. 

You open your mouth, then close it again, suddenly unsure of what to say. 

Vernon watches your reaction, his expression calm, unreadable, with a hint of a smile playing at his lips – like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you right now. Like buying those pants, he knew, would mean more to you than to him. And you swear you hear something like cute whispered from his parted lips…

But that would be ridiculous. Right? Right?

You clear your throat, forcing a scoff, pulling your hood back up over your head before he can see the blush. “Huh,” you mumble, side-eyeing him, “Guess you have some taste.” 

Vernon huffs a quiet laugh, letting you catch up to him. “Guess so.” 

Your heart beats a little faster than it should when you force out the next words. “Still think the blue is not your color.” 

“You comin’ for my sweater?” 

“I’m coming for all of your sweaters. 

“Oh shut up,” he laughs. And in a second, his hand is around your wrist, warm – calloused, yes – but warm, pulling you into a side alleyway and through the door of the first shop. 

It’s frustrating how hard you have to try and force your heart to stop beating at 200 beats per minute. 

When you duck under the very low door frame, you’re met with dim lighting, some kind of old indie rock music playing on a record player, and a flickering old-style TY in the corner playing a muted baseball game from three seasons ago. 

It’s the kind of place that only accepts cash and has their menus laminated but still gently-used, marked with changes in price and menu changes. The kind of place that offers free side menus to the locals and the owner’s favorite customers. 

It suits him. Vernon Chwe. 

He walks in like he’s been here a hundred other times – nods at the owner (a graying man who’s all smiles and hearty chuckles, giving Vernon a gentle pat on the back, congratulating him on the win as he walks past), bows his head when someone calls his name from across the room and waves, and slides into a booth with the ease of a regular after throwing his bags under the table, into the basket. 

You stare at him from the entranceway. 

“You comin’?” His voice is low, easy, barely lifting over the background hum of the restaurant.

You look at him, feet moving before you realize it. He grins up at you as you slide in on the other side. You hesitate for a fraction, though, before you drop your own bag into the basket. 

You don’t know why. 

Maybe it’s the surrealness of it – sitting across from Vernon Chwe, number twelve, professional athlete, rookie MVP his first season, MIP last season, fan-favorite, objectively hot man. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not entirely sure what this is. What it’s supposed to be. 

You met him officially barely four weeks ago. But you’ve known of him for years, ever since Chaewon and Hyunjin, your brother, brought you to the Diamonds’ game six seasons ago. It’s impossible not to know him if you watch even a little baseball – a name that’s followed since his rookie season, a highlight reel you’ve watched more times than you would ever admit. The player that makes other fans curse out loud when he crushes them with a walk-off double during the season. 

And yet, you’re sitting here. Across from him. Like you’ve known him your entire life. 

And even though you’ve sat in front of celebrities – even Cha Eunwoo for God’s sake – nothing compares to this. The rush of nerves you feel as Vernon grins, drumming against the table with his fingers, making you tuck your hair behind your ears like some high schooler. 

“You’re staring,” Vernon says, amused. 

You blink, shaking yourself out of it. It seems like you have to do that a lot when you’re around Vernon. “I am not.” 

“You totally are.” 

You huff, pushing the laminated menu in his hand so you can read it upside-down. You glance up at him from under your lashes. “So,” you hum, “you bring all your post-game dates here?” 

He scoffs, brushing through his hair again, strands falling messily over his forehead. “Nah. Exclusive guest list only,” he jokes, leaning forward just a bit. 

You try to ignore the fact that he doesn’t correct you on date. 

“Ah,” you hum, nodding. “So I should feel honored?” 

“Infinitely.” 

You try to ignore the way his voice dips just ever so slightly when he says it. Try to ignore the way his eyes flicker down at your hands on the table. The way they flicker back up to your face, a little lower than your eyes, before he smiles and glances away. 

“You wanna test your theory?” he asks, gesturing for a server. 

You hum, “Dunno. Are you paying?” 

Vernon sighs dramatically, letting the menu flop onto the table, shrugging. “Guess I have to.” 

“Oh, are you complaining?” you laugh, setting your elbows on the table, placing your chin on your palms, leaning forward. 

When Vernon looks back from asking for a server, you take a small itty bitty sense of pride at how his eyes widen just a fraction before he swallows and leans back a little, a shaky grin rising to his lips. 

“No, never.” 

Before you can respond, the owner swings by, beaming as he sets a small bowl of popcorn between the two of you, small notebook in hand. 

“Hey, welcome back Vernon.” 

Vernon lets him pat his back and ruffle his hair. “Glad to be back, Mr. Cho.” 

The owner glances at you. And then back at Vernon. “The usual?” 

Now Vernon glances at you before he nods. “Yeah. But she wants spicy glaze and a whiskey highball.” He makes a face at you – nose scrunched and mouth turned down – at your order. 

The owner hums, shooting you an approving look. “Good taste. But he’ll probably be adamant about changing your mind.” He claps Vernon on the shoulder, grinning. “Says our honey garlic’s the best in the city.” 

You raise a brow. “So I’ve heard.” 

Vernon just shrugs, all casual as he leans back. “Basic’s undefeated.” 

The owner chuckles as he pockets his notebooks and grabs the menu off of the table. “Well, I’ll let Vernon entertain and charm the shit out of you.” 

And then he’s gone. 

Which leaves you and Vernon alone. Again. Alone against the low murmur of the bar, filled with the steady hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter from a table of five in the back. It’s lowkey. It’s homey. And sitting across from Vernon, it makes your pulse thrum in your wrist. 

“You always come here after a game?” you ask, reaching for a popcorn. 

“Not always,” he replies, leaning back in the booth. “But sometimes. It’s lowkey. Quiet.” 

It is. No one’s sneaking pictures. No one’s gawking, asking for signatures, coming up mid-meal, staying overtime just to walk out with him. It’s the kind of place where people mind their own business. The kind where even the most famous of celebrities can feel a little bit at ease. 

When the drinks arrive, you swirl the ice before taking a sip, letting the burn of the alcohol sting a road down our throat. You clear your throat. 

“You usually invite girls you’ve only met a few times out for chi-maek?” 

Vernon exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You think you’re just some girl?” 

Something about the way he says it makes your fingers tighten so so so impossibly tight around your glass. 

“Well,” you force an easy grin, lifting your head to meet his eyes, only to find that he’s been staring at you this entire time, “I guess I was your Kiss Cam partner,” you whisper out the last part. As if saying it quieter will feel more like a wish. Like it would turn it into a dream you can relive. 

His lips twitch slightly. “Yeah,” he breathes, “Kiss Cam partner.” 

You hum around your drink. “Yeah and you barely know me.” 

He just looks at you, unreadable, especially under this dark lighting. “You’d be surprised.” 

And then the food comes before you can ask him what the hell that means, the scent of crispy fried chicken, coated in glistening glazes filling the air between you two as Mr. Cho sets the plates down with a satisfied grunt. He throws a couple more napkins down before walking off, leaving you and Vernon with two loaded guns: two platters of plates and whatever the fuck he just said five seconds ago. 

You should let it go. Because maybe it’s not that deep, you know? Something he just said to tease you. 

But instead, you blurt out, “What’s that s’posed to mean?” 

Vernon blinks at you, momentarily caught off guard. Then, with a shrug, he reaches for a piece of chicken, biting off a piece before answering, “You know. I pay attention.” 

“To what?” 

“To you,” he says, “Duh.” He says it so simply, so effortlessly, that it takes you a split second to even process the words and decode it inside your brain. He doesn’t even sound embarrassed, doesn’t backtrack, take it back, or try to explain himself. It just hangs. It hangs as he reaches for his drink, as he takes a sip, and as he licks a stray drop off of his lips (which is hotter than you would like to admit). 

“Okay, that’s —” you pause, suddenly unsure of what you were even going to say. 

Vernon smirks, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “What? Am I wrong?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, willing away the sudden creeping of blush red to your face. “No, I just –” you shake your head, reaching for a spicy glaze drumstick to distract yourself. “Whatever,” you huff, “We’re not doing this.” 

Vernon huffs a laugh but doesn’t push. Instead, he swirls his draft beer and tilts his head, gulping down the liquid. 

And the conversation shifts into something easier – safer. 

“You still thinking about doing those bomber jackets?” he asks, tearing a piece of chicken in half with his fingers. 

You tilt your head, now intrigued. “You remember that?” 

Vernon grins. “Sounded cool.” 

“Huh.” You sip your drink. And even though you say to not read too much into it, you know you will. Later. When you’re at home, half-way through your shower. “Yeah. Maybe for the spring-summer collection.” 

“You gonna make one for me?” 

You snort. “I dunno, Chwe, think you can pull one off?” 

“Think I’d look good in anything yours,” he says. Like it’s a known fact. Yours. Anything yours. It tickles the wrong set of nerves in our brain. He’s not even trying to be smooth. Just stating it like he’s commenting on the damn weather. 

And you? 

Well. 

You weren’t expecting that. 

You almost drop your drumstick, stomach flipping before you can even stop it. You open your mouth, ready to fire back some witty response until your eyes land on his pants. Again. 

It seems like you repeat a lot of what you do when you’re with Vernon. 

You point at his pants. “How do you even have those?” 

Vernon follows your gaze, then glances back up at you, a little confused, brows furrowed. “Huh? I bought them. Like a normal person?” 

“Bought them,” you parrot. 

“Yeah? Why?” 

You shake your head, looking down at your plate of finished bones and unfinished chicken. “Just–” you let out a small laugh, “That line was from like three seasons ago. I didn’t even know they still had it in stores. Or– or that people still bought it – wanted it, you know?” 

It’s almost nostalgic, the way you slowly smile at the thought, wiping off your fingers with a wet tissue. You feel the alcohol flush coming on from your neck, traveling up and up to the tops of your cheeks. When you look back up at Vernon, he’s staring at you, something hazy in his eyes, leaning back against the booth, head tilted just a little bit with twitching lip corners. His drink is barely half-way finished. 

The quiet that lingers between you two as you lean back, exhaling as you check your phone for the time isn’t awkward. It’s lighter, easy. Almost too easy. Like the end of the night was scripted to be exactly this – two finished glasses of highball, one half-way finished glass of draft beer, and two plates of stacked chicken bones. And Vernon. Especially Vernon. 

“You done?” he asks, voice soft but carrying through to you. 

You don’t realize how much you’ve drunk until it hits you now, as the conversation lulls and the way Vernon looks at you makes you blush red hot. 

“Mhm,” you mumble, head lolling back against the wooden backrest of the booth. 

Vernon laughs at that, sliding out, grabbing all three of your guys’ bags, slinging them over his shoulder. When he stands, the dim overhead light casting a shadow down his body, you look up, head craning to see his face. 

It’s unfair, really. To look up, half-drunk, to see Vernon’s face. It takes everything in you not to grin deliriously, as if he’s some walking meal, waiting to be devoured. He looks less tired than he did when he first stepped out of the locker room. Or maybe you’re telling yourself that, trying to convince yourself that you’ve impacted Vernon Chwe’s life in positive ways. If not for a long time, then at least for a while. For the hour and a half it took for you to walk down the hill and eat your chicken. 

He outstretches a hand to you. 

You instead grab the table edge, hauling yourself up. 

If you grabbed his hand, you’re afraid you would never let go. 

If Vernon thinks it’s weird, he doesn’t comment on it, instead leading you out the door of the restaurant, your bag in his hand, warmth lingering by your back. 

The restaurant door swings shut behind you and the night air is crisp against your skin, a welcome contrast to the blazing warmth in your cheeks. You stretch your arms above your head, exhaling slowly, slowly, and beside you, Vernon shoves his hands into his pockets as the two of you start walking down the sloping sidewalk. 

Seoul feels different at this hour. It’s calmer, the usual chaos of honking horns, snail-like traffic, and roar of car engines almost silent under the round moon overhead. A streetlight flickers as you pass under it, dimming – if only for a second – the light around you and Vernon, who had almost naturally slipped over to your left side, walking along the road-side of the pavement. 

“I’ll take the subway,” you say, breaking the quiet, more to yourself than anything. As if saying something out loud will break the tension you feel. “Should be fine.” 

Vernon makes a noise that can only be described as a scoff. “You’re not taking the subway.” 

You glance at him, almost blurting out something else. Instead, you settle on, “Why not?” 

“It’s late,” he replies simply, still looking ahead. “You should take the bus.” 

You snort. “How is the bus any better?” 

“It’s above ground.” 

“Oh, wow, really?” You deadpan. 

He gives you a look, the corner of his mouth twitching as he reshoulders your bag and his duffle. You want to reach out and take your bag off his shoulder, but you’re afraid it might break whatever you have going on right now. 

“You know what I mean,” he says. 

You do. But you also know that he probably doesn’t see the deeper meaning in his words. At least, not like you do. 

“I can handle myself,” you say, lifting a fist into the air (though rather slowly). “I’m scrappy.” 

Vernon looks wholly unimpressed. “Uh-huh.” 

“You doubt me?” 

“Feel like you’d trip over air or something.” 

You gasp, “No, I would not!” 

“Really?” 

You can’t answer that because at that moment, your foot catches on an uneven part of the pavement (not air!) and you stumble forward. That seems to break you out of your tipsy haze, your eyes widening a fraction and you think you’re about to fall face first onto the brick pavement when, all of a sudden, a firm arm is around your waist before you can even register that you’re falling. The grip is firm, strong, steady, and you can feel the warmth of the palm through your hoodie. 

You glance up. 

And you freeze. 

“So scrappy,” he murmurs, shaking his head with a little smile that plays on his lips that should be illegal to look upon if you wanted your heart from further falling. 

You open your mouth, ready to argue, but whatever you’re about to say dies on your tongue. The way he looks at you – brows slightly raised, lips just barely curved, the streetlight hitting his nose, cheekbones, jaw – sends something off-kilter, almost killing, in your chest. He’s too close (or maybe not close enough), and for the (not) first time tonight, you feel yourself at an actual loss for words. 

What are you even supposed to say? Thanks for catching me? Or would hey, lean down so I can kiss you silly lol! work better in this case? Or maybe a small murmured haha cool work better? 

The streetlight flickers above you again, like it’s counting down your blessings of time before Vernon actually lets go or your brain goes haywire and you actually do pull him in for a drunken kiss in a late-night stupor. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, voice coming out a little weaker than you’d like. 

Vernon rights you. “Don’t drink too much.” It comes out a little scolding but still light. 

“S fine,” you say, “ ‘S not like I’m a pro baseball player or anything.” 

Vernon exhales a quiet laugh, but his grip lingers on your waist a fraction of a second longer before he lets go. “Still. Can’t have you passin’ out drunk on me.” 

You clear your throat, forcing your feet to move again. The bus stop is just up ahead, and with every step, you feel the weight of his presence beside you, the ghost of his lingering touch against your waist. 

The short walk down to the bus stop is quiet. Like both of you don’t really know what to say or even if you did, how to say it. As you slow to a stop, you look down at your feet – the way your ragged jeans drag just slightly across the top of your shoes and the way your trousers let the bright Nike logo on Vernon’s stand out. 

Vernon rocks back on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks at you and then far away, like he wants to say something. 

You don’t push, instead gently taking your bag from his shoulder, slipping your arms through it. 

Suddenly, he clears his throat, looking at the bus stop’s LED sign. “Come to the next game,” he says, casual, like it’s not a big deal. 

You blink at him. “What?” 

“You have the season pass,” he continues, looking out towards the dark road like this is a passing thought to him. Like he doesn’t know that to you, it’s him asking to see you again – an opportunity for you to see him again. And a small (big) part of your heart wonders if he’ll ask you to chicken and beer like tonight. 

Something in your stomach flips. 

And it’s definitely not the beer. 

You hesitate, just for a second. 

Then, finally, you nod. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Vernon nods too, like he’s satisfied with your answer, like he expected you to say yes. Like he would have kept asking until you did. 

Vernon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, eyes flicking toward the road where your bus is approaching in the distance, the headlights bright in the dark and the numbers bold against the windshield. His hands are still in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, but there’s something unreadable in his expression—like he’s about to say something else but decides against it.

Instead, he nods, the ghost of a pleased smile playing at his lips. “See you at the game.”

For a second you think he’s going to do something. In your drunken stupor, you hope that he’ll lean down, hug you, hold you, kiss you. 

But then he turns to leave. 

And for some reason – some weird, messed up, fucked up reason – you don’t think. You just move. 

And before he can take one more step, you reach out, fingers finding place around his wrist, wrapped in sports tape. It has him startling, jolting at the sudden contact, turning to face you with widened eyes. Then, before your brain can catch up to your body, you close the space between you, fingers falling from his wrist so that your arms can loop around his built waist. Your cheek finds brief comfort against his chest, catching the faint scent of his cologne – or shampoo or aftershave – vanilla and a little floral and musk. 

Vernon stills. Freezes. Stops. 

For a second, he doesn’t react at all. Caught off guard, shocked, surprised, whatever the fuck his unreadable brain is feeling. And then, slowly, to match your arms, his arms come up, hands settling tentatively – very tentatively – against your back. They’re big. Warm. Solid as they gently press you just the merest inch closer to him as he exhales. His breaths are quiet, like maybe he’s been holding his breath this whole time and letting it go in multiple quiet sighs. His chin finds the top of your head, gently resting. Like he’s scared to hold you any tighter. 

So you let him keep his distance. 

“Thanks for tonight,” you murmur against the fabric of his sweater. 

You don’t tell him that you left a project unfinished to come meet him. Or that you needed to get back to your studio two hours ago. 

Instead, you pull back. Because if Vernon is scared of holding you tighter, you’re scared that if you hold him any longer, you won’t let go. 

And then his response comes, quieter than before. 

“Anytime.” 

You step away, at arm’s distance now. You can still feel the lingering warmth where his hands met your back. He looks at you for a beat longer, eyes dark as almonds under the streetlights, mouth slightly parted like there’s something else he wants to say. 

But then the glowing headlights of your bus roll to a stop beside you, glowing bold N1128 blinking against the windshield. And the moment dissolves into the rumble of the engine and the hiss of the doors opening. 

You step down off of the curb, your fingers curling at your sides. 

You give him a smile. 

“I’ll see you.” 

Vernon nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Yeah. See you.” 

And he stands there, still, eyes training ambiguously between you and the rest of the darkened road as you climb into the bus, the card scanner beeping as you press your phone against the reader. And he stands there, still, as you slide into a seat by the window, bag in your lap, as you watch him, standing, as the bus rolls away. And now you watch as he disappears down the street, your heart beating a little too fast, a little too loud, and a little too much in your chest.

Your forehead meets the chilled glass of the bus window, warm breath hot against your hand that supports your chin. Your phone is gripped tight in your hand and the smooth rumble of the bus and the gentle music playing inside does nothing to soothe your thoughts. 

 You swallow, eyes squeezing shut as you try to push out the way Vernon’s chin met the top of your head; the way his hands felt splayed across your back; the way his breath was light against your hair; the way he caught you as he fell. 

This is wrong. 

You repeat it like a mantra inside your alcohol-thickened skull. Your muddled brain. Your disastrous, highschool crush-reverted brain. 

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong. 

And wrong for all the right reasons. 

But a pang of selfishness courses through you when you find yourself asking your own brain why this is wrong. Can’t a girl have a crush? Can’t a girl dream? Is it because he’s high profile? An up-and-coming star? All-rounder? Because you’re different? Infinitely? 

Or because at the end of the day, you feel like he’ll never see you the same way? 

Your forehead bangs against the glass as bone and skin meet the hard surface again. 

And then your phone vibrates. 

You glance down at your illuminated screen. And you can almost scoff – in amusement and ridiculousness. 

Vernon 버논 text me back when u get home safe thx 4 tonight needed it

You squeeze your eyes shut again. 

He really needed to stop texting you like this. 

: ̗̀➛ ​🇰​​🇮​​🇸​​🇸​ ❜​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇺​​🇵​ @astrobebba ; @ayupfrogg ; @steamyjaehyun @chwenott ; @toplinehyunjin ; @syluslittlecrows

[heartsforjh]

Hey kay, congratulations on 100 followers! 🎉🎉🎉

Can i request oue huggy bear quinn with a mix of the prompts of im proud of you, a much needed hug and a dance party? I think that would be so cute

of course, sweet nonnie! this kind of turned into a hurt/comfort thing... but i hope you can still enjoy though! 🫶

main masterlist | 100 follower celly masterlist

Quinn unlocks the apartment door with a sigh, his mind painfully clouded. It’s almost playoffs and he just had what he believes to be one of his worst efforts this season. His shoulders are slumped, his breaths are shallow, and every step he takes feels more draining than the last. 

You hear him come in and immediately hop up from your spot on the couch. You greet him with an excited smile, and wrap your arms around his neck in a tight hug. He returns the embrace by wrapping his arms around your waist and you nuzzle your face against his. 

“I’m proud of you. So talented and smart, Q. You know that?” you whisper. Your words come as a surprise to him. He’s extremely frustrated with his game, yet you’ve got nothing but praise for him. 

“I… thank you,” he says hesitantly. “Did you- did you watch the game?” 

Your brows furrow and you pull back just enough to look at him, voice full of confusion. “What do you mean? Of course, I watched your game. I always watch your games, baby. You did great.” 

“Honey, did you see how I did today? That was… worse than usual,” he says, lightly gripping your shirt where his hand rests on your waist. 

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Why? Because your time on ice didn’t rack up to a whole shift? Just because you’re not completely overworking your body, doesn’t mean you’re not doing good enough, Quinn. You’re doing amazing.” 

“Babe, it’s almost time for playoffs. I have to do better than this or we won’t even get a spot,” he says, and you can see the amount of stress he’s in simply by looking into his eyes. Your heart breaks for him–wishing there was more you could do. 

You pull him back into a tight hug, running your fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to be perfect, babe. You’re the captain, sure, but that doesn’t mean you have to put all of this pressure on yourself.” 

As you stand there, trying your best to comfort him you realize something that actually shocks you. He’s crying. You’ve never seen him this upset. You’re at a loss for words, but luckily you don’t have to think for long because he speaks up for you. 

“I just don’t think I’m doing enough. This can’t be enough Y/n,” he tells you through his tears. 

You hold him a little tighter, wincing at the raw sadness in his voice. “Hey, you are doing enough. You’re doing more than enough for this team. Don’t stress it. You’re overthinking. You’ll get your playoffs spot. You’ve been working too hard not to. It’s all gonna pay off.” 

“You think so?” he asks, picking his head up, his tired eyes meeting yours. 

You move your hands to cup his cheeks. “Q, please. You’re gonna be the next Stanley Cup Champions.” 

“Okay, baby. Calm down,” he says with a laugh. “Sweet of you though.” 

He looks down at you smiling–worn out, but a smile nonetheless. He leans in and gently kisses your nose before pulling into yet another hug. Only, this one is bone-crushing. You can tell he needs it. 

You return the hug with some added kisses to his cheek before whispering in his ear. “Okay, we have to fix the mood now, come on.” 

You pull away from him and he looks at you like you just told him you’re selling his gear. You can’t help the small giggle that escapes as you make your way to the television in your living room and turn it on. 

“Honey… what are you doing over there?” he asks, quickly making his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, and laying his head on your shoulder. 

You turn on some music and wiggle out of his grip, grabbing both of his hands. “We have to dance.” 

“Oh? We have to dance?” he asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“We have to dance,” you repeat, confidently. “So… don’t just stand there. Move!” 

Quinn’s eyes widen a bit. “Alright, damn. But you have to help me. I got nothing.” 

As you watch your boyfriend make his best attempt at dancing to make you happy, you can’t help but just laugh. You honestly feel bad. This was meant to cheer him up… not be a humiliation ritual. Then again, he seems to actually be enjoying himself, despite looking like a complete dork. That’s all that matters to you, you can certainly work on his rhythm later. For now, you join him, grateful to see that genuine look of happiness back on his face.

tags: @beenucks @nic0-hischier @sweetestdesire @azure-dawn81 @emsdevs @puckmedude @joesnumerouno @alex-wotton @r0wdymaize86 @ccomandercody @macklin-celebrini-71 @randomcuboidshape @when-im-with-you @quillycrow @rainyvalentines @alwaysclassyeagle @ruinix

join the taglist here!

[stevie-petey]

episode nine: the good

Soon it’s just you and Steve. You work around one another, anticipating each other’s next move, never getting in the way. Soft music plays from the record player that sits in the den. Steve puts on one of his father’s old records, gentle rock and delicate jazz. You hum to yourself, he hums with you, and it’s a peaceful morning. Until Richard and May Harrington walk in. Neither of you notice them at first. Steve is too busy spinning you around, playfully dipping you as the music comes to a grand crescendo. You’re laughing breathlessly, but soon your laughter turns into a yelp when Steve sees his parents standing in the doorway and drops you.

Summary: the party battles the horrors of high school and leave you stranded, tw: applying for college is harder than fighting literal demons (you would know, youve done it), jonathan joins your nightmare blunt rotation, max worries you, and steve solidifies his position of Best Boyfriend in the World as you slowly fall apart (though is anyone really surprised ??).

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: cursing, allusions to previous character death

Words: 11.2k idk how or why i needed to say so much

Before you swing in: we're here !!! FINALLY at the end of season 3 <3333 im so so so excited to present to you the groundwork for what i have planned for season 4 ;) it will be ... a lot. the season is huge, its difficult and scary, and i did my best to try and capture its dread and ominous sense of doom in this chapter. please enjoy and bear with me as i prepare for season 4. unsure when i will be done planning her, but i PROMISE itll be worth it !!

-

“Are you sure Ms. Bote is nice?”

“Yes.”

“And that Mr. Cune won’t question the hat?”

“Yes, Dustin.”

“And you’re absolutely sure we have lunch together?”

“Yes.” You tighten the straps on your mary janes and give your brother an exasperated look. All morning he’s been freaking out about his first day of high school. You understand his fear, it’s scary starting at a new school, but you’ve answered all his questions a million times by now and Steve is supposed to be here any second. “We need to go, buddy.”

Dustin shoves a pancake into his mouth, wiping his face with the back of his hand in a disgusting manner. “Wait, but what about my backpack–”

“I have it, Dusty!” Your mother walks into the kitchen and hands it to him. She kisses his mess of curls and strokes your cheek. “Are my darlings ready for their first day of school?”

“No.” You and Dustin say at the same time, which your mother frowns at. 

Dustin adjusts his backpack and gives you an odd look. “Why are you nervous? It’s not like you’re being blindly thrown into a den of hormonal creatures out for blood. You’re old now, they’ll leave you alone!” 

“Trust me, the college admissions process is a worse monster than school bullies.” You grab your own backpack and start heading towards the front door. “I have to start planning what to write, I–I need more clubs, and projects, and–”

The anxiety overwhelms you. It always starts like this: talk about college, you fall down a hole of uncertainty and dread and fear. It’s been like this ever since Jonathan moved away. The minute the Byers moved, you threw yourself into preparing for college. Rationally, you know it’s your poor way of coping with all the sudden change in your life. You don’t need a psychological research journal to tell you that. In a futile attempt to control your future, you’ve become obsessed with college. 

New York University, specifically. 

Jonathan has always dreamed of attending, and when you met him, it became your dream, too. 

“Okay, dear. Settle down, now.” Your mother places a hand on your shoulder and laughs nervously. She has about five seconds before you collapse into a mess of college admissions rambling and despair. “Let’s go outside and find that wonderful Stevie!”

Your body is shoved out the front door alongside Dustin’s. Steve’s car is parked, he stands outside it, arms crossed and a grin on his face. Your body relaxes when you see him, the buzz of anxiety dims. He’s wearing his Family Video vest, the green makes his tanned skin glow.

“She’s doing it again.” Dustin tells him, tossing his backpack into the backseat.

Steve winces. He knows exactly what your brother is referring to. He’s been at the other end of far too many anxious phone calls at three in the morning. “College?”

“Yeah, she almost had a meltdown in the kitchen.”

“I can hear you both, you know.” Though you try to seem fine, keep up the annoyance, you stand next to Steve and rest your head on his shoulder anyways. He wraps an arm around you and kisses your forehead. 

Steve rubs your arm and makes a sympathetic noise. Your mother, seeing how he holds you, squeals. “Oh, stay just like that, hold on!”

“Mom, what–” But your mother ignores you and runs back inside the house. You look at Dustin, terrified. “She’s not…”

He shakes his head at you. He leans against the car next to you and crosses his arms, mimicking Steve’s earlier stance.  “She’s mom. Of course she is.”

“What are you guys talking about–” A flash of light momentarily blinds Steve, and he flinches. “Woah, alright.”

“Smile, kids!” Another camera flash, and your mother coos as you, Steve, and Dustin awkwardly shuffle into frame. It’s not that the three of you dislike being near the other, it’s the fact that it’s seven in the morning and neither you nor Dustin are ready for the day ahead. Steve smiles, though. “That’s it! Everyone say, ‘happy first day of school’!”

A mess of incoherent mumbling follows your mothers command, but she doesn’t let it bother her. She takes a million pictures, preens when she sees Steve smile even wider, and she has to hold back tears. Her babies are all grown up. Dustin is a freshman now, and you’re a senior.

“Alright, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve has to quickly blink, trying to regain his eyesight. He adores the woman, he knows he’s become her favorite, but he really needs to get you to school before his shift at Family Video starts. “I have no doubt you’ve already taken the best picture ever.”

“Aw, just one more–”

“Mom.” Dustin clears his throat, urging her to stop, and she sighs. 

Your mother kisses Dustin’s head, then yours, and wishes you a good first day before getting into her own car to drive to work. “Bye, kids!”

You all wave at her, and Steve opens the car door for you. Once you’re seated, he goes to the driver’s side and tells Dustin to get in the back. The engine starts, soft music plays from Steve’s radio, and soon the three of you are driving towards Hawkins high. 

“No Robin?” You ask Steve after a few minutes of silence. He’s grown rather close to the girl, working together all summer, so you had expected her to drive with you guys to school. When you and him officially got together, Robin made the two of you promise that you wouldn’t abandon her. It was an irrational fear, you love Robin dearly, but you made sure to spend time with her and Steve equally anyways. 

“She has band practice this morning,” Steve responds. “So it’s just me and the Hendersons today.”

Dustin shoves his head in between the two of you. His seatbelt strains against his chest, but he doesn’t care. He’s on a mission to get as much information as he possibly can. He refuses to go into high school blind and pathetic. “Steve, you were once popular.”

“Why the past tense? I mean, I’d consider myself still pretty well liked–”

“I need you to tell me what you did that led to your demise so I can avoid doing the same.”

You snort and Steve sighs. The kid really keeps him humble. He stops at a light, looks at Dustin through the rearview mirror, and shakes his head. “What makes you think it was anything I did?”

“Kid’s got a point,” you say from the passenger seat. Steve gives you an offended look and you raise your hands in surrender. “Hey, all I’m saying is that I also don’t really know what happened. You’ve got a track record of pissing off the wrong people. One minute you were King Steve, the next you were shunned.”

Steve groans. “You people have no faith in me.” He can feel you and Dustin staring at him, unbelieving. He hates when the two of you team up against him; it makes it harder for him to lie. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to tell you what happened. Not because he’s embarrassed, or ashamed, even. 

He knows it will only upset you. Reopen wounds. 

But you and Dustin keep staring at Steve and there’s still at least ten minutes left of the drive. Weighing his options, Steve figures it’s best if he just tells the truth. Like ripping off a bandaid, knowing the pain will be there regardless of how long you stall. “Okay, fine.” He scratches his nose, clears his throat. “It was, uh. Because of Billy.”

The temperature in the car drops. It’s suddenly ice cold. 

Dustin slowly leans back against his seat. Steve faces ahead, eyes on the road, but he watches you from his periphery. No one has mentioned Billy since his death, at least not in front of you or Max. 

Especially Max. 

They wait for you to react. To tense up, ball your hands into fists and wipe away tears. They expect the guilt you’ve barely kept hidden to resurface, but you don’t do any of that. Instead, you surprise them. “Can’t believe you let a mullet defeat you.”

Steve isn’t sure if he’s allowed to laugh at first, worried it’s some bizarre test of yours. But he sees the smile on your face, albeit forced and terse, but he knows you’re trying. So he plays along, relieved that you’re doing what you can. “I don’t know, I thought the mullet looked pretty good.”

“Get a mullet and see how fast I leave you.”

Dustin nods in agreement, Steve shakes his head with a laugh, and the temperature in the car returns. There’s still a slight chill in the air, there will always be a slight chill, but you pull your jacket tighter around you and ignore it. 

When you get to the school, Dustin stares at the hounds of teens all walking through the parking lot. He gulps, tightens his hands around his backpack, and you try to ease his apprehension. 

“Hey, look at me.” He does, and you extend your arm, offering a handshake. Dustin eyes you wearily, but reluctantly he shakes your hand. You nod at him, hand firm around his. “It’s just you and me. And Lucas. Max, too. Unfortunately, possibly Mike. Copy?”

“Copy.” Dustin releases your hand and salutes you. He pushes his hat down, takes a deep breath, and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

“Good luck, little Henderson.” Steve salutes him as well before turning to you. He presses his lips to yours, hums, a soft smile on his face. “And good luck, angel.”

Ignoring Dustin’s dramatic gagging in the back, you squeeze Steve’s hand and smile back at him. “Thanks, honey. Have a good day at work.”

Dustin nearly falls out of the car with how fast he scrambles out of it. He’s about to ban all forms of physical affection between you and Steve. It’s disgusting. No one wants to see any of that. You follow after your brother and exit the car.

You only make it a few feet before Steve rolls down the car window and shouts, “I love you!”

A few students in the parking lot turn, and their faces contort into shock when they see none other than Steve Harrington. He waves at them, cocky as always, and you’re both mortified and so in love. He may have lost his crown, but he will always be the king. While Dustin ducks his head down in embarrassment, you wink at Steve. “I love you, too!”

“You’re going to be the reason I end up getting thrown into a dumpster on my first day.”

“Aw, is Dusty-bun jealous?”

“Go die.”

–

The entire day it feels like you’re missing something. 

When you get to homeroom, there isn’t a seat saved for you at the front. When the physics teacher drops his chalk five times within the first five minutes, there isn’t anyone to tease you for your poorly contained snicker. In the library, you’re forced to sit in a corner because there’s no one to share the plush sofa with. 

There’s no one who whispers answers to you during calculus. No one who hooks their foot around your desk’s leg. No one who doodles in your notebook just to get you to laugh. 

Jonathan’s absence is palpable. 

You knew it would feel weird, starting senior year without him, but you didn’t think it’d feel so lonely, either. Empty. Unfinished. 

By the time lunch comes, you’re slowly losing your mind. You need someone to talk to. Robin and Nancy don’t share any classes with you, Jonathan had been your only real friend at Hawkins, and now you’re paying the price. 

You’re the first one at the lunch table, which you figure is a good thing. Earlier in the week you and the party had all agreed to sit together at lunch, you’d been excited to finally share the same school building as them. However, you hadn’t wanted to hover over them. You wanted them to branch out, meet new people, so lunch was your agreed upon time with them. 

The lunch room fills with students and you wait anxiously for the rest of the party. You’re excited to see them, ask how their days are going, maybe even gossip about the freshmen, but when they arrive it’s almost as if a tornado rips right through you. 

“There you are!” Dustin finds you first and slides into the seat next to you, nearly causing you to face plant into the ground. “Look, we gotta talk.”

You frown. “Okay, is everything–”

“We can’t stay and eat.” Mike cuts to the chase, not even bothering to sit down. Lucas stands behind him, quiet and nervous.

“What, why?”

“Eddie Munson wants to meet us.” Dustin says the boy’s name as if you should know him. But you don’t, and now you’re really confused. What does he have to do with any of this?

“Eddie…?”

Mike rolls his eyes at you. “Eddie Munson, Hellfire club, DnD?” When he sees that nothing he’s saying makes any sense to you, he huffs. “Seriously, do you not know anything?”

You throw a chip at him, hurt. “I was in choir, not some stupid DnD club.”

“Hellfire club isn’t stupid–”

“Anyways!” Dustin cuts the fight short. There isn’t time for you and Mike to argue right now. “Eddie is the dungeon master, and he’s recruiting us to join his party! We–we gotta go and meet him, Y/N. He doesn’t just let plebe freshmen like us join.”

“He’s legendary.” Mike says, and sadly you know he means it. It’s not often someone has the boy’s full admiration. Mike is hard to impress, and this Eddie guy seems to have him wrapped around his finger already.

Dustin stares up at you, eyes pleading to understand, and you know you can’t ruin this for him. Only hours ago he had been terrified of his first day, and now he’s almost vibrating with excitement over the possibility of joining some club. There will be people there like him, others interested in what he loves, and you can’t let your own loneliness ruin that. 

“Well,” you clear your throat, try to appear excited for the boys. “Go see Eddie, then.”

“You sure?” Dustin doesn’t want to just leave, he knows you were looking forward to lunch today. He’ll stay if you need him to, he’s sure Mike can talk his way in with Eddie. 

You smile at him, force your voice to be light. They’re growing up. You all are. “I’m sure, it’s your first day. You’re supposed to be joining a bunch of clubs, it’s a good way to make friends. I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

Dustin isn’t entirely convinced, but Mike has already grabbed his arm to go and find Eddie. He turns to Lucas, beckons him to follow. “C’mon, dude.”

“I’ll-uh. Follow in a sec.” Mike gives him an odd look, but Lucas is already sitting down next to you. Seeing this, Mike gives up and leaves with Dustin. As soon as they’re gone, Lucas lowers his voice and leans in close to you. “Hey, do you, uh. Know Jason Carver?”

The scent of chocolate ice cream infiltrates your nose, the sound of it colliding into the teen’s pants rings in your ears. The memory of it is tangible, and you have to hold back a laugh. Yeah, you know Jason Carver. “I mean, we aren’t friends, but we know each other. Why?”

“Do you…” Lucas looks around, making sure Mike and Dustin really are gone, before he continues. “Do you think he’d let me join the basketball team?”

You’re surprised. Sure, Lucas has always shown an interest in the sport. He plays with Steve sometimes, they trade cards, but you didn’t think he’d be interested in the school’s team. “Oh.” Then, you realize why he’s stayed behind. “You don’t want to join Hellfire, do you?”

“I know I’m just a freshman, and–and Mike would probably call me dumb for wanting to even try out, but. I don’t know. I think… I think I could be really good on the team. Might make high school easier.”

“Then you should go for it,” you reassure Lucas. He’s always been so careful to not upset others. He’s loyal, down to his very core, you understand the fear that doing something for yourself brings. “Jason isn’t so bad. A bit much, but kind. He’s a team player, and I think they'd be lucky to have someone like you.”

Lucas smiles shyly at you. “Really?”

“Really. Now, go and find the guy. Ask him when try-outs are, and I’ll talk to Steve about practicing more with you. How’s that sound?”

“You’re the best!” Lucas gives you a quick hug, already getting out of his seat, and runs right into Max. They collide, he manages to save her from falling, and he laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, you okay?”

Max nods, silent, and immediately you and Lucas know that today is one of her bad days. Her eyes are sunken in, it doesn’t look like she got any sleep last night. She sits down next to you, and you nod at Lucas, signaling to him that it’s okay if he leaves. You’ll take care of her. 

Lucas hesitates, unsure, but reluctantly leaves when you nod at him once more, urging. If it was anyone else, he would stay, but it’s you. Besides Lucas, you’re the only other person Max talks to. You’ll stay with her, Lucas deserves to go and branch out like Mike and Dustin are.

“So, did you know about Lucas wanting to join the basketball team?” You turn to Max once the boy has left. She shrugs, picks at the food in front of her. It’s the most response you’ll get from her, and you sigh. “You don’t want to be here either, do you?”

She looks up at you, alarmed that you caught on so fast, and you just shake your head at her. You dig into your backpack, take out some cookies you baked the night before. They were supposed to be for all the kids today, but they’ve all left and Max needs them more right now. “Here, take these. Go to the left stairwell, next to the choir room. No one goes there during lunch, it’s quiet.”

“Thank you,” Max exhales with relief, taking the baked goods from you. Tears lump in her throat, she doesn’t know how you always manage to do this. To see through her, always say the right thing. 

“Of course, my dear.” You risk touching her face, she’s cold, but she closes her eyes and breathes in at the comfort. “I expect to see you at Bookstrordinary after school today, though.”

Somehow Max laughs, and the action hurts her to do so. It’s becoming harder and harder to bear the sound of her own happiness. But she nods at you, understanding that it’s an order she can’t disobey, and leaves. 

Then it’s just you at the lunch table. Alone. 

Nancy is at yearbook, she’s told you all about her grand plan of reforming the club into something more than just homecoming polls and gossip panels. Robin is at yet another band practice, preparing for the annual back to school pep rally later this week. Steve is at Family Video, bored out of his mind, both of you wishing he were here instead. 

And Jonathan is across the country, at an entirely different school, aching to be near you again. 

The thought of him in California only intensifies the loneliness that you feel. The feeling overwhelms you, and before it can swallow you whole, you dig through your backpack once more. Your fingers shake as you rustle through the notebooks and textbooks, and they clutch desperately at your walkman when you finally find it. The mixtape Jonathan made for you before he left sits within it. 

You quickly place the headphones over your head, muffling the sounds of the cafeteria around you. Your fingers find the play button with practiced ease, and soon the beginning notes of the Beatles play through the wire and into your headphones.

The song soothes you, it quiets what you don’t want to hear; it makes you smile. The mixtape is all you’ve been listening to ever since Jonathan left. Though it can never replace his presence, it’s enough for now. 

You stare at the empty seats around you. John Lennon’s voice floats through your ears. 

Welcome to senior year.

– 

Miraculously, it’s Nancy you lean on the most as the autumn leaves turn orange and the summer’s heat dies down. She finds you later during your first week, grabbing lunch from your locker, and she stops you. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to spend another lunch alone.” Nancy has never been one to greet someone. She always gets straight to the point, a quality that you normally admire.

However, you feel embarrassment rise within you, slightly off put by the cruel words. Sure, you’re not necessarily thrilled that you’ve spent your first few days of senior year alone, but you didn’t need Nancy reminding you of that. “Hello to you too, Nance.”

“Shit, I didn’t mean to offend you.” She holds her notebook close to her chest and looks down in shame. It’s weird, there’s a distance between you that has only seemed to widen despite how hard the two of you try to bridge it. For a while things were good, great, even. She was genuinely your friend, but sometimes insecurities can hurt the ones people love the most. 

“Not really sure how I was meant to take that.” You close your locker and try to excuse yourself. You’re exhausted, you hardly slept the night before. “Look, I should go. I stayed up all night working on stupid college applications and I just… I’m tired.”

Nancy’s posture straightens, eager to grab onto any opportunity to amend things with you. “I can read over whatever you have.” When you raise your eyebrows at her, she quickly backtracks, worried she’s overstepped. “I–I mean, that is, if you want. Not that you need the help! It’s just–”

She forces herself to stop. She’s rushing her words, messing it all up. Her shoulders drop, Nancy takes a deep breath and looks you in the eye. She never apologized for her words earlier this summer. The way she sneered venom at you, but she’s carried the guilt of it ever since. “I’m… trying. I promise I am.”

Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers have never handled vulnerability well. It’s what made you stand out against them, set you apart, and you can’t help but find this quality in them endearing. You know that Nancy is trying to go back to how things were, before one phone call between the two of you revealed the unspoken resentment she held. 

You never blamed her for any of it. But you know she blames herself, and Jonathan’s absence doesn’t help; both of you miss him, neither of you can afford to lose anyone else. 

So you try as well.

“I’ll let you read over what I have only if you let me read what you’ve written as well.” You nudge her shoulder with yours, getting her to finally smile. “I’m curious to see what that brain of yours has thought of already.”

Nancy laughs, relieved. “Definitely nothing as creative as whatever you’ve written.”

“We’ll see about that, Wheeler.”

Soon you find yourself in the yearbook room. Nancy introduces you to some kid named Fred, who moons over her the entire time you’re there, though she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy reading through your ideas, and you find yourself admiring her side profile. The way her eyelashes kiss her brows, the soft cherry on her lips.

Nancy is beautiful. You understand how Jonathan and Fred and Steve and countless other guys in Hawkins have lost their minds over her. 

You read through portions of Nancy’s writing, and the two of you sit quietly side by side editing the essays. She marks some things down, crosses out some lines, and you do the same. It’s lovely, being by her side again. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed her following the events of this summer. 

“So, New York University, huh?” Nancy eventually breaks the silence.

You nod, humming as you skim over a line that you particularly like. Circling it, you respond. “Yeah, it’s been my dream school ever since I was young.”

Though you’re applying to other schools as well. A few state schools, some in Virginia, close to your father. But New York is truly where you hope you’ll be next fall.

“Jonathan mentioned that you like psychology, right?”

“Yup,” you cross out an extra word. “Particularly child psychology. Figured that after everything we’ve been through, especially the kids, it’d be useful if at least one of us has any idea what’s going on inside our minds.”

Nancy chuckles. “Fair.”

It falls quiet again, but you don’t want the peace to end. “I heard from Jonathan that you’re looking into Emerson.”

“He tells you everything, doesn’t he?” Though this time Nancy’s question is asked with fondness, slight exasperation and humor mixed in.

“Mhm, we’re a package deal. You tell one of us something, then the other is bound to know eventually.” You look up at Nancy and lightly touch her arm. “Though he still keeps some things from me when it comes to you, don’t worry.”

She laughs again, and finally you allow the silence to settle upon you. It’s a comfortable one. There isn’t a tension underlying it. For the first time in a long time, you’re able to simply sit next to Nancy and feel that she wants you there with her. 

After that day, you and Nancy spend almost every lunch period helping each other with your applications. 

Steve helps you, too. In his own ways. 

While he can’t help you write the essays, he lets you call him at two in the morning to rattle off application ideas so you won’t forget them. He doesn’t complain when you wake him up and he has an early shift the next day. Instead, he listens. Steve offers you his own tired input and indulges in whatever you need to feel that you’ll succeed; he’s the most doting, patient boyfriend you could ever ask for. 

And, secretly, Steve adores it. Especially when you call him some nights just to have him come over and hold you. 

Those are his favorite nights. Tonight is one of them.

“Why does college exist?” Your cheek is pressed against Steve’s chest as you lay in your bed together. The steady rise and fall of his breathing is melodic. 

He plays with a strand of your hair, you feel him shrug. “‘Dunno, but you’re almost done.”

“Yeah, just have one more application to send before I get to spend four agonizing months waiting to find out if I even get in. How fun.” Sarcasm drips from your lips. You’ve spent the last two months obsessing over it all, which words to write in your essays, which clubs to join, which teachers to beg for recommendation letters. 

And now you have one application left. Then you’ll be forced to wait, without any control of the inevitable outcome. 

You’ve never been someone comfortable with letting go of control. 

“Everything will be fine, angel. NYU would be stupid not to let you in.” Steve reassures you with a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek, the tip of your nose, the dip of your brows. As he kisses you, he envisions doing this a year from now, in a small, rundown apartment with sirens wailing outside and a fire escape that creaks in the wind. The song of New York City. 

Eventually Steve’s lips will find yours, and the conversation will be long forgotten. It’s how most of your nights end now, lost in the kisses as his breath mixes with yours. Hands will wander. Sighs will leave parted mouths. Quiet, soft, aware of the precariously thin walls. 

You haven't slept with Steve, at least not yet. Though you’ve been together a few months now, it still feels too soon. He’s your first boyfriend, your first kiss, your first real love, and Steve doesn’t want to rush you. If all you ever do together is lazily kiss and breathe each other in, then Steve will happily part your lips with his and draw soft sighs out from you.

In the morning you’ll awake with Steve’s lips on your neck, his eyes shining up at you, and in the morning sunlight, before you’ve fully woken up, the air between you is sacred. 

–

“I sent in my final application,” you’re whispering, not wanting to wake up your mom who has fallen asleep on the couch. It’s nearly midnight in Indiana, but in California it’s only nine and Jonathan has just finished his school work for the night. “NYU, it’s done.”

On the other end you hear shuffling as Jonathan leans against his kitchen wall. Will sits at the table with El, he sketches the early stages of a painting and she studies grammar. Jonathan watches them, his mom is in bed, and he forgets for a moment that he’s on the phone with you.

“Bee?” You say the childhood name so softly, so tenderly with concern, and it brings Jonathan back to himself. 

“I’m here, sorry.” He clears his throat, his head is still slightly muffled. Jonathan met a guy in woodshop this week, his name is Argyle, and somehow during lunch he found himself in the back of the guy’s van with a blunt hanging loosely from his lips. The smoke dulled the ache of missing Nancy, of missing you. Jonathan can’t tell you this, though. You’d kill him, and he hates disappointing you. “What were you saying?”

You frown slightly, he sounds different. There’s something in his voice, it’s raspy and he sounds distant. The sound is lonely, he sounds lonely. Jonathan isn’t really here, despite the fact that he’s talking to you. The last few phone calls have been like this. You don’t know what to do.  

When Jonathan left, the two of you promised to call each other every Friday, a compromise. A way to create distance, yet tether you to each other. Jonathan calls you every Friday, Nancy gets him every day the rest of the week, and it works. This is how it’s always been ever since early September.

At first you guys would talk about how your weeks had gone. Jonathan would complain about the California heat and you would tell him about how Mike and Lucas had crashed your date with Steve one night. Laughter would float over the telephone lines. Teasing, whispered “I miss you’s” and spoken goodbyes with the promise of talking again next week. 

But last week when you called, the teasing was gone. The laughter was minimal. You had complained about an exam that day and Jonathan had given one word responses that had worried you. It had been odd, but you thought that maybe he’d been tired that day. Everyone has a bad day, you know this.

Yet it’s Friday again and Jonathan couldn’t feel farther away from you.

“I mailed my NYU application in, bee. You send in yours yet?” Voice light, cheery. You do what you can to try and keep him afloat. You try to grasp at the good that’s left between you. Remind Jonathan that you’re right here, still with him, without scaring him away. “You remember our plan, right? Me and you in New York, together.”

Since you were kids the plan has always been to go to college together. Back then, neither of you could fathom a reason to ever be apart. You were invincible, the same way all kids think they are before the world tells them otherwise. 

But you and Jonathan aren’t invincible, you never were. 

You can hear the way your question suffocates him. The breath that he holds, stilted and torn, suffocates you as well. 

Nausea punches Jonathan, the smoke from earlier suddenly fogs his throat. He doesn’t know what to do. Nancy wants him to go to Emerson with her, he promised you NYU when he was twelve, and California has his mother and Will.

“Yeah, yeah. I–I mean, I sent mine in. Last week.”

Jonathan is lying. You’ve known him for almost six years; he always stumbles over his words when he lies.  

Part of you wants to ask him why he’s doing this, lying to you and pulling away. Another part of you, the larger, more naive part, doesn’t want to believe it. You clear your throat, swallow down the hurt, and choose naivety. “Oh,” your tone is too pinched, too put together. You clear your throat again. “That’s–that’s great! I, um. Surprised you didn’t read the essays to me. Have me edit them, like we’ve always done.”

Jonathan leans his head against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s never been able to lie to you, he knows you’re desperately trying to overcompensate, as you always do. He hates it. He hates himself. “Yeah, well. Got excited, I guess.”

You hum, words failing you, and the line goes silent.

Dread replaces the laughter that night.

– 

Before you know it, it’s Halloween and the party has infiltrated Steve’s house. 

The holiday falls on a Saturday, and the party deems itself too old to trick or treat. When they find out that Steve’s parents won’t be home that weekend, they demand to spend the night at his house and watch horror movies.

Steve fights back, complains that he doesn’t want them taking over his living room, but his complaints fall on deaf ears. That, and Dustin ropes Robin into their plans. 

“Oh, God. Don’t open the door!” Dustin shrieks, throwing popcorn at Steve’s TV as he covers his eyes with a blanket. He cowers against Lucas, who shoves him off, and Mike snickers. Max sits on the couch, outside of their fort, and watches the boys. None of them try to get her to sit with them. They know they’re lucky that she even showed in the first place. 

“I can’t look.” Robin’s voice carries over, you can almost picture her cringing as she holds a pillow to her chest. Mike chose a particularly gory movie, and the kid’s mind frightens her.

A loud crash sounds, then a woman screams. You figure the protagonist did open the door and has now died, though you can’t be sure. You’re in the kitchen with Steve, taking out the final batch of oatmeal raisin cookies from the oven. The smell wafts through the home, bringing warmth to a house that Steve has always found cold, and he places his hands on your hips. 

“You spoil the kids too much,” he presses his nose against your cheek and kisses you. “They invade my home and you bake them delicious goods.”

You set the tray of cookies down onto the counter. “As if the cookies aren’t for you, too.”

“That isn’t important. We’re focusing on my hostage house, Y/N.”

“‘Hostage house’, quite the alliteration there.”

Steve now kisses your neck, distracting you as you plate the cookies. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” 

“Don’t make me come in there!” Dustin screams, and Robin echoes him with her own disgusted yelling. 

You laugh at their theatrics while Steve rolls his eyes. He really hates that his house has become the party’s source of entertainment. He just wants to compliment his beautiful girlfriend in peace. Who would punish a guy for that?

In his moping Steve almost misses you walking back into the living room. He follows, stumbles over his feet, never wanting to be more than a few inches away from you. You’re magnetic, always pulling him in. 

Mike is the first to grab a handful of cookies. Lucas and Dustin follow quickly after. They shove the food into their mouths and you scoff at their lack of manners. They’re such boys, growing taller every day, and they’re just as disgusting as they were when they were kids. 

“Want one, Max?” You hold the plate up to her, noticing that she hasn’t moved from her seat. She shakes her head at you, eyes never leaving the screen. Lucas and you share a look, the same concerned expression on your faces. 

The moment is broken by Robin, who grabs a cookie and practically melts. “Holy shit, Y/N. You bake these regularly?”

“Usually once a week,” you shrug at her. “Though I once baked six batches during finals week.”

“God, that was a good week.” Dustin hums, lost in the blissful memory.

Robin grabs your arm, eyes wide with enthusiasm. “I will give you my firstborn child in exchange for my own batch of cookies.”

Steve pokes her shoulder. “You already promised your firstborn to me after I agreed to cover your weekend shift.”

“I can have twins.”

You laugh at her. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

Robin sticks her tongue out at you, causing you to laugh even more, and Mike puts the next movie on. Everyone settles back down, you lay with Steve in the lovechair with Robin in front of you. Max has the couch to herself, the boys are sprawled on the floor in a mess of pillows and blankets, and for the first time in months you feel a certain warmth having your family together. 

Sometime during the night the clock strikes twelve. 

It’s November 1st, 1985. 

Steve’s nineteenth birthday. 

Robin snores softly on the ground, arm underneath her head as a makeshift pillow. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas are all curled up against one another, their faces young again. Max sleeps softly on the couch, her hand dangles over the edge, grazing Lucas’ outstretched arm and open palm. 

Steve lays beneath you, he isn’t quite asleep yet. You’ve come to learn the rhythm of his breaths as he sleeps. The way they slow, the pattern steady. You lift your head up, wanting to admire him, and find that he’s already looking at you. 

“Hi, angel.” He whispers, smiling sweetly. 

You smile back, you always smile back at him. “Hi, honey.” Doing your best to remain quiet, you crawl up the length of Steve and nuzzle your way into his neck. You kiss the dip just above his collarbone, causing him to shiver. “Happy birthday.”

Arms encase you, pull you deeper into the body you lay on. Steve’s body heat warms your face, warms your bones, and you wish you could stay like this forever. In Steve’s arms, the scent of him overwhelming your mind, his touch calming you. 

“Thank you,” he kisses the top of your head. He lingers, his lips soft. The two of you stay like this, his head against yours, your chin tucked into the alcove of his neck. Your breathing syncs with his, his fingers trail up and down your spine. Your fingers splay over his chest, warming his ribs. 

In the morning, Max wakes everyone up. 

“My mom will be worried,” she kicks Mike, nudges Lucas’ shoulder. “Wake up, idiots.” 

Steve groans, squinting his eyes against the morning light. He tries to roll over and block it out and nearly shoves you off the seat in the process. “Steve!” He manages to catch you in his sleepy state, but his movements are slow. 

“Sorry!”

You clutch your chest, heart pounding. “You’ve done that way too many times now. I’m starting to think you want to throw me onto the ground.”

“Lucas once promised he could catch me if I jumped into his arms.” Max says, then she points to a scar on her knee. “Turned out he couldn’t.” 

“Hey!” Lucas sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I really thought I could do it.”

Mike stretches. “Your fault for trusting him, Max.”

Lucas shoves him and the two start to wrestle on the floor. They’re a tangle of lanky limbs, knocking into Dustin who still hasn’t woken up yet. They roll on top of the boy, and he wakes up to Lucas’ knee in his face. “What the hell?”

Dustin joins the fighting now, and Robin throws a pillow at them. “Guys! It’s too early for this!”

They don’t listen. 

It takes a lot of pleading, negotiating, and bribes in order to break the fight up. It takes even longer to wrangle the kids out of Steve’s home, much to his dismay. They leave a mess of strewn popcorn all over the carpet and pillows missing feathers. You stay behind, offering to help clean the mess, and Robin rushes out an apology and happy birthday to Steve as she runs out the door to get to work. 

Soon it’s just you and Steve. You work around one another, anticipating each other’s next move, never getting in the way. Soft music plays from the record player that sits in the den. Steve puts on one of his father’s old records, gentle rock and delicate jazz. You hum to yourself, he hums with you, and it’s a peaceful morning.

Until Richard and May Harrington walk in.

Neither of you notice them at first. Steve is too busy spinning you around, playfully dipping you as the music comes to a grand crescendo. You’re laughing breathlessly, but soon your laughter turns into a yelp when Steve sees his parents standing in the doorway and drops you.

“Dad!” Steve immediately bends down to pick you up, endlessly apologetic. He ducks his head, eyes on you, though his body doesn’t turn from his father. “I’m sorry, angel. You alright?”

You reassure your boyfriend that you’re fine, more worried about the fact that you’re dressed in clothes from yesterday with horrendous bedhead meeting his parents for the first time. Richard eyes you in Steve’s arms. He has a look of disinterest on his face. “Son.”

“What, uh.” Steve clears his throat, curls a protective arm around your waist. He didn’t mean for this to happen. His parents were supposed to be gone until Tuesday. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” 

“Right.”

Father and son stand in front of one another. Neither speaks. Steve feels like a little boy again, scrutinized underneath his father’s intense gaze. Never good enough. Never worthy of anything other than berating and lectures. 

You wring your hands nervously, unsure what to do. The air is thick. Steve looks so much like his father, it’s almost uncanny. They have the same build, the same moles that dot along their handsome faces. Only his father is dressed in a suit, the lines in his face are hard, weathered. He’s who you picture Steve would’ve been, in a different universe where you were never his friend. 

May Harrington gave her son all of her delicate features. The soft turn of his nose. The plush, pink lips. His doe eyes, his smile. The only feature that separates her from her son is her honey blonde hair. She’s beautiful, elegant and poised, and when she steps towards you, you can smell lavender perfume. “You must be Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Harrington.” You’re quick to meet her where she stands. You’re nervous, you have to discreetly wipe your hand on your pants before shaking hers. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Your banana bread is lovely.”

The woman smiles, it’s so much like Steve’s that you want to cry. “Thank you, dear.”

“Of course, and I apologize for meeting like this. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Richard makes a mean, gruff sound. He shakes his head, steps next to his wife. He doesn’t like you, you can feel it by the way he blocks his wife’s view of you. “Oh, no. I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Dad–” Steve steps forward as well, blocking his father’s view of you. He’s angry, his shoulder blades close together. He doesn’t like how the man is treating you; you’re too good for such cruelty.

“What did I tell you about bringing your hookups to the house, son?” Richard sneers, turning his nose up at you. That’s all he sees you as. Just another one of Steve’s flings, one of the girls from his past. 

“Y/N is not just some hookup,” Steve clenches his jaw, tries to steady his breathing. He doesn’t want to fight with his dad in front of you. Not when he was having such a good morning, spending his birthday with your hands wrapped around his neck and your giggles singing in his ears. “She’s my girlfriend, and I love her.”

Richard chuckles, he doesn’t believe his son. “Okay, you love her. I’m sure your mother and I will walk in on you with some new girl next week.”

“Dear,” May places a hand on her husband’s shoulder. She sees the way you shrink into yourself at the man’s words. The insecurity that he brings. She sees how her son’s eyes ignite with fury, she watches as he does whatever he can to put the flame out for her sake and yours. “It’s Steve’s birthday today.”

“Is that why you insisted on coming home today?” Richard turns to her, she has his full attention now. His eyebrows are drawn together, annoyance paints his body. “You told me you had a board meeting tonight.” 

“Why don’t we talk about this upstairs?” May suggests, relieved that she’s turned her husband’s anger onto herself rather than her son. Richard sighs, but he doesn’t argue as he marches up the stairs without so much as a second glance towards you. When he’s gone, May smiles at you sympathetically. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. We had a long flight, I’m sure he’s simply jetlagged.” 

“Yeah, that’s why he’s such an asshole.” Steve scoffs, tired of his mother’s excuses for her husband. He can be cruel to Steve, he doesn’t care. He’s been cruel to him his entire life. But if his father so much as breathes near you again, Steve will hurt him. 

Your hand reaches for Steve’s, sensing what he’s thinking. You return May’s smile, you’re not at all angry with her. “It’s okay, really. I was an unexpected guest, and I should go.”

Steve pulls you into his chest. “What, no–”

“You may leave, if you’d like.” His mother gently interrupts him. “Though I must admit, I really do wish to know you better. If you’d allow me to, that is.”

“I’d love that more than anything.”

“Then I will plan a dinner for the next time my husband and I are in town.” May tells you, admiring your honesty. She can see why Steve has become so infatuated with you. There’s nothing hidden within you; you wear your heart on your sleeve, your sincerity a welcomed rarity. She turns to her son, rests her palm delicately against his face. “Happy birthday, my beautiful boy.”

Steve leans into her touch, weak for his mother as any son is. You turn away, it doesn’t feel right to watch this moment between them. 

In the car Steve profusely apologizes for his father’s behavior. Over and over again, he laments how sorry he is and that you’re more than just some fling to him. “You’re everything to me, angel. I love you so, so much.”

“I know, honey.” You grab his hand that rests against the stick shift. His father’s words had hurt, but you knew that they weren’t true. Steve is yours, he has been for longer than either of you realize. Nothing will ever undo the love he has for you, the foundation of trust it was built upon. “You’re everything to me, too.”

When Steve pulls into your driveway, you tell him to park and come inside. His birthday gift is in your room. You had planned to give it to him later tonight, but his parents’ unexpected arrival had soured things. “I know you have to go home, but…”

“I’ll never say no to you.” Steve’s already unbuckling his seatbelt to follow you inside. He greets your mother with a kiss to her cheek, ruffles Dustin’s hair as he sits at the dining table doing homework. His movements are easy, leisurely. You notice now how at home he is in yours, far from the boy who cowered before his father only twenty minutes ago. The realization is bittersweet. He deserves to feel at home in his own house, not just yours. 

Inside your room Steve sits on your bed and holds his hand out, eager. “Okay, wow me, Henderson.”

“You really know how to talk to a woman.” You tease him, rustling through your drawer to find the gift you’ve hidden. Steve is nosy, he’s been trying to find his gift for at least two weeks now. When you’ve found it, you clutch the gift in your hand and hold it behind your back. “Alright, you know the drill by now. Close your eyes.”

Steve complies with a smirk, biting back suggestive comments. He loves this tradition with you, making the other close their eyes before their gift. Something light is placed in Steve’s hand. It’s circular, sturdy. He thinks he can smell leather.

“Okay, open.”

In his hand is a bracelet. It’s a simple strip of leather, nothing embellishes it besides a button to secure it. Though it’s plain, Steve can tell that it’s expensive. The leather is supple, its color is dark and polished. The silver button that clasps the two ends together is heavy.

He loves it, he does, but he can’t help feeling like that there must be something more to it.

As if reading his mind, you gently prompt Steve to turn it over in his hands. “Look what’s on the inside, honey.”

He does, and his heart stops.

The leather has been stamped. The word constants is spelled out across the length of the band. It’s a hidden message, only for Steve to know, and while he’s sure you have your own explanation for why you chose the word constants, he loves it already. “Oh.”

You sit next to him and laugh softly. “You’re my constant, Steve. Everything in my life has changed, or will change, but you… You’ve always been there, I know you’ll always be there. With me. My love, my lucky charm, my constant.”

Tears well in Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t bother wiping them away, too busy admiring the bracelet in his hand. He can’t believe you’re real, that you’ve thought of this for him. That you see a future with him… It’s everything he could’ve asked for. A security he’s always longed to have. His entire life he’s been told he’s too much, too overwhelming, and yet you want him to stay anyways. 

“And you’re my constant?” He asks you, fingers grazing over the letters again.

You nudge his shoulder with yours. “Well, I’d like to think that I am.”

He laughs, wet and full of love, and he can’t take it anymore. Steve throws his arms over you and you collapse into your bed, laughing together as he presses his lips wherever they can reach. 

“You are,” he says in between kisses. Your laughter lights him. “You’re my constant, too.”

–

The autumn leaves fall and the trees are barren as winter arrives. 

You spend winter break trying to maintain your promise to Joyce. After finishing the hell that was applying to college, you have so much unexpected free time that at first you don't know what to do. But then her words echo in your mind, the promise to live the life that you deserve, so you start doing things for yourself.

Slowly you read through all the books in your room that you hadn't had time for before. You start running again in the mornings, the winter air crisp in your lungs. You and Dustin do homework together at the kitchen table, making sure neither of you get left behind. You try new recipes to bake, delivering the treats to the ones you love. It’s nice, rediscovering the pleasures you once had long before the Upside Down came into your life. 

Christmas comes and you do your annual rounds, delivering everyone’s favorite treats on Christmas Eve. It’s during your run to the Sinclair home that Lucas asks you to come inside to talk. 

“What’s up?” You ask him, unwrapping your scarf and warming your hands in your sleeves. Lucas gestures to his kitchen table, silently asking you to sit. When you do, he takes a deep breath and joins you. 

Something’s bothering him. You can see it in the way he carries a weight on his shoulders. How they droop as he sits, exhausted. You reach across the table and grab his hand, offering whatever comfort you can give him. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

“It’s…” Lucas purses his lips, his breath shakes. “It’s Max. I’m–I’m worried about her.”

He tells you everything. He tells you how distant she’s been, more than she’s ever been before. He tells you how she’s missed dates he’s planned for her, how she refuses to talk to him anymore. She hasn’t been to any of the party’s hangouts, Mike and Dustin haven’t seen her ever since winter break started.

Max has had bad days, weeks, even months since losing Billy. But she’s never had the bad days without at least one good day following. To break the monotonous cycle of self-loathing and grief and guilt. She would always come back, even if for a moment, alive and bright and reminiscent of the girl had been. 

“I can feel her slipping away,” Lucas looks down at the table. He’s afraid that if he looks at you then he’ll start crying. He doesn’t want you to worry, he knows how much you already deal with and do for them, but he’s terrified. “I know… I know that you helped Will, after he was flayed. Do you think you could maybe talk to Max? Just… Remind her that we’re here for her? I can’t–I can’t lose her.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours, trying to stem the stream of tears he fought so hard to force down. Lucas loves Max with everything within him. Anyone can see that. You’d do anything to bring the girl back to him, to bring her back to all of you. “I’ll talk to her.”

I’ll keep an eye on her. Watch her when you can’t. 

Lucas hears it. He exhales, nods his head.

You leave. Max was the next one on your list of deliveries anyways. 

It’s nearing dusk by the time you get to the trailer park. You haven’t seen Max’s new home, she’s only recently moved. She had been too embarrassed to tell anyone that her mother lost their old house. The only reason you even know she moved in the first place is because Lucas and Dustin stalked her walking home. 

A dog barks as you bike past. Snow has started to fall, tomorrow will be a white Christmas.

“Oh, hello, Y/N.” Susan Hargrove’s skin is pale, her eyes sunken in when she answers the door. Her voice is thin, her frame is strained. The death has been hard on her, too. Billy’s father leaving only made everything worse. 

“Hi, Mrs. Hargrove.”

The woman winces. “Please, Mayfield will be fine.”

You immediately correct yourself, apologetic and ashamed, when Max’s voice calls from within the home. “Just let Y/N in, mom.”

Susan sighs, and you wish you could do more. Instead, all you can offer her is the container of coconut bites you’ve made for them. Max told you they remind her and her mother of California, and you always make sure to have some ready every week for them. Offer some semblance of joy in the gray of their lives.

Max sits at the kitchen table. Her head is down as she works on something. She has her walkman next to her. Susan leaves the two of you alone, excusing herself to go lay down after a long shift. 

You sit next to the girl and take a deep breath. This won’t be easy. Max is prideful, stubbornly independent, and has never accepted sympathy from anyone. You’ve always admired her fiery personality, but the fire has dimmed and the smoke is beginning to choke her. Talking to her will be like pulling teeth out. 

“Brought you your favorites.” You shake the container in your hands. It serves as a peace offering, almost a bribe to start the conversation. 

“Thanks.” Max doesn’t look up. 

You swallow, tuck your hair behind your ears. “Of course. I was doing my usual delivery rounds. I, uh. Stopped at the Sinclair’s.”

The pencil in Max’s hand freezes. Her knuckles tighten, though the shift is subtle. She’s always been too smart for her own good. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Erica likes my brownies. Mrs. Sinclair, too.”

“And Lucas?” She knows why you’re here.

“I made him chocolate chip cookies. You know how much he loves them.” Max doesn’t respond. Of course she knows how much Lucas enjoys chocolate chip cookies. She knows everything about him, but she doesn’t say anything and goes back to writing. Faintly you hear music coming from the walkman. You point at the device. “New song?”

“Kate Bush.”

“Oh.” This is going worse than you imagined. “Look, Max–”

She doesn’t waste any time. “I know Lucas sent you. I don’t care.”

“He’s just worried about you, we all are–”

“I’m fine.” The tip of the pencil snaps. “Shit.”

“Max.” You’re pleading with her to listen. Her skin is fluorescent now, paler than you’ve ever seen. The bags underneath her eyes are swollen, dark and ghostly. She’s lost weight. You can’t remember the last time you saw her eat. “Please.”

“What do you want me to do?” Though there’s anger in her voice, Max’s eyes plead with you, too. Her mask slips for just a moment, but you see it. Underneath her indifferent exterior, she’s just as terrified as everyone else is. She can feel herself fading, the guilt of Billy’s death slowly eats her alive. She doesn’t know what to do, though. How do you continue to live after death has infiltrated your home?

The chair beneath you scraps against the hardwood floor. You stand up, walk over to Max and kneel in front of her. You keep your movements slow, worried you’ll scare her away if you get too close too suddenly. “I think you should talk to someone, honey.”

Max turns away. She can’t. If she told anyone what goes on inside her head, they would never forgive her. You would never forgive her, and it would break her. 

Your hand falls to Max’s knee. The warmth from your palm combats the ice in her veins. You’re looking at her as if she’s worth something. As if she didn’t wish for her brother’s death. As if she hadn’t sent a grieving father into a spiral, a desperate mother into a trailer park. But Max allows your touch, so you try to get through to her again.

“You know, I was actually talking to Ms. Kelly a few weeks ago. The school’s guidance counselor.” She had met with you to discuss your grades and college options. When she had seen how you picked your nails until they bled, she suggested seeing her every few weeks. Alleviate some of your never ending stress. You had denied, uncomfortable with the idea. But maybe she could help Max. “She seemed nice enough. I’m sure she would be open to talking with you.”

“I don’t want to see some shrink.”

“Hey, I want to work with kids your age someday. Don’t call future me a shrink.” You poke Max’s leg playfully, and the corners of her mouth twitch. She doesn’t want you to see that it’s working. “C’mon. Have at least one meeting with her. When winter break ends, all I ask is that you try. For me and Lucas. We’re your favorites, after all.”

“If I agree, will it get you to shut up?”

You’re fine with this. It isn’t ideal, you aren’t sure Max will even actually try to open up to Ms. Kelly, but it’s a start. For too long now you’ve stayed silent, allowing Max to grieve on her own. Grief is hard, it takes and it takes and it takes. Yet it’s been almost six months and you’re not sure how much left grief can take from Max. “I think I can be okay with that.”

You’ll take whatever you can get. You’re worried. You got too caught up in your own life, you had gotten lost in your own haze of grief and anxiety. Missing Jonathan, grappling with change and growing up as you applied to college. You weren’t there for Max like you should’ve been.

But you’ll fix this. You always fix things. It’s what you do. It’s what you have to do. It’s how you love; you take care of those around you.

And who are you if you can’t?

–

Jonathan calls you high for the first time in late January. 

Though he doesn’t tell you that he’s high, you know. His words are slurred, slowed, incomprehensible. It’s late in California, even later in Indiana, and the stark feeling of guilt slices into your ribcage the same way the Demodog’s claw did. The feeling cuts deep into your skin, nicks your bone. 

“Jonathan?” You hope your voice brings him back to you. You try to cut through the smoke that fills his mind, that leaves him stumbling over his words. “Bee, can you hear me?”

“‘M here.” Jonathan sniffs, smacks his lips, yawns. “Where’re you? Can’t find you, bug.”

You close your eyes. He’s looking for you, and you aren’t with him. “I’m in Hawkins.”

“Thas’ far.”

“Yeah,” you choke out a laugh. It constricts in your vocal chords, but you can’t let Jonathan know how much it hurts to hear him so disoriented. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. California sucks.” He hiccups, you’re surprised he’s managed to call you tonight. Even in his drugged up state, he still somehow remembered to call. “Don’t think Nance will like it.”

He’s referring to the spring break trip. Nancy told you about it earlier today, how she and Mike will spend the week in California to see Jonathan and El. She had been a bit hesitant to tell you, afraid you’d be upset for not being invited, but you reassured her that it was okay. 

You’ve had a road trip planned with Jonathan ever since you were fifteen. The moment the two of you graduate, you’ll drive all across the country for one final adventure before college. 

Nancy can have spring. Summer will be yours. 

“She’ll love California because you’re there.” She talked about the trip nonstop today. Her glow had come back, momentarily, her eyes alight. She truly loves Jonathan, she misses him even more than you do. 

“Only disappoint her.”

“What do you mean?” You’re not sure where this is coming from. You know Jonathan is high, that his thoughts may not be coherent, but he sounds distressed about Nancy. You thought things had been good between them. They were planning a future together. 

“Is’ hard, with her.” Jonathan manages to get out, but his speech is becoming harder and harder to understand.

You frown. “What’s hard, bee?”

The line disconnects. Jonathan doesn’t bring the conversation up again, the next time you call. You don’t ask him what he meant. You don’t think you want to know. There had been something deeper behind his words.

Will calls you a few days later in tears. The kids are meaner in California than they are in Hawkins. They tease El, make her life hell, and he’s upset that he can’t do anything to stop it. He cries to you, his tears soak your face through the landline, and the guilt creeps back in. 

It will never truly leave.

You do your best to console him, offer him advice, but that’s all you can do. All you have are your words. Will and El are hours away, hundreds of miles separate them from you. It's nauseating, feeling so useless. For as long as you’ve known Will, you’ve always been able to protect him. To help him, dry his eyes.

You’ve always been there for your boys, for Jonathan and Will. For El. But you can’t get to them, they’re too far away, and it kills you. You’re sixteen again, trapped in Jonathan’s car and frantically trying to keep yourself together as everything around you falls apart. 

Steve becomes your lifeline. 

He always answers when you call. Every time Jonathan, high and lonely, hangs up your conversations, you call Steve. He answers, he hears the exhaustion in your voice, and he always sneaks in through your window later that night. He knows it’s the only way you’re able to sleep these days.

He sings to you when you wake up from a nightmare. They’ve become about Max, losing her. She’s only met with Ms. Kelly a few times, but you can tell that she already wants to stop. That you’re pushing her too far, pushing her away from you and everyone else. 

Steve takes you for drives when you get blisters from pacing your room, anxiously waiting for your college decision letters to come in. Soon your entire life will be decided for you by one single piece of paper. 

Two weeks before spring break, Jonathan calls you. He’s sober.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve spoken to him sober. The thought alone depresses you, makes you yearn for childhood again.

“I think Nancy wants me to come to Hawkins,” he tells you. “Would you… would you like that?”

More than anything.

You press the phone against your ear and imagine that it’s Jonathan’s hand instead. Your skin hasn’t forgotten how his felt against it. “Of course I want you to come to Hawkins, bee.” But it can’t be that easy, you know nothing ever comes easily. “Can you afford it, though? I–I mean, God. I miss you, you know that, but I know it’s been hard for your family these last few years.”

Jonathan’s head falls back against the wall behind him. You always understand. He hates it, sometimes. “It’s worth looking into if it means I get to see you and Nance.”

There’s an air of authority in Jonathan’s voice, as if he truly believes what he’s saying, and it surprises you. He’s taking initiative after months of floating away. Hope sparks within you, the cold hand of dread lessens its grip around your neck. 

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic.” You say. Jonathan laughs, you’ve missed the sound. It’s been so long since you last heard it. 

Conversation drifts after that. You tell him about the latest Spider-Man arc you’re reading, he inserts his own opinions, and it’s lovely. You haven’t had Jonathan like this in months, all to yourself, his smile aligned with yours. Sober, steady. 

The phone call with Jonathan reminds you of all the good that is still yet to come. 

College decision letters arrive next week. Your best friend might be visiting for spring break. Your boyfriend has planned a picnic for your anniversary tomorrow. You have your first meeting with Ms. Kelly the following day. It was your idea, figuring it was only fair that you see her since Max has agreed to keep going. 

And Joyce made you promise that you’d live your own life. You’re trying to get better, you really are. 

It just takes time. 

-

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

[visenyaism]

Okay but what’s your daeron ranking from most to least exciting I’ve got to love gay flight daeron son of the unlikely vanishing from the narrative

1) war criminal daeron, imperialist. jon snow kinned him as a child and the idea of him shouting IM THE YOUNG DRAGON in the winterfell courtyard is everything to me. why was his fantasy to die young doing futile dumb war. i mean i know why that’s the shit jon has always been on. but anyways daeron watching his father never ever mentally escape the effects of the dance of the dragons until he dies relatively young because war is hell and then immediately being like LETS START ANOTHER WAR the second he was crowned king at 14. anything to fill the void of not having a dragon.

2) gay daeron who invented gay marriage. we know not much about him except he was too based to live so Aelora’s opps from FIFTY YEARS EARLIER somehow returned to take him out. rip

3) war criminal daeron, 8th grader domestic terrorist. Love the greens inexplicably having one completely normal member who is just cheerfully committing mass casualty events because his big brother told him to. cant wait to see him on television when he shows up in season 2 (he will. you’ll see.$

4) daeron the good. should be a sicko given that his three parental figures in his life were aegon iv naerys and aemon. and 3/4 of his children were at least a little bit dragon madness pilled and yet. a boring pretty chill nerd king who almost got usurped just because daemon blackfyre could do a cartwheel and he couldn’t. bear the sword next time

[katmaibearfan]

we're getting to the part of the season where it becomes hard for me to keep up on the bear cams because of the time difference. I'm on the east coast, and katmai is in alaska, and the amount of daylight time they have is getting so short and their sunrises so late that it just doesn't work very well with my schedule.

they have 12hrs of daylight right now, and they're losing 5 more minutes every single day (sidenote: thats around 2 to 3 more minutes lost daily than the continental usa). At the park, sunrise is just after 8am, which means the cams switch from infrared to color around 8:30am -- which is 12:30pm for me. since i am often busy in the evenings, and that's when a lot of the bears are active now, i end up missing a lot more stuff.

i think I just feel the end of the season approaching rapidly and that always makes me sorta sad. I should think more about what this blog is gonna do while the cams are off -- probably some text write ups about the bears and some bear cam history things? a series of retrospectives about this season, maybe?

of course for now, im trying to look forward to the imminently approaching fat bear week -- the bracket reveal for fat bear junior is in a little over 3 and a half hours! two days until voting! and then its right into the fat bear week bracket reveal and then Fat Bear Week proper!

its a strange mix of sad and excited and wistful for me -- my favorite event, but one that signals the end of my favorite season. a celebration, a finale, an ending. and when its all over, we look forward to the next one.

[nowimyurdaisy]

best friends? - j. fisher

summary: You told yourself this summer would be different. You would be getting over Jeremiah fisher not pining over jeremiah. But things never go as planned especially not when you sign up to be a deb, with your other best friend. An escort and some ice cream?

warnings: bad grammar? some swear words

a/n: Im so excited to introduce you to my new series! I really hope all of you like it!! Watching season 2 Jere got me all inspired again ;) I know there isn't much Jere in the first chapter but I promise there will be so much more in future chapters and they'll be a little longer

masterlist

series masterlist

part one

This summer would be different. That's what you told yourself. You were going to Cousins, like you did every summer. you would hang out with the Fishers and Conklins, your best friend Jeremiah as always. But this summer you wouldn't pine over Jeremiah, as always.

Your family owned a house down the street from the Fisher's. You basically lived at their summer house, Susannah was like a second mother to you, and Conrad an older brother, and Jeremiah is well complicated. Belly was the only one who knew about your crush on Jere. Crush was an understatement, you were are madly in love with Jeremiah Fisher. Madly deeply in love.

Maybe you'd get a boyfriend, a new crush?

You had no idea what was in store for this summer, but as you breathed in the salty air of Cousins, you could just feel something different was gonna happen.

You pulled up to the Fisher's, honked twice to let them know you had arrived. Although your family had a house down the street your parents were traveling to Europe or something this summer. So you were staying with the Fishers and Conklins. That is the other thing that was changing this summer, you would be sleeping in the room next to Jeremiah's. All. Summer. Long.

Avoiding him will not be an option.

You saw Jere running out of the house, Belly following close behind with Susannah at her side. You stepped out of the car, and Jeremiah engulfed you in a hug, spinning you around.

"Damn y/n/n looking better than ever!"

You blushed, "why thank you Jere bear." He rolled his eyes at your nickname for him, you'd been calling him that ever since you'd met him. Belly was next to greet you. "BELLS!"

"Y/N!" Belly responded, laughing, pulling you into a hug.

"Missed you."

"Missed you too," then she gave you this look, and not so subtly nodded her head at Jere.

You shook your head in response. She frowned a litter, "this summer is gonna be the best one yet," whether you liked it or not things are changing.

Later at dinner Susannah brought up how she pulled a few strings and wanted you and Belly to be debs this year.

Jeremiah and Steven started laughing. "Belly a dev?" Steven laughed again.

"Shut up Steven!" Belly glared in his direction.

"Are you sure that's a good idea Beck? I mean debutante balls are outdated." Laurel asked.

Belly rolled her eyes at her mother's words, "I'll think about it Susannah"

"Great! Y/n what about you?" Susannah asked with pleading eyes.

You were about to respond when Jeremiah spoke up. "Y/n/n no way you're gonna do the deb ball scene." Jere clapped Stevens shoulder laughing. "You in a white dress?" What was with Jeremiah? You asked yourself.

"You know what Susannah, sounds super fun, I'm in" You directed your response at Susannah but held eye contact with Jeremiah.

"Ahh! This is so exciting!"

"I'll do it too Susannah" Belly said, speaking up again.

Laurel sighed but Susannah's smile lit up the whole room. Her eyes too, like it was Christmas morning. "I'll take the two of you shopping tomorrow! Laur you have to come too" and just like that it was decided that four of you would go shopping tomorrow.

The next day the four of you went downtown Cousins. Shopping for sun dresses and fascinators and a white dress of course. You were in a wedding dress shop, doing a 360° turn for Susannah and Laurel in a off the shoulder puffy dress.

You looked at Belly as she walked out of the dressing room across from you. Getting up next to you, also doing a 360°. And in unison the two of you sighed, "So?"

Susannah looks at you first, "Mm. No."

Laurel looked at Belly and without saying a word, grabbed the simple white dress that you had noticed Belly staring at the entire time you had been there. "What about this one?" Susannah went to argue with Laur, but you cut her off. "It is so Belly, Laur."

Bly's whole face lit up. She eagerly grabbed the dress and went into her changing room.

"Susannah" you sighed, "I've tried on like, twenty dresses," you complained.

"We just have to find the right one, don't give up." She responded. And because it was Susannah you listened.

When you came back out of the dressing room you saw Laurel and Susannah ogling over Bellying her new dress. You walked up to the rows of dress. Flipping through them until one dress caught your eye. It had a sweetheart neckline with little silver jewels lining the top of the hoop skirt. It was gorgeous. You quickly grabbed your size and rushed off to the dressing room

You snapped a quick mirror selfie to send to Jere. Then exited the room practically glowing and spinning around. Susannah gasped and clasped her hands together. "Oh y/n it's gorgeous" Laurel said actually gushing.

"I need to get a picture of you in that" Susannah said, grabbing her phone. Tears forming in her eyes?

"It is perfect" Belly said turning to you.

"It really is Bells, it really is" you agreed, a smile adorning your flushed face.

taglist: @sourcherryandsprinkles @bigassnocash @jeremiah-fisher @xtom-darling-x17 @buckys2thicc @almostcontentcreator @crazylokonugget @coolestgirlhere @abbygrace333

[tillydouspart]

my personal top 3 life series is probably third life, double life (sometimes alternating) and then wild life.

wild life is an extremely fun season, and has the most amount of Gimmick. there's something new and exciting every time and you're always looking forward to the next wild card and even wishing some would last longer, but there is a limit to how elaborate the gimmicks can be and if it keeps getting more and more complex each season, then it won't be sustainable. this season though, has one of my favorite life mechanics. i think the whole dark greens can give a life when killed dynamic was very fun, even though most of those were taken by the snails... but the fact that there was such a deadly episode so early on also allowed fun kills earlier in the season, so i think it worked out really well

on the other side, third life has the least amount of gimmick. the elaborate plot that took place, everything that happened, was directly because of the players and it was Fantastic. a wonderful and moving adventure full of great love and betrayal. this season gets criticized because of the slower start, but i don't think it's really a bad thing. it's the first season, that shaped and set the tone for all the following ones, and it is extremely fun to watch now in retrospective and notice all the little details that would become load-bearing in all the future seasons. an extremely compelling beginning to a great series

and double life has just the perfect amount of gimmick. it's a very simple concept that can be explained in barely a sentence, and they made the absolute most out of it. all the drama that a concept such as "death game randomized soulmates" could have brought, does happen. it is the shortest season, but it keeps you hooked. it starts off strong with the very fun idea of searching for your soulmate, and it has an absolutely fantastic and moving finale. all around wonderful, and it brought fun and unexpected collaborations that were just lovely to see

secret life, at that, is also one of the most gimmick-heavy seasons. the no-regen mechanic wasn't very well-balanced (which i get was hard to predict) but the real star of the season are the secret tasks. and secret life is a season that really makes you want to watch everyone's pov's, because everyone is doing some weird thing and you'll have to watch their video to find out why. im sure the fairness and balance of each task has been discussed to no end, but i think it's a quite well-rounded season. i might rank it as fourth fave even

however, if they were to repeat a gimmick, i'd want another limited life the most. the timer really kept you on edge, but honestly i also liked that they had more freedom to die, it brought many funny situations. and, kinda the same as with wild life earlier, i really enjoyed the whole "killing someone gives you extra time", it's a great incentive that in this case also wasn't extremely fatal to others, it was fun

and well, i find last life to be the weakest season honestly. the life trading format was fun and properly allowed for a necessary fluctuation of lives. however, the mix of the randomized amount of lives (as some started at 2), the boogeyman curse and the too-cruel "no red alliances rule" made for a quite brutal season. i believe this is actually a really well-liked season and i had fun watching it, but it wasn't quite my thing

[filmofhybe]

A Christmas Surprise

🗯️ pairing : Nishimura Riki x oc 💌 Genre : fluff , non Idol 700 words

warning : kissing ?

; AUTHORS NOTES : day 10? Of “24 days of Christmas with filmofhybe!!” Niki is finally spending time with his family :( im so happy for him!!!

Masterlist to my other works

Niki couldn't bear to see the house devoid of Christmas cheer. With y/n caught up in a whirlwind of work commitments, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Usually decorating the dimmed house with his precious girlfriend, however I guess this year he would just do it by himself and surprise her workaholic ass. Armed with strings of lights, boxes of ornaments, and a heart full of festive spirit, Niki embarked on a mission to transform their home into a winter wonderland.

The day began with a trip to the attic, where Niki unearthed boxes labeled 'Christmas Decorations' from the depths of storage. He carefully carried them down the creaky staircase, feeling a sense of excitement building with each step. As he opened the boxes, memories of holidays past flooded back – each ornament held sentimental value, a piece of their shared history.

With determination, Niki started stringing lights around the living room, creating a warm and inviting glow. He hung ornaments a d bows on the tree, carefully placing each one with love, knowing that y/n loves bows on them. The scent of pine filled the air as he added the final touch – a star perched proudly at the top. Niki stepped back to admire his work, smiling at the magical transformation that had taken place.

The stockings were next, hung with care along the fireplace mantle. With both of their initials on it, Niki couldn't resist adding a few extra touches – a sprig of holly here, a festive bow there. The sound of Christmas carols echoed through the house, setting the perfect backdrop for his holiday masterpiece.

As the day wore on, Niki moved from room to room, ensuring no corner was left untouched by the magic of Christmas. From their bedroom, to even adorning the kitchen with holiday-themed towels and placed a gingerbread-scented candle on the countertop. Niki wanted y/b to feel the holiday spirit from the moment she walked through the door.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the twinkle lights illuminated the room, Niki stepped back to marvel at the transformation. The house radiated warmth and joy, a testament to the love he felt for y/n and the desire to make her holiday season special.

Just as he finished the last touches, the front door swung open, and y/n stepped inside,tiredness taking over her as she puts down her purse that Niki got her last Christmas. However, Her eyes widened in amazement and energy takes over her as she took in the festive spectacle that greeted her. The stress and fatigue from a long day at work instantly melted away, replaced by a sense of wonder and gratitude.

"Niki, what... how?" Y/N stammered, her voice a mixture of surprise and delight. Now staring at her tall boyfriend that’s smiling brightly in front of her. Niki grinned, pulling her into a tight hug. "I couldn't bear to see our home without Christmas spirit, especially when you've been working so hard. Consider it a little holiday surprise."

Y/N's eyes shimmered with emotion as she looked around. "You did all this for me?" Niki nodded, his eyes reflecting the love he felt for her. "I wanted to make sure you had a magical Christmas every year, even if you've been too busy to decorate.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, Y/N pulled back from the hug and cupped Niki's face in her hands. "Thank you baby. This is the most amazing gift you could have given me."

As the two stood amidst the twinkling lights and festive decorations, the air was charged with a sense of togetherness and love. Y/n couldn't help herself and leaned in to press a tender kiss on Niki's lips, grateful for the effort he had put into creating such a beautiful holiday haven.

"You're incredible," she whispered against his lips.

Niki smiled, his heart brimming with happiness. "Anything for you my love. especially during the most wonderful time of the year."

And so, wrapped in the glow of Christmas lights and the warmth of their love, Niki and y/n embraced the holiday season, cherishing the magic they had created together, even if it was just Niki who decorated the house without her this year.

© filmofhybe on tumblr — do not copy , translate or share.

[honeykawa]

Made in the Stars | A Bridgerton AU pt. 1

pairing: oikawa tooru x reader

genre: romance, bridgerton au

word count: 1.0k

warnings: none

summary: lord oikawa is in search of a wife this season. as an earl it is his duty to his family to find a wife, have children, and carry on his familys name but is that what he wants? hes not quite sure.

oikawa stood by on the outskirts of the dance floor talking to some other women who were vying for a chance to dance with him. a smile was on his face but he did not care to be here, even the conversations bored him. but this year his parents had pushed him to find a wife, someone to bear his children and carry on their family name. as he was the eldest son, it was his responsibility to carry on his family name and to become the next earl.

but that wasnt what he wanted. he couldnt let his family down though, the weight of his familys legacy was on his shoulders. sometimes it suffocated him, the comments his family would make consumed him daily. so he packed every last dream he had and stored it deep within his heart. having dreams is useless if you cant follow them.

“ah miss yachi, id be delighted to dance with you. may i see your dance card?” he held out a hand hoping yachi would give it to him. she got a bit flustered at the thought of him even asking her to dance.

“ahh yes! here! please mark your name down!” she clumsily took the card off her wrist which led to her loosing her grip on it. it bounced between her hands before landing a few feet away after hitting you in the head.

you slowly turned around and looked at the ground seeing someones dance card. you bent down and picked it up looking around for whoever was missing their card only to see a frantic yachi looking at you. you excused yourself from your mistress and walked over to give the card back. yachi took the card from your hands, “thank you! thank you thank you thank you!” you nodded your head with a smile and gave a quick bow before returning to your ladys side. ‘you were plain’ is what oikawa thought, but your smile was pretty.

oikawa danced and talked until he was nearly out of breath. perhaps going outside would clear his mind and give him some newfound motivation to continue his night inside. he walked out onto the balcony only to see you also standing on it on the far side away from the door looking up at the sky. he paid you no mind as he shut the door behind him. he took a big breath in and let it all out. he looked out into the distance with a longing look in his eyes that didnt go unnoticed by you.

you looked over at the earl and followed his gaze just to see him looking out over the horizon. there was something in his eyes, like he was desperately looking for something that he couldnt have, “you know, its not nice to stare.” oikawa had a teasing tone to his voice as he slowly looked over to you. you blushed and looked away before bowing, “im so sorry lord oikawa. i didnt mean to cause any upset, you just looked…nevermind.” your voice trailed off near the end of your sentence.

there was silence for a moment between the both of you before you hesitantly spoke again, “i dont know what youre looking for but…the stars offer a prettier view than the horizon,” you looked up towards the sky and pointed at a group of stars and moved closer to oikawa to show him, “see that bunch right there? thats the constellation of andromeda and perseus! do you know the story?” your eyes beamed with excitement that was hard for oikawa to ignore. he shook his head no, “am i supposed to?”

you chuckled a bit at him before looking back up at the constellation, “no, not necessarily but their love story was a moving one. andromeda was hailed as the most beautiful women in the land, her mother even claiming that she was more beautiful than posideons daughters. this angered the sea god and he sent a monster after andromeda and her town to destroy them. her father believed that if they sacrificed andromeda then the sea monster would go away so they chained her to a rock near the ocean and just as she was about to be attacked by the monster, perseus came down on his pegasus and slayed the beast and then the two fell in love living the rest of their days together,” you sighed just thinking about how much they loved each other, “and now their story is immortalized in the heavens.”

oikawa didnt realize that the stars above had their own stories, “so this andromeda was chained to a rock as a sacrifice due to her own parents’ sins?” you looked him and mulled over his words before nodding at him, “such was her fate but…she got out of it didnt she?” you smiled at oikawa which made his heart do something funny. the sparkle in your eyes as you talked was captivating to him.

you both were staring at each other in a comfortable silence until oikawa couldnt take it anymore. he rose his hand towards you face as if he was about to touch your cheek. it was almost as if a magnet was pulling him towards you, “whats your na—“

the doors swung open to reveal a male servant who had wide eyes but decided to say nothing as he approached you, whispering something into your ear. you nodded your head and he left. “im sorry lord oikawa but i must go. goodbye” you curtsied before entering back into the ballroom in search of your mistress who had decided that she was done for the evening and was ready to go home.

oikawa felt disappointed by your abrupt leave, “i didnt even get to know your name…” his eyes stayed on the door for a moment more hoping that maybe you would come back through them before turning around to look back at the stars, “getting out of your own fate, huh?”

[thefringespod]

Happy #AudioDramaSunday wanderers! Starting off with @tellnotalespod mini ep this week which I'm very late too because I'm terrified of it. I'm actively listening right now and know I will weep. Thanks Leanne for making me cry again 💜

Up next we have @woebegonepod episode 158 which. Made me so fucking feral yall it was so good but it also hurt me incredibly bad I loved it and I will never forgive Dylan for what he's done. Season 14 is so wild already and im loving it. I'm also still relistening to woe.begone and its just as good as the first time. Mikey sounds so young and not nearly as traumatized. I missed that. He's the bear 🐻

I am still making my way through the @podcast-bookclub's Podjam shows! I've listened to 4 so far and they are all so incredible. Starting things off with @working-tidal-pod which is NOT a comedy but IS very fucking good go listen to my friends show go do it now

@thefinderskeeperpod absolutely knocked me out I love it so much already. @madd-vo and @audistorium have made one hell of a show and I cannot wait to hear more of it because gods I'm gnawing on it so much it's so so so fucking good

@spacespeckspod has made a post apocalypse story that doesn't fill me with existential dread (yet <3) I love this group of survivors so much already and want to hear all about them and gods if anything terrible happens I'll sob <3

@theichorousrotpod was the last one I've listened to (so far) and it's another one I'm gnawing on already. I love a fictional mysterious disease and I love hearing what they're doing with it so far. When more is released I WILL become feral I'm so excited

Here on the Fringes I'm getting in recordings for s3 and making my way through rerecording s1 still. I should also have some new commentaries up on patreon.com/pinetreepods for s1 comin soon!

And over on @forgedbondspod we have begun crowdfunding! Crowdfunding means shouting out my cast so if you want to meet the first 5 members of our cast you can head over to our socials now. And if you wanna support the show, you can visit our indiegogo!

That's all for this week! Things are slow and fast all at once over here but I'm excited about everything that's coming up <3

[elibunn]

Hi hello I have been absolutely dying to know what’s up w shimmer (who is not shimmer anymore???) so if you needed an excuse to talk about your guys 👀 pls I’m so so curious

hiii!!! aaah i'm so excited to talk about this garnet's shimmer arc just came to a close last night and i'm VIBRATING ajnbfaslkdjf i'm gonna give you the long story long bc i don't think there's any other way to tell it really so i apologize in advance for this essay i'm sure it's not what you signed up for ;-;

quick TLDR; shimmer was a blight her goddess set on her after breaking her oath approx. 7 years ago in game, and is gone now bc garnet forgave herself and went home to lochton to face the consequences of her actions

garnet and her dad came over from the fire plane and landed in a tiny town on the sword coast called lochton. there, her father worked as a head of the house guard for the lord of the town, and garnet grew up along side the lord's daughter, afvari. their relationship eventually grew from best friends to lovers at some point in their teens, and garnet was eventually appointed to the guard with her father on specific detail to one princess afvari.

approx. 7 years ago in our campaign, there was a break in to kidnap afvari in the middle of the night. garnet, in an attempt to save her and get rid of the kidnappers, accidentally exploded with a burst of fiery anger killing everyone in the room. she was apprehended at the scene and put into custody. in her wait to be tried, fear overtook her and she ran from lochton, fleeing from punishment and fear of death for killing the lord's only daughter. the night she escaped, she went down to the town graveyard and saw shimmer for the first time: a spectral blue fiery form with bright yellow eyes, staring and watching, bearing a haunting resemblance to afvari. shimmer was a blight set on her from her goddess viridi, with whom garnet broke her oath of devotion.

for the next 3 years, garnet ran, taking jobs where she could but never letting anyone get close enough to know about her past, that is until she met marrow and valerius, and eventually a year later the rest of the forshtti guild with goose, grayson, and aegoth, among others. during their time together with the guild and getting closer, shimmer would attack whenever garnet would have that same "overkill" she felt that night she killed afvari. it injured several of her friends and in the end caused her to keep that wall up she had for years.

RECENTLY THOUGH!!! goose had made progress in getting garnet to trust in viridi's plan (he was a cleric of viridi), though not without their fair share of arguments about it. eventually shimmer spawned during a battle again and garnet's current partner valerius (in his pure angel form bastion, it's a long story don't even get me started) saw that unlike every time garnet had described shimmer to him, she didn't look like afvari; it looked like garnet, exactly how she was 7 years ago the night she ran. in talking with valerius, garnet realized the only thing to do to get rid of shimmer was to go back to lochton and make peace with her past, putting aside her grief and moving on as well as answering for her crimes. going back to town, she went to the graveyard and prayed for forgiveness and was confronted with shimmer as she always was, 25 year old garnet, scared and terrified of what she'd done. after a good conversation with her past self and reassuring that it does get better and the pain does go away, they huGGED AND IM CRYING NOW, but shimmer changed into a form of pure white light, the whip from hakim (evil god offering an oath of vengeance) shriveled at garnet's side and she was equipped instead with new armor, the "Breastplate of the Valkyrie."

the last line of the session and of the SEASON was in this moment and it's too good not to share so, directly from our dm: "instinctively, you know the command word, and as it's spoken two wings of radiant crimson light erupt from your back as the valkyrie of the forshtti guild takes flight, finally free of the weight that had grounded her."

adskjfhiua i hope this wasn't too long to read i could talk about it forever it was so so good, my dm did such a good job making this resolution so special. biiiiig chapter in garnet's life is over and i'm so excited to keep playing her with this new chapter ahead of her!!!!!

[briarridgerp]

HURRICANE HAX CRASHES BRIAR RIDGE SUMMER MUSIC FEST

On Sunday afternoon, gale-force winds and torrential rain abruptly brought the Summer Music Fest to a halt. Unfortunately, Kacey Musgraves, as the headlining act, wasn't able to get a flight to Briar Ridge in time, due to the weather. With a hurricane warning issued, first responders swiftly shut down the event, urging everyone to seek immediate shelter at Oakland Elementary and Middle School. Upon arrival, everyone was sent to the gymnasium as their gathering point to wait out the storm. First responders assigned various tasks to volunteers to help keep things organized and to divide up the work needed to make sure everyone stayed safe.

OOC DETAILS

Okay, so here's the thing, this is rp. And therefore we are taking some creative liberties with how realistic this will be. So please keep that in mind. If you have experience with hurricanes and any part of this is wildly unrealistic, please bear with us! lol

With that being said, please do not start hurricane threads or reference the hurricane in threads before Friday, Aug 30th. We're posting now so that people have time to plot in advance, but we also wanted to ensure that everyone had time to start just festival related threads first.

Since it is hurricane season in South Carolina, the town has long set out plans for hurricane warnings and the school has been prepared to be the gathering point in cases like this where large amounts of the Briar Ridge population aren't at home and can't get home easily. Therefore, the school is stocked up on supplies and tools to help secure the building and keep Briar Ridge citizens safe.

If you would like to say that your character was injured in the rush to get to the school, or becomes sick during the time that they are stuck in the school because of getting drenched by the cold rain, please run your idea by the admin team by sending an IM to the main! We can't have everyone incapacitated lol We also ask that you take into consideration your character's task (described in the next point & assigned in the discord server) before deciding on the extent of the injury, so as to avoid making it impossible for them to finish their task (I.e. please don't give your character a broken leg if they're going to have to walk around the whole school boarding up windows lol). Once we have approved your character being sick or injured, please make sure to use appropriate trigger warnings.

Every character will be paired up with one other character and given a task once they arrive at the school. Your character(s) can still interact with other people in the school, but we ask that each pairing give priority to and at least begin their task thread while the event is still ongoing.

These tasks can be as detailed as you would like to make them, we've listed some examples in the server of things your characters could do, but you don't strictly need to do that. If you think of something else within your assigned task category, please feel free to write it out instead!

Your task threads don't have to be long or last throughout the entire time everyone's stuck in the school. This is just a chance to get random characters to interact and hopefully get threads going with new writers!

The festival goers will be stuck at the school for 24 hours from when the hurricane warning was issued (unbeknownst to them of course!). If your character has family members, pets, etc. at home, feel free to include anxiety over their safety in your characters threads, but maybe there's someone else already taking care of them? We don't want to create REAL issues for your characters' loved ones!

After having been at the school for several hours, the electricity will go off at 10pm and won't come back on until mid morning the next day, a few hours before they're all allowed to go back home.

Please feel free to get creative with this! We're excited for this as we think it's a fun opportunity to pair up characters who might not have interacted otherwise even outside of the tasks!

If you have any questions, please direct them to the event channel in the discord server!

[c0smic-dawn]

FLY HIGH | Chapter 3: Pookie Wookie Bear

Summary: (Y/n) is the pride of Gryffindor’s quidditch team, though that may come to an end if her grades keep dropping the way they are now. As a last hope of not being kicked before the new season starts, the Gryffindor starts her search for a tutor. Thus comes in the quiet grumpy Ravenclaw genius, Lee Jihoon. But why would he be willing to help someone he doesn’t know? Simple; to get the ever annoying and energetic (Y/n) off his back.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

A/n: ahaha….okay let me explain why this is so late. I’ve been really busy lately from work and the fact that….IM GOING TO DISNEY IN LIKE TWO DAYS WOOHOOOOOOOOO. I’m also going to be in universal for a day so Harry Potter world, here I come :D. Yeah, I’m sorry for it being so late and the fact there may be another gap between updates due to my vacation but hopefully you guys are happy with this chapter and are excited for the upcoming chapters! Thank you!

TAGLIST: Open @sp1ng @wonwoos-wineparty @expensive-idiot @lirtha97

[imaginespazzi]

Bestie👋 We're back to routine/reality!

Happy 2025 :) How are you? Hope the rest of holidays were great and the new year is treating you well so far. Thought of your blog the other day in DFW 😅. (Sidenote but related, Lou and her family dog just melt my heart). My Xmas recap in brief - overall smooth travel, lots of fam time w eating and drinking too much on a regular basis, had no snow during the break yay, college bball and fb galore on tv, highlight gift was probably getting a helix piercing.

The in case you missed it portion:

https://www.tumblr.com/wintrrliqht/771452732561358849?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/bkristen/771236520640282624?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/ldapper/771237582627618816?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/lexipoo/770893626985365504/go-to-tim-tok?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/paiges-1vur/770939613672030208/the-cutest?source=share

Pleasant tea/lore: 👀 So eyebrows raised at recent stuff people are sharing re Lauren Betts. Also gotta say I feel more and more confident over time re Miles/Westbeld speculation (who Im willing to say are by far the most likable thing about ND).

Welp UConn wins their initial Big East contests and w/ no real injuries, so folks should take that for the time being huh. I def give grace for the games immediately before and after the holiday break tbh. Caught some of Texas/OU last night which was a good watch overall. And Michigan gave UCLA a pretty good run in their matchup new years day. Im so looking forward to Unrivaled starting up soon too! As a Mystics girly, I was especially excited to see Natasha Cloud and Shakira Austin playing together again, but alas Tash got moved to a different club late.

Alrighty thats about everything I can think of 😅 Best,

-☕️

Happy New Year Bestiiiiieeeeeee <3

I'm so good my love, how are you? I'm so glad to hear that you had a good Christmas and here's to a just as good 2025!

Awwww I love your incase you missed it section so much because even I didn't miss it, it's a chance to see my babies being all cutesie and adorable.

Loved the Betts tea and I'm really rooting for it to be true. I am completely sold on Olivia and Maddy and man what an attractive couple they are.

Yeah honestly, it's a blessing to be going through this season relatively injury-free (my poor Yanna bear aside) and that's something we shouldn't take for granted. Oklahoma does not move me at all I fear despite their ranking. Michigan just needs to give Syla a solid secondary player and I think they could make something shake in the next two years.

I was little underwhelmed by the Unrivaled jersey but considering that's literally the only they've disappointed me with, I'm very, very, very excited to watch the league unfold and as a former Storm fan, I'm so excited for the Jewell-Stewie combo again. If it wasn't clear, I will be supporting the Mist! Like my duo and Li-Li, how could I picky anyone else?

[dateamonster]

longass monster high liveblog: season 2 edition lets gooooooo

rule school

very first thought of the new season: i want a doll of clawdeens wereruler armor so bad. also im excited for more worldbuilding lore stuff, and more varied werecreature designs! part of me gets a little irked sometimes that there seems to be disproportionate attention payed to werecreatures and the inner workings of their society over other monster species, but i cannot deny, i love a funny lil furry.

especially this side character bear dude who keeps showing up

rly feels like there should be a clause in were-society for what to do if ur wereruler is a fuckin kid. she should not have to be doing all this.

when she finally gets that armor off its gonna be like rock lee with the weights

i love these cunty old werewolf ladies ngl

damn speedreader clawdeen

that painting of foxford is soo cute clawdeen i loove u

toralei!! toralei HUG!!!!!!!! hug AND a pun!!! shes sososososo cute

oh and shes maaaad that she showed affection where other people can see lol the Dynamic.. it is unfolding before my very eyes..

oh damn the fox guy is a sneaky motherfucker? who could have foreseen this....... granted the whale plushie is unexpected

new witch in town

draculauras gay lil witch friend <333

lol is humans using monster slang a microaggression? much to think about.

im really interested in this developing plotline about draculaura being pressured to be like the model of Good Witchcraft. it works well with her established character and arc of like trying to live up to her fathers reputation and status in the monster world. poor girl never seems to be able to just fucking relax.

skelita! i love that shes trying out witchcraft, and the art-based magic is a fun angle too! i can totally see where this is going tho. drac is super serious about magic because theres all this pressure on her while skelita is just trying it out in a casual way so theyre at odds. its an interesting dilemma because i can def see both sides.

im really happy the writing seems like empathetic to both positions here. skelita deserves to try magic her way on her own terms, but its also totally understandable draculaura would feel protective over witchcraft when any misuse of it is ultimately going to reflect on her since she was the one working to legitimize it. respectability is a double edged sword fr!

play it again clawd

aw clawd is such a sweetiepie mamas boy. i def feel a little bad for him. imagine if ur little sister became the queen of ur entire society and ur just like. hangin out there.

oh were doing a groundhog day? im not a big timeloop plot person but ill try not to be too biased

this is also how me and my roommate act when theres a fly in the house

aw im rly glad they acknowledge that selena had like a whole life in beheme that she had to leave behind when she came home.. idk if theyre planning to actually do anything more substantial with that but yea when you think about its kinda fucked up! they probably had friends and stuff! clawd was *born* there! i get why theyd choose to stay here with their family and all even if they could easily go back, but like, its gotta be sad at times!

ok not bad as a timeloop ep goes. still not my fav but like clawds so cute and its so nice seeing him do stuff with his family <3

thats all for tonight i think! see u next time!!