#and had my first trainwreck of a relationship

[thrill-kill-kult]

I’ve mostly been thinking about this in the context of an AU I created, but I’ve been thinking a lot about Toki’s transition out of his parents’ home and into the real world.

I imagine he left before he was 18 and had to support himself entirely from before that in order to get himself out. And like idk I’m just thinking about the moment when he finally moves out and he’s sitting on a bed that he bought that’s in a room he can call his own, and like he thinks he’s going to be instantly happy and that everything will be perfect, but then he has to reckon with the fact that it isn’t, and now he has to deal with grieving his old life and trying to fit in to a new life he doesn’t really understand and keep himself afloat.

[decemberdreaming]

~~

[nadvs]

the power play (part four)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe is at his best right before a game. His blades hit the ice, cold air fills his lungs, and for the next two hours, he needs to focus on only one thing: winning.

He circles the rink in line with his team, a quick warm-up before the visitors come on. The crowd’s cheers echo across the arena as he rips past the far penalty box, looking through the glass to see if you followed his advice to start coming to games again.

You did. He catches your smile, and his jersey on you, as he races by. He’s sure you’ve been even more chipper lately. If that’s possible.

You’d texted him after you woke up in his bed a few days ago: I bumped into Beck on my way out and he doesn’t approve of our relationship lol

He responded: Told you

He hasn’t heard from Emma, but at least he knows this act he’s putting on with you is affecting her. She wouldn’t have been looking over so much the other night if it wasn’t.

And if she was telling you the truth, that she still likes coming to games, she’s probably in the stands right now, watching him. She must still care, at least a little.

His grip on his stick tightens when he remembers that she left that frat party with another guy. And because the universe has a vendetta against him, he catches her in the spotty crowd, with that same guy’s arm around her.

He grits his teeth, rage rushing through him. He’ll just have to lay it on thicker with you and make it real obvious how much happier he is without her.

════════

“How are things going with you and Rafe?” Lyla asks, gently squeezing your arm as you sit together in the stands.

“Good,” you say, your eyes following Beck as he glides across the ice. You wish you could gush to her about how bothered he seemed to see you leaving Rafe’s room.

“Moving pretty fast if you’re already wearing his jersey,” she chuckles. “He’s nicer than I expected.”

You have to stifle a laugh. In front of Lyla, Rafe managed to come off as kind of a sweetheart.

“There’s a lot more to him than he lets on,” you respond. And you mean it. Although he has an aggressive exterior, you’ve seen glimpses of softness, of depth.

“He treats you well?” she asks.

You smile at her, appreciative that she’s looking out for you, ashamed that you’re lying about what you and Rafe really are.

“He does,” you say.

════════

From the moment the horn signals the start of the game, you tell yourself to watch who you’re meant to be here for – your supposed boyfriend.

Within minutes, it’s not a conscious decision anymore. You can’t take your eyes off of him, even if you tried.

Rafe is in another element. He doesn’t lose focus for a second. He sharply intercepts passes and doesn’t hesitate to throw himself where he needs to go. He’s fearless, giving and taking hits like he’s indestructible.

As you watch him and think about all that’s happened between you since he walked into that study room, you realize he’s not who you thought he was when you met him.

Emma was right about a few things, but the man is nowhere near pathetic. He’s not a trainwreck.

He’s complicated, and he hates it about himself, because the way he looked at you when he called himself fucked up the other night is something you can’t forget.

Near the end of the first period, Rafe is sent to the penalty box for cross-checking. He skates to the box with a scowl and sits on the bench to frustratingly tap his stick against the floor.

Scattered knocks rattle the glass behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see you’re trying to get his attention.

You’re pressing up your phone against the glass to show him a note on your screen, a reminder of his joke from the night at the bar.

Penalty Count is typed at the top, with 1 :( underneath it.

His anger dissipates, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk as his eyes dart up to yours from behind his helmet’s visor.

You’re wearing a bright smile and for the first time since he started playing hockey, he doesn’t entirely hate sitting in the penalty box.

════════

You walk into the study room the next day to see Rafe in his usual seat.

“You’re here already,” you tease, shutting the door behind you.

“You’re late,” he murmurs as he scrolls on his phone.

“No, you’re early.” You settle in your seat. “You must really love my company.”

He scoffs, but doesn’t deny it.

Truthfully, you’ve been looking forward to seeing him again. Even when he’s tightly wound, which is most of the time, you’re starting to enjoy being with Rafe.

You have a suspicion that he’s starting to enjoy being with you, too.

“So…?” you ask, eyes on the novel sitting in front of him. “What’d you think?”

“It was fine,” he says.

“Big deal coming from you,” you say. “Do you like reading yet?”

“No,” Rafe responds abruptly. “This one just wasn’t as boring. Things actually happen.”

“True,” you say, feeling triumphant nonetheless. “Have you checked your grades lately?”

He shakes his head. You pop open his laptop and see that the first essay you worked on together has been graded.

“An A,” you say happily. Rafe doesn’t know the last time he hit an A. He coasts on B’s and C’s and it’s been enough. “That’s amazing. See what happens when you apply yourself?”

“Alright, relax,” he says, although admittedly, telling Coach about this is going to feel really good.

You smile and shrug, then open the folder of essays you’ve worked on together. You tap on the most recent one to see a full page of small paragraphs.

“You liked the book and you wrote a whole page?”

“Didn’t say I liked it,” Rafe clarifies.

You start to look over his work. He usually finds quotes and very obviously pastes their meanings from online study guides, but at least he’s starting to put time and effort into it.

“I can tell you put more work in,” you say. You read over an excerpt near the end.

“There are times in life when the most comfortable thing is to do nothing at all.” Conway says this to the other travelers so they get used to a situation they can't change.

“This part has a lot of potential,” you say, pointing to the paragraph. “The discussion question is about how Conway’s personality affects his quest, so this would be a good point to work from. Can you relate to it?”

“To what?”

“To his adaptability,” you say.

“No.”

“So…” You tap your fingers. “The opposite? You’d say you’re not adaptable?”

He shrugs, guarded and distant.

You gaze at him curiously. You don’t even try to do it, but you do; you tug at his strings, all while smiling at him in that frustratingly pretty way.

“I think you are,” you observe. “You got used to these sessions pretty quickly. You obviously didn’t want to be tutored, and you really didn’t want to read, but you’re doing it. You could’ve been way more stubborn.”

Rafe glances down at the closed book. He never thought of himself that way. He’s always just noticed the flaws, the gaps. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he handles change better than he thought.

The same rush he felt at that frat party hits him. You stared at him in a way that made him think he was seconds away from being seen for who he really is. And you’re doing it again.

“It’s ‘cause you nag so much,” he says dismissively.

“Yeah, but you listen to my nagging,” you laugh. “I’m serious. Give yourself some credit. You could write about it for the reflection portion.”

You direct your attention back to the laptop.

Rafe looks at you again, watching you read, and he realizes that he can’t remember the last time someone pointed out something good about him the way that you just did.

════════

Near the end of the hour, you’re almost done the assignment. You glance at the time, sit up in your cushioned seat, and save the file.

“Try to finish this before the next session and then we can give it a final edit,” you say as you shut the laptop and slide it towards Rafe. “And start the next book if you can. It’s a good one.”

You hand him a paperback.

“I know the championship starts the weekend after next and it’s going to be midterm season,” you continue. “You’re going to be really busy. I’m here to support you, but I’m not writing anything for you.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, already well-versed with your I’m not doing work for you spiel. He turns to put the book in his bag, but you stop him.

“Wait. I have an idea. Can you pretend to read that real quick?” You pull your phone out of your pocket and tap the camera. “Girls post their boyfriends, right?”

After your encounter with Beck in the hallway, you’ve been riding a high. For whatever reason, he cares that you’re with Rafe. It’s given you a sense of power you’ve never felt. And it makes you want to test just how much you can get to him.

“Does it have to be me reading?” Rafe asks flatly.

“Your love for literature is what made me fall for you,” you fawn.

Rafe frowns, but he gives in. He opens the book and pretends to focus on a page, giving you the opportunity to snap a photo that looks candid. You type a heart into the caption and post it to your story.

“I wonder if Beck will watch it,” you murmur. “Or even care.”

“He will. He’s been shootin’ me looks since he saw you leave my room.”

You still.

“How did you not tell me this?” you say.

Rafe scoffs, “You already know he’s jealous.”

You don’t match his confidence, letting out a short hmph as you start to pack up your things.

“He could just be worried about me,” you mumble. “As a friend.”

“What the hell is there to worry about?”

You don’t want to tell him what Beck said, that he called Rafe intense. He would easily clue in that he didn’t mean it as a compliment.

“Not worried,” you say. “Confused. I just… I spent years getting my hopes up over him and I don’t want to keep doing it. I don’t know if he’s jealous, but I want him to think I’ve moved on.”

“For the tenth time, he’s jealous,” Rafe states, swinging his backpack over his shoulder as he stands. “You’re smart. You should know that.”

“Smart?” you beam. “That’s the first nice thing you’ve said about me.”

“And the last,” he says before he steps out of the room. He paces away slower than usual to make sure he hears you laugh.

You finish packing up and check your phone again. It’s satisfying to see that Beck already viewed your story, minutes after you posted it. You never knew a lie could feel this good.

════════

Two nights later, you’re at the campus arena for the last home game before the championship, sitting next to Lyla behind the net. As you expected, it’s harder to get good seats now that more spectators are attending.

The game is in full swing as you chat with your best friend about her upcoming joint birthday party. When you’d first talked about it a couple of months ago, you were excited to go back to her and Beck’s childhood home, which always felt like your childhood home, too, and to see all your old friends from high school.

You remember daydreaming about the party when Lyla had told you about it, and the way you’d wondered if by then, Beck would’ve asked you to be his girlfriend.

The more you’ve distanced yourself, the sadder you are that you hinged so much hope on him. It’s a painful wave every time, remembering the wasted years.

“My mom accidentally spoiled my present,” Lyla says, showing you a photo of a bracelet on her phone with a string of texts from her mother below it, frantically saying that she meant to send that to her dad.

“Oh, no,” you laugh. “It’s really pretty, though.”

“It is. I’m going to pretend I didn’t see it,” she says. “Are you still driving up with us? Or did you want to come with Rafe? My parents would love to meet him.”

“They know?”

Just a few days ago, you were proud of how convincing you’ve been, but the thought of the lie spreading to Lyla and Beck’s parents overshadows any satisfaction, making your stomach cold with guilt.

“My mom asked about you,” she replies. “I told her you’ve been seeing someone. You should bring him.”

Even though this is what you both agreed to, the thought of dragging Rafe to a party and surrounding him with strangers he’s expected to fool feels unfair.

He’d loathe every second. And you’re not sure how well you could lie to the people you grew up with that this brooding, prickly man has stolen your heart.

But not having Rafe with you when Beck’s around is more daunting than ever. You want to look secure. Happy. And it’d feel good for all your high school friends to see how hot your new boyfriend is.

And you should probably stop thinking about Rafe as hot.

“I don’t know,” you reply, looking out at the ice again, unsure if he’ll agree.

“Well, the invitation stands,” she says. “I’m not done vetting him.”

“I’ll see what he says,” you say with a laugh.

The seconds tick closer to the end of the last period. The opponents charge down the ice, a final effort to tie up the game and head into overtime.

Rafe is quick on his skates, ready to take on the charge, but when he gains possession of the puck, an opposing player rapidly checks him from the side.

He slams into the wall and drops to the ground. He’s not doing what he always does; he’s not getting back up, shoving the guy who shoved him.

You’re standing without even realizing you made the effort to, trying to see his face as his teammates and the referee surround him.

“What just happened?” Lyla says.

“Rafe got knocked down,” you answer, not expecting the tremble in your voice. “Really hard.”

Moments later, he stands, keeping his head down as the referee leads him off the ice. The collision was bad enough that he needs to leave. Worry wrings out your insides.

“I hope he’s okay,” she says.

You nod, your heart pounding loud, so loud that you can’t hear anything else going on around you.

════════

You’d normally hang out with Lyla after a game, but you can’t ignore the worry sitting in the pit of your stomach. You tell her you’ll stay at the arena to make sure Rafe is alright, and meet her at her dorm after.

You’re standing outside the double doors that lead into the home team’s block, the volume in the main hall starting to slowly drop as spectators pool out. Every time the doors squeak open, you’re disappointed when you see it’s not him.

When you eventually meet Beck’s eyes, sorrow and happiness cling to you, a confusing mix of all the things he’s made you feel over the years.

“Hey,” you say, your voice thin as he comes through the doors. “Is he okay?”

“He was just getting checked out,” Beck tells you. His eyes drift down for a moment, no doubt noticing Rafe’s jersey on you. “He should be out soon.”

Your eyes widen in relief when you spot Rafe pushing through the door, his duffle bag hanging from his shoulder, his hair damp and messy.

You step towards him and for the first time, the embrace you give him isn’t for show. It’s genuine.

“That guy was an asshole,” you say, your cheek pressed against his chest as he leans over to meet you halfway in the hug. His hand glides over the small of your back. “He didn’t have to slam into you that hard.”

“Stupid’s a bad word, but you can say asshole?” Rafe mumbles.

You snort a laugh and pull back. Rafe notices Beck, the reason you’re touching him like this, watching from behind you.

“Did it hurt?” you ask.

“No,” he lies, his shoulder still throbbing, his pride too loud to silence. “Just came outta nowhere.”

“Did they find anything they’re worried about?” you ask. “A concussion or…?”

Rafe notices that Beck steps away, his lips in a tight line, looking like he just realized he isn’t a part of this conversation, clueless to the fact that it’s only happening because he’s there.

“No,” Rafe answers. He leans a little closer, his gaze sweeping past your shoulder. “He left.”

Your brows pull together in confusion.

“I’m not here for him.”

Rafe stares down at you. Your words, and how simply you said them, tighten the knot in his chest.

He’s still trying to catch up with everything that happened in the last half hour, so the unwelcome confusion of why his legs are suddenly weak, of why an unexpected thrill is consuming him when you look up at him like that, just adds to the chaos in his mind.

“It was nothing,” he finally says.

You take in his tense expression. It’s like he’s in shock that you care so much. You thought by now he knew. Did he think you didn’t mean it when you said you wanted to be friends?

“Okay,” you say. “So, I may have spiralled a little, but in my defense, that was scary. If you were concussed, I really would have to do your work for you.”

Rafe doesn’t understand how you make him smile before he even realizes it’s happening. It’s alarming at this point.

“Good game,” you tell him. “Other than that one part.”

He’s stuck in place as he watches you walk away with his last name draped across your back.

════════

It’s Monday evening and the campus dining hall is growing busier as you finish up your dinner. Your eyes travel over the words in your book, blocking out the noise around you.

When you stand to pack up, you see a figure approach from the corner of your eye. You look up and recognize her. Emma’s friend, Gabby offers a disingenuous smile.

“Hey,” you say, the word coming out like a question.

“Hi,” she replies flatly, not nearly as friendly as she was when you first met her a few weeks ago. She tucks her hair behind her ear, fidgeting before she speaks again. “Are you and Rafe really a thing?”

You can’t imagine she’s asking to satisfy her own curiosity. Emma must want to know, too. And you’re prepared to lie through your teeth.

“Yeah,” you say. “Why?”

“Were you waiting for them to break up or something?” she asks with a chuckle devoid of any real amusement.

You realize she must think you’d had your sights set on Rafe while he was in a relationship, swooping in once he was single.

“I didn’t know they were together until I met you guys,” you say. “And the first time I even talked to him was the day after that.”

“He was begging for her back like, two nights before then,” she reminds you, the implication heavy. You knew this was a risk going into it. You look like his rebound.

“Yeah, but then he met me,” you say with a soft laugh.

“Lucky you,” Gabby scoffs.

Rafe had confided in you about how much it bothered him that his ex’s friends never approved of him. If you weren’t sure you truly cared about him, you are now. Agitation pricks at you. You have no desire to be nice to this girl.

You collect the rest of your things, disinterested in carrying on the conversation. Regardless, you need to play your part, to act careless and confident. But she doesn’t leave.

“How could you want him after what Emma said?” Gabby mutters.

“Most people would say the kind of stuff she did after a messy break-up,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug.

“What does he say about her?”

“He doesn’t bring her up,” you lie.

Every word will get back to Emma. You remind yourself of what Rafe said when you first agreed to do this. Make it look like we’re better off without them.

“He did say once that now he can see what it’s like to actually be happy with someone,” you say, “but that’s it.”

Gabby’s visibly irritated, saying nothing else before she walks away.

You text Rafe the moment she’s out of your sight: Your ex’s friend just asked me how serious our relationship is

He replies almost instantly: What did you say

You tell him that you’re on your way to your dorm room if he wants to talk in person. He tells you he’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

════════

Rafe’s still frustrated that the team’s physical therapist told him he needs to skip practice for the next week, which benches him for the first championship game.

He’s even more frustrated that his shoulder keeps radiating in pain, days after he took that hit on the ice. He’s been hurt countless times before, but an injury has never bothered him for this long. And never right before such an important stretch of games.

So, hearing that something’s going right, that Emma must’ve sent her friend to you to get information, gives him the boost he needed.

You answer your door with the bright smile that’s seemingly always on your face.

“Boyfriend!” you say happily. “Come in.”

He sighs to feign annoyance, but his smile gives him away. He walks into your dorm room and sits in your desk chair.

“So, turns out we’re really good at this,” you tell him, settling on your bed with a bounce. “I ran into Gabby and she was all like, are you really with him? And I was like, yeah, and then she implied that I waited for you guys to break up to swoop in on you.”

“What a joke,” he chuckles.

“And she asked me if you’ve talked about Emma. I said you only said that now you can see what it’s like to actually be happy.”

He flashes an impressed grin. Emma will hate hearing that. After everything she’s done to him, it’s a win to know that this will mess with her.

“I take it that was a good answer?” you ask.

“No shit,” he laughs. He scratches his jaw, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Anything else?”

“Not really.”

Rafe’s stomach twists when your eyes dart away.

“No?” he says, a note of accusation in his tone.

You’d already decided that you wouldn’t echo the cruel things his ex said, how she’d laughed over the fact that he called her in tears. There’s no point in kicking him when he’s down.

But there’s also no point in being dishonest. He’s either great at calling you out on your bullshit or you’re terrible at lying to him or it’s a winning combination of the two.

“She seemed confused that I wanted to date you after I heard what Emma said about you,” you relent. “And before you ask, I already told you I won’t repeat it.”

Rafe stiffens, a palpable shift in his demeanor, his mood turning on a dime right in front of you. You’re used to it by now.

“Just be straight with me,” he says.

“It’s not important,” you reply. “She obviously got her friend to talk to me. That’s what matters.”

Rafe sharply whispers your name, his voice dripping with irritation as he rubs his forehead.

“What?” you sigh.

“I bet whatever she said to you was shit she already said to me before.”

“So, then what’s the point of me saying it?”

“Why are you being like this?” he asks sharply, his face contorted in frustration, his blue eyes hard with anger.

You cross your arms, blinking slowly. You won’t fight his fire with your own. He’s brokenhearted and you know how fragile it feels to be in that state, because you’ve been living in it yourself for far too long.

And you refuse to tell him something that would just hurt and embarrass him.

“You’re done with her, right?” you say. “You don’t need to hang onto her words. It’s for your own good.”

Rafe shakes his head again, knees bouncing as he stares at the floor.

It’s infuriating that you think you know what’s best for him. You have no idea what his fights with Emma were like. He can stomach what she said about him and he hates that you think he can’t. As if he’s weak.

He’s gotten this far in his life without anyone trying to protect him like you are right now, and the last thing he needs is your pity. He’s already had a rough day and the spur to make you feel just as bad as he feels is an impulse he can’t curb.

“Might as well end this, then,” he mutters. “They’re both jealous. We got what we wanted.”

He watches the light leave your eyes, the dissatisfaction bristle over your face. He should have known that someone like you would eventually run out of hope in him. It was inevitable that once you looked too hard, you’d be disappointed.

You pout, exhaling a humorless laugh. His spiteful words are a sucker punch. And you’re sure he knows that.

“End it? Right when it starts working?” you say. You sigh, your shoulders sinking. “Okay. We’ll say it was just a fling that fizzled out. Easy-out clause. Like we agreed.”

Rafe’s lips screw up in discontented annoyance before he storms out of your room, leaving you with an empty feeling you didn’t know he was capable of giving you.

next >

author’s note there will absolutely be grovelling in the next part 🙂‍↕️

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[rainssocks]

in your arms.

pairing: bf!seungcheol x barista!reader

you were stressed after the never ending rush at work, and the movie you watched with seungcheol was initially exciting, thrilling even. until it wasn't. but with him around, everything would be okay.

genre: romance, fluff, established relationship

au: non-idol

warnings: mentions of gore, a little bit of trauma (reader's), fluff, comedy?, cheol babying reader, reader between cheol's legs

word count: 0.86k

a/n: wait my first actual post?? this is kinda crazy... this is probably the only story out of the 4 that i've written that i might have developed enough to be satisfactory... anyw pls enjoy the story hehe

on a cozy rainy night, you and seungcheol had your usual sunday movie date where you two would be all snuggled up on the bed together watching all kinds of shows that gained traction online within that week.

work had been extra tough that day. as a barista, you will always hate the morning rush, and even more so on weekends. weekends sucked, because even lunch hour would be hectic, and your precious break time would be cut short. you'd be forced to be on your feet all day, getting lashed out by picky customers that nitpick at every single thing you do, even if by textbook it was all within reasonable standards. whether it be your attitude, or their coffee being the wrong temperature, or how their name would be spelt wrong, or how you would be moving so slowly when there would be tsunamis of customers crashing the store for a good cup of coffee, and really, all these things had you running on thin patience the entire day. truth be told, your muscles ached like there was no tomorrow and you wished that you had a massage chair that could do miracles to relieve your aches and stresses and body pain and-

a scream. one that yelled bloody murder.

an ear-piercing screech came from the tv. the woman in the movie had been stabbed repetitively by the ghoulish monster that sought nothing but death. there was the dread in her bloodshot eyes with those pathetic tears that flowed down her face. such a scene that was filled with so much gore, was met with sudden silence. you snapped out of the trance you were caught up in.

“oh my god. no.” you thought to yourself. all this was starting to feel a little too familiar.

you had been so lost in your own thoughts and yet so engrossed in the show that you yourself felt the terror shivering throughout your entire body. you turned to hide your face in the crook of seungcheol's neck in fear, clinging onto him for dear life as if you were about to treacherously detach off a zipline and fall to your death. you felt him tense up behind you from your sudden movement of hiding into him. the large muscular arms that once rested on your thighs were now wrapped around your waist. he saw the fear that had enveloped you to find a safe space to seek shelter in written all over your face as he lifted your head to see the tears that fell from being so petrified.

"awh, you poor thing…"

his eyes widened at the realisation of what was happening, and it hit him like a trainwreck of just how exactly you were feeling, and what you have gone through. yet, his face softened at the sight of you being so frightened like a little puppy, which only made him want to baby you more. one hand reached up to your head to ruffle your freshly dried hair, and the other still tightly gripped around your torso, his thumb caressing your back to soothe out the nerves.

you sniffled as you childishly scolded him for ever choosing this film.

"cheollie... why'd you pick this show..." you whined in protest of his film choice, blaming him for ever letting you watch it.

your tears turned into sobs which only became more uncontrollable, and it was like seungcheol could feel his heart breaking along with yours.

in his embrace, your tears soaked his shirt and you felt the low rumble of his chest as he gave you the much needed reassurance to calm you down.

"baby, i would have never picked this show if i had known it was this scary for you. its all because of that darned yoon jeonghan..."

he didn't mention it, but he could feel the guilt creeping into him and eating him inside out. however, that didn't matter much now. he continued to complain about how everything was jeonghan's fault for ever recommending this show to him and how he was verbally bashing jeonghan behind his back. after all, his main priority was to cheer you up.

of course, this silly act in front had you start calming down in almost an instant. seungcheol had turned the tv off to shut out whatever had caused your momentary panicked breakdown, and all that was left was only you, him, the warm blanket that had been kicked off in the moment and the sound of the pattering rain on the windowsill.

this intimate moment was so precious to both of you, even if you hadn't realised it yet.

the nice strong arms that wrapped around you gave the right amount of protection that you needed, the nice smelling man that was rambling on about how dumb his best friend was, and just how secure you felt in his arms.

in the moment, the flash of vulnerability that you showed him only proved one thing. seungcheol loves you and will always be the support pillar that you can always lean on. the night was cold, yet you only felt warm and safe right there in his arms.

[lover-of-mine]

Okay, me and @buckgettingstruck have been going back and forth since yesterday and we have reached enlightenment about bucktommy, and I'm here to share. This isn't an anti post btw, this is us trying to make sense of the relationship in the context of the show.

But imagine you're Tommy. You’ve been closeted for most of your life and you recently came out (yeah, recently, six years is not that long). You left your fiance and decided to come out, but since then most of your relationships — friends and otherwise — have been shallow. For some reason, you don't know how to turn off the instinct to keep people at arm's length.

Suddenly you’re helping your old coworkers rescue your former captain and his wife, and in come Eddie and Buck. 

You hit it off with Eddie. He’s very friendly and you have a lot in common, so you're hanging out with him and trying to get a feel for him. Maybe he’s into guys. Hanging out with him is fun, even if you still can’t find any actual reason to open up to him about your life. You go to fights, you practice Muay Thai, you play basketball. You have fun. 

And then there’s his crazy ass best friend — Buck. 

Buck is spinning out about the two of you hanging out for a few weeks for some reason. You kinda assume there’s something going on with him and Eddie and you try to apologize to the guy. Buck tells you that it's not because he’s jealous of Eddie, it’s because he wants your attention. It throws you for a loop (my attention? You two haven’t really talked since he asked for a tour around Harbor), but your interest is piqued. The guy is hot, and he’s cute in a rambly way so you decide to go for it and it works out in your favor. But in the back of your mind, you know that this dude has some very intense relationship going on with his best friend. You had to bring up Eddie’s kid to get him to warm up to you, after all. But for all you know Eddie is straight, and Buck says he wants your attention. You don’t want anything that serious — breaking off the first engagement was hard enough — and you don’t really have anything to lose by just seeing where this goes. You’ve only been out for six years, so you want to explore. Maybe this could be fun. 

The first date is a bit of a trainwreck, and the dude turns out to be too intense. Somehow Eddie showed up with that girlfriend of his he’s never really talked about, and Buck is spinning out. You decide to cut your losses and go home — even if leaving Buck on the curb was a bit of a dick move. But Buck calls you a few days later. You meet for coffee. He tells you he doesn’t know what he wants, but he wants to try with you. He invites you to Chimney’s bachelor party and his wedding to Buck’s sister as a nice gesture and you figure, what the hell? Why not? Maybe it’s a little much, but he’s trying. 

In your head, you're in a fun, casual relationship because you haven't had the conversation about it being serious. Since Buck doesn’t bring it up or ask you for very much at all, you believe he is on the same page. You keep him at arm’s length so it stays that way — when he talks about almost losing Bobby, the whole Gerrard mess. It’s subconscious, you think, but keep it light and surface level. You don't want something that deep, and he is following your lead. You maybe see each other once a week, considering you both work 24-hour shifts and have chaotic schedules. You go to dinner, you go to the movies, and maybe you make out a little. It's easy and it's fun, and you can stay that way as long as the Buck doesn't push you further. It’s been almost six months now, and beyond venting about Gerrard a few times, he hasn’t even nudged. 

It’s a little weird, though, how Eddie’s always there. And you really like Eddie, honestly, but he’s constantly around. Sometimes it feels like you’re the third wheel here. He’s already there when you arrive for Chimney’s bachelor party, dressed in a suit to match Buck’s and helping set up. Suddenly a few months later you’re being invited to Chris’s Zoom birthday party, where Buck looks just as defeated taking the decorations down as the kid’s father. Buck dislocates his shoulder — you didn’t ask why, and he didn’t volunteer the information — and Eddie is there tucked into the guest chair with a magazine and the shitty hospital coffee, asking about Buck’s recovery and return to work. You do get to stay with him overnight, on his uncomfortable couch and falling asleep as he talks on and on about the corpse he accidentally rented (and alright, why did Buck get mad at him for laughing and not Eddie?). When Buck wakes up with boils the next day it’s not even a question for him to call Eddie. Eddie talks him down a lot better than you could, even if the situation is a bit ridiculous. You don’t miss the way he snaps at you for calling him gross — mentioning your cousin gets shingles is apparently a crime — while he tells Eddie to call his appearance what it is and he’ll believe it’s stress if he says so. But hey, getting boils kinda sucks, and Buck is having a rough go lately, so you move past it. But you don’t miss how Eddie seems to sense that Buck’s picking at his face without looking up from his phone when you’re at the hospital a couple days later because of Hen’s kid. You don’t miss how everyone else gets the good news that he’s going to make it through. Everyone except for you. 

You kinda want what Buck has, if you’re being honest. He found a family at the 118, with really intense people on his six, and you’re hoping that when the relationship runs its course you can stay friends. Maybe you can still keep part of that. Maybe that’s still within reach, even if Buck won’t even show you the text everyone else got. 

Buck goes from zero to a million after that, because he finds out he dated your ex-fiance and his next course of action is to thank you for gay rights and ask you to move in with him.

Up to this point, you thought you were on the same page — light, casual, fun. He didn’t push, but then he shoved you both off a bridge and now you can't ignore the thing that's been in the back of your mind for the last six months. 

Honestly, you have no idea what’s going on with Eddie. The mustache is a choice, and he was doing some funny things with that ring pop back at the hospital, but for all you know, he’s a zero on the Kinsey scale. You know Buck has something going on beneath the surface with how he feels about Eddie, whether he realizes it or not. You knew there was an expiration date on this thing when you started, and you didn’t even mind. You kept it fun and light over the past six months. You kept your distance — maybe a bit too much, considering Abby never came up until now. You hoped maybe you’d get to keep some decent friends once Buck figured his shit out. You knew, even if you tried to ignore it. You tried to enjoy it while it lasted. 

You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t there for a while. Buck, as far as he knew, still knew, was telling the truth. He wanted your attention, your time, you. He’s still figuring everything out, and you thought maybe you had more time. Keeping it casual and slow could only go so far, in the end. 

Buck nudges once, pushes you to consider what it would be like to be in a relationship with him that's serious. He’s talking about living together and you’re panicking a little bit as a thousand scenarios run through your brain, but you can’t see an ending that's not him realizing he has feelings for someone else and leaving you. Another six months, a year, five years — it's all the same. 

You didn’t want to get hurt in this situation, but you will be if you stay. You’ve already hurt people by denying the truth before.

So you tell him — I know how this ends.

You didn’t want to. You never really planned on ending it because you figured he would, but you reached the point where you can't come back. He wants more, and you know that would just end in smoke. Not for him, but for you. 

So you have to break this guy’s heart. And you know if you break this guy’s heart, you’re going to become the villain. You lose the entrance to a family you wanted to be a part of. You lose the friendship you had with Eddie, who is just as goddamn weird and crazy about Buck as Buck is about him. You lose the potential friendship in Buck, in them both, in everyone. There’s only one way out of here now. 

Buck’s somehow still endearing as you end things. You try to nudge him for once, talking about firsts and lasts. He doesn’t get it. You throw in some line a parking spot because the second reserved one Buck got with his loft went to Eddie years ago. You step into the hall, out of Eddie’s shadow, and walk away with nothing.

[see-arcane]

When it comes to the question of 'Would polyamory have saved them?' in terms of Nosferatus (Thoseferatu), the ranking goes like this:

Nosferatu, 1922: Orlok is way too interested in the Hutters, but in like. A weird bug way. All the plague stuff might have been avoided if the Hutters just let him cling ominously to a wall in their house. Maybe give him a little sippy cup of blood once in a while. He mainly just stares at them all night. It's fine. They're fine.

VERDICT: Polyamory would have saved them, if only on paper. Orlok is not their third, but he is there. Staring. No telling if it actually makes him happy as he has no expressions, but it's chill. The rats are just hanging out. The Hutters are very careful with their bread knives. It's fine, it's cool.

Nosferatu the Vampyre, 1979: Everyone's names are Draculafied, but for all intents and purposes, they're filling the same roles as Orlok, Ellen and Thomas of 1922. That said, Orlok (called Dracula) is the saddest wettest most soggy and mournful death-bringing immortal ever put to screen. He undeadifies Thomas (now Jonathan) and begs Ellen (now Mina sorry, 'Lucy') for a scrap of love rather than just blood. Acts like an elementary schooler with a crush. Wanted to collect the full Harker-Hutter duo so so bad, it's the first thing he's wanted in centuries p l e a s e

VERDICT: Polyamory might have saved the three of them specifically, but it'd be hell for everyone else as evidenced by Thomas-Jonathan turning full Nosferatu by the end and riding off to sow more death. The full polycule would have been a tripled plague on the world. But it'd be almost worth it to have all three of them still kicking.

Nosferatu, 2024: Oh man. No. No no no. At best, Orlok introduced the Hutters to the concept of antique BDSM, but the cadaverous bastard himself is a terrible dom. All aggro, no aftercare, no safewords, no acknowledgment of consent beyond some bullshit ~but we have a covenant~ technicalities to coerce both Hutters into a corner. Also, textbook abuser beats in threatening loved ones and assaulting Thomas and Ellen as shows of power. The Hutters deserve a better third, with or without the supernatural super-death plague.

VERDICT: Polyamory might have saved the Hutters if they had a better undead addition to their situation--I recommend Gautier's hedonistic dream-trysting Clarimonde, she'd show them a good time--but with Orlok? Fuck no. He's just in it to plant a flag of 'I'm owed access to you because you pinkie promised as a teenager!!' ownership on Ellen and be weird at Thomas in full 'It's not gay if I'm the top/I will prove I am more Man by making you the Woman' mode. Utter trashfire of a relationship in the works there.

That being said, the very rancidness of that hypothetical throuple is such an enticing gothic trainwreck to envision.

Orlok: "This is my contractually entrapped undead forever-bride, Ellen, and our wife, Thomas." :)

Dracula, wishing he'd stayed home on his end of the Carpathian mountain range: "You mean groom?"

Orlok: "I said what I said." :)

[httpvomitello]

Hey! Would you be willing to write a Draco Malfoy x potter reader where their parents are still alive (no voldy au?) and her parents find out that they are dating? Like Harry, James, and Lilly's reactions and maybe remus and sirius's as well? If not that's okay! Hope you have a great day/night!

OMG YEEEES! I was so happy to write this, you have no idea. My dear Potters, along with Sirius and my husband Remus deserve a beautiful happy ending (to be alive). I hope you like it ~ ♡

Love and War *⁠.⁠✧

Summary: Being Harry Potter’s sister meant that your life was anything but simple. Still, you had managed to keep one secret safe—your relationship with Draco Malfoy. That is, until your parents found. Bringing home your Malfoy boyfriend was bound to be… interesting.

draco malfoy x f!reader

WARNINGS: Marauders AU, no war, everyone is alive and happy (except James for knowing that his little girl is dating a Malfoy).

It wasn’t like you had been planning to tell them.

Not yet, at least.

Maybe after you and Draco had been dating a bit longer. Maybe after you had figured out how to not break into a cold sweat at the idea of your father hexing your boyfriend into the next century. Maybe after you had prepared Draco for exactly how dramatic your family could be.

But the universe clearly had other plans.

Because James Potter had the worst timing in the world.

And now you were standing in the middle of the sitting room, Draco Malfoy beside you, while your father looked at him like he was trying to figure out which hex would do the most damage.

“Excuse me?” James said, staring at you like he had misheard.

You took a deep breath, gripping Draco’s hand a little tighter. “I said… Draco and I are dating.”

The silence was suffocating.

Your mother was the first to react, her eyebrows shooting up as she exchanged a glance with James. “Oh.”

“Oh?” James repeated, his voice going slightly high-pitched. He turned back to you, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You—you’re dating him?”

Draco cleared his throat. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Potter.”

James blinked. Then blinked again. “You hexed my son in third year.”

Draco grimaced. “In my defense, he was being very annoying.”

You elbowed him in the ribs. Not the time, Draco.

James made an indignant noise. “That’s your defense? That’s your defense? Oh, this is fantastic. Just brilliant.” He turned to Sirius, who was sitting on the couch with an expression of pure amusement. “Padfoot, are you hearing this?”

“Oh, loud and clear, Prongs.” Sirius smirked, his gray eyes twinkling. “Honestly, I’m just impressed. Our little girl bagged a Malfoy? Bold move.”

You groaned. “Please don’t say bagged.”

James ignored you, still looking very much like he was going to have an aneurysm. “Lily. Lils. Say something.”

Your mother, who had been silently watching this entire trainwreck unfold, sighed. “I think we should all sit down and talk about this rationally—”

James threw his hands in the air. “Rationally? I am being rational! I am so rational right now!”

Sirius snorted. “Sure, mate.”

“Remus, back me up here!”

The werewolf, who had been calmly sipping his tea throughout this entire ordeal, finally sighed and set his cup down. “Well, James, as much as I understand your… concerns…” He cast a glance at Draco. “I do think Y/N is capable of making her own choices.”

James gaped at him. “You’re okay with this? You’re okay with Lucius Malfoy’s son dating my daughter?”

“I wouldn’t say okay, necessarily,” Remus mused. “But I also don’t think hexing him is the answer.”

James grumbled something under his breath, but he didn’t argue.

Your mother turned to Draco, her expression much softer than your father’s. “Draco, dear, I hope you understand why this is… a bit of a shock.”

Draco, who had remained remarkably composed throughout this entire ordeal, nodded. “I do, Mrs. Potter.” He glanced at James before adding, “And I promise, I care about Y/N. A lot.”

You squeezed his hand, silently thanking him for holding his ground.

James ran a hand through his already messy hair, letting out a long sigh. “You owe me for this, kid,” he muttered, glaring at you.

You grinned. “Love you, Dad.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He groaned. “Merlin help us all.”

If there was one person you had not wanted to find out about your relationship with Draco just yet, it was Harry.

Because unlike your father, who at least had some level of restraint, your brother had a very bad habit of acting first and thinking later.

Which is why, when Harry walked into the sitting room and saw Draco standing there—hand in yours—his reaction was, well… predictable.

He stopped dead in his tracks. His green eyes darted between you and Draco, his brows furrowing. “What’s going on?”

James let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, nothing much, son. Just found out your dear sister is dating Malfoy.”

Harry’s face went blank.

Then he laughed.

Like, actually laughed.

A short, disbelieving chuckle, like he thought this was some kind of joke.

Then he saw your expression.

And the color drained from his face.

“You’re serious?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

Harry turned to Draco, his whole body going tense. “Are you serious?”

Draco exhaled, looking like he was bracing himself for impact. “Yes, Potter. I’m serious.”

The silence was deafening.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Harry was moving.

Draco barely had time to react before your brother was shoving him backward, his hands gripping the front of Draco’s robes.

“Harry!” you gasped, grabbing his arm, but he wasn’t listening.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Harry snapped, his face inches from Draco’s. “Did you forget that you made my life a living hell for years? That you—”

“That was years ago,” you interrupted, yanking at his arm. “People change, Harry!”

Harry scoffed, still glaring at Draco. “Do they?”

Draco—who, to his credit, hadn’t fought back—held his gaze. “Yes.”

Harry let out a sharp breath, his grip tightening for a second before he finally shoved Draco away.

“Why him?” he demanded, turning to you now, his voice laced with disbelief. “Out of everyone, why did it have to be him?”

“Because I love him, Harry!”

The words came out before you could stop them.

And just like that, the whole room went silent.

Harry stared at you, his chest rising and falling quickly.

James ran a hand down his face. “Oh, bloody hell.”

Sirius whistled under his breath. “Well, that’s one way to break the news.”

You ignored them, your eyes locked onto your brother’s. “I love him,” you repeated, your voice quieter but just as firm.

Harry exhaled, his shoulders sagging. He looked at you, then at Draco, then back at you.

And for the first time since walking in, he actually looked at Draco.

Not as an enemy. Not as some childhood rival.

But as a person.

A person who, for some reason, you had chosen.

“…Does he make you happy?” Harry finally asked, his voice gruff.

Your expression softened. “Yeah. He does.”

Harry’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, you thought he was going to start yelling again.

But then he just sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

“I still think you’re an arsehole,” he muttered, glaring at Draco.

Draco smirked slightly. “Likewise, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Lily, who had been watching all of this unfold, clapped her hands together. “Well. That could’ve gone worse.”

James groaned. “This is a nightmare.”

Remus patted his shoulder. “It could be worse. She could’ve brought home a Death Eater.”

James shot him a glare. “Not funny, Moony.”

Sirius grinned. “Oh, come on, Prongs. Look on the bright side—at least she didn’t end up with a Slytherin worse than Malfoy.”

James narrowed his eyes. “And what, exactly, would be worse than Malfoy?”

Sirius shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe someone who actually likes Snape?”

James shuddered. “Ugh. Fair point.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to Harry. “So… we’re good?”

Harry exhaled. “I’m still mad. And I still think you could’ve done way better.”

Draco huffed. “Charming.”

“But,” Harry continued, ignoring him, “if he really makes you happy…” He sighed. “Then I guess I’ll just have to deal with it.”

Your face softened. “Thanks, Harry.”

He grumbled something under his breath before pulling you into a quick hug. “Just… don’t expect me to start inviting him to family Quidditch games anytime soon.”

Draco smirked. “I’d wipe the floor with you, Potter.”

Harry shot him a glare. “Oh, you’re on.”

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

What We Used to Be - Jey Uso x Black!OC

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

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Main Masterlist

This will remain a ONESHOT, no part twos ❤️

April 11th 2017

JaiFelix_WWE

liked by trinity_fatu, sashabankswwe, and 300,000 others

JaiFelix_WWE: If you're not watching Smackdown tonight, what are you doing??!

view all comments

user: dreaming about us being together

trinity_fatu : JAI- JAI 💖

carmellawwe: looking good girl!

jonathanfatu: can u delete this plz! got my wife licking her phone!

↪JaiFelix_WWE: @jonathanfatu LMAO!

Jaiania held her breath as she walked past Josh and his twin brother Jon. She kept her head down, hoping they didn’t notice her walking by them. She absolutely did not want to have a conversation with either of them - especially Josh -. After their failed relationship and trainwreck of a breakup, she would rather play in traffic than have a conversation with him. 

She almost made it past them without being noticed. “Damn girl you just gon walk right past us.” That was Jon. Jaiania forced a smile on her face and turned around to face them. 

“Oh, hey.” She said, keeping her eyes on Jon. “Didn’t see you there.” She shrugged when he gave her a ‘yeah right’ look. Josh crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes when he realized that she was trying her hardest to not look in his direction. 

This is awkward she thought as she rocked back on her heels before pointing in the direction she was walking. 

“I gotta go. Nice seeing you though,” She said to Jon, still ignoring Joshua’s presence. 

She hurried down the hallway feeling their eyes on her. 

Jon turned to his brother once she rounded the corner. “Look at what you did,” He said, smacking Josh on his chest. Josh rolled his eyes. 

“I ain't do shit. Come on, we gotta get ready.”  Josh did not want to hear that bullshit. He was in the wrong just as much as she was but since everyone loved Jaiania he took all the blame. 

Jaiaina groaned as she saw Jon and Josh walking her way a couple of hours later. This must be my lucky day, two times in one night, she thought bitterly. She could normally avoid Jon and Josh but they seemed to be everywhere she was today.

“Congratulations guys.” She said referring to the Smackdown tag team titles they had just won from Chad Gable and Jason Jordan. 

“Thank you, Jai,” Jon said, trying to give her a sweaty hug. She pretended to throw up and moved away from him. “Is your arm okay tho? That rinpost spot looked pretty rough.” 

“I’m totally fine.” Jaiaina lied. “Looked way worse than it actually was.” She said, smiling at him. 

“Yeet!” He said, making Jaiaina roll her eyes. “We goin’ out to celebrate our big win tonight, you in?”  

Jaiaina let her eyes cut over to Josh who thankfully wasn’t looking at her. “Uh. I can’t. I have plans already.” That got Josh’s attention. He looked up from his phone and squinted his eyes at her. He wasn't normally one for gossip but he had heard some things about Jaiaina and another one of their co-workers recently. 

“So the rumors are true huh?” He said with a scoff. “You move on fast.” Jaiaina cut her eyes back over to him and glared. 

“Excuse me?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Josh sucked his teeth and narrowed his eyes at her. “You heard me.” 

Jon let his eyes ping pong between the two of them. He knew he needed to stop them before they became explosive. “Uce, come on. It ain’t worth it. ” Jon said trying to pull his brother along but Josh wasn’t budging. “Josh, stop. Let’s go Uce” 

“Yeah, I think that's a good idea,” Jaiaina said as she rolled her eyes and turned to walk away from them.  6 months of silence and the first thing he said to her is something about some bullshit ass rumors?! Pathetic 

“And then he had the nerve to talk about me moving on too fast,” Jaiaina said to Trinity and Carmella as they sat in the VIP section of a club. “I mean, he broke up with me. What does he care if I moved on or not.” She said as she downed another shot. Carmelle and Trinity shared a look but didn’t say anything.  “And what fucking rumors?!” She turned to her best friends. “Yall heard rumors about me?” She let out a scoff and rolled her eyes when they both nodded. 

“Yeah, but we obviously don't believe it,”  Carmella said. 

“What's the rumor though?” 

Carmella shrugged and sipped her drink. “Something about you and AJ” 

Jaiaina's eyes widened. “AJ STYLES?!” She asked louder than necessary. “Ew, what the fuck. Where did that fucking come from?”

 Carmella sighed. “Okay, here's what I know. Apparently, someone saw you and him  leaving a hotel room together a couple of weeks ago.”

 Jaiaina scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Do these people know that he’s married and I would never do that to Wendy or his children?” She sighed. “And Josh knows that Allen was my mentor during my time in TNA.” 

“Girl you know how Josh is. He’s being an ass because he misses you.” Trinity said and Jaiaina rolled her eyes.  

“Yeah well, he shouldn’t believe rumors about me.” 

“And you miss him too, right?” Trinity questioned. 

Jaiania rolled her eyes. “Of course I miss him, I never said I didn’t.”

“ Do you still love him?” 

Jaiaian took another sip of her drink before answering. “Yes I still love him, but it is extremely obvious that he never did. We break up and the first thing he does is go fuck on one of our coworkers? That’s foul. Now every time I walk past that hoe she got a fucking smirk on her face that I wanna smack off. ” 

Trinity and Carmella found themselves nodding along with Jaiaina’s statement. It was an extremely foul thing for Josh to do. 

“I still don’t know what possessed him to do that. “ 

“I do.” Jaiaina rolled her eyes. “He been wanting to fuck Dasha. Surprised he didn’t do it  while we were dating.” 

Trinity rolled her eyes at her friend. “Josh may have been an asshole but we all know he wouldn’t cheat on you.” 

Jaiaina hummed as she took a sip of her drink. She then eyed her friend. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating with your husband?” 

“Oh, about that.” 

Jai narrowed her eyes at Trinity before letting out a gasp. “You didn’t !” 

“I’m sorry! I know we already planned this girl's night and I didn’t wanna flake on y'all.” 

Jai scoffed and turned towards Carmella who was already looking at her with guilty eyes. 

“I invited  Corey too.” 

Jaiaina had to stop herself from throwing a temper tantrum. “You guys” she whined. “Girls night mean just girls.” She pouted. 

Trinity and Carmella burst into laughter. “We’re sorry! But look, we can have a girl's night once we go back to Florida. Just us.” 

“Fine,” Jaiaina said, still pouting. Just as she was about to take another sip of her drink, Jon, Josh and… Dasha fucking Jackson. Jaiaina scoffed and adverted her eyes from the couple. 

“I’m sorry,” Trin whispered as stood and greeted her husband and Corey purposely ignoring Josh and Dasha. Carmella did the same and Jaiania couldn’t have been more grateful for her friends. 

Don’t let it get to you, Don’t let it get to you. She repeated in her head as Dasha made a point of showing she was Josh’s girl now by placing a kiss on his lips. Once Dasha looked in her direction, Jaiaina stood from her seat and walked over to the bar. The drama was something she did not need nor want tonight. 

She let out a heavy sigh as she leaned against the bar. She had successfully gone months without being in the same space as Josh because it hurt. It hurt to look at him and not be with him. She said some foul things the day they broke up and so did he, but she never expected him to literally go and fuck another woman THE SAME NIGHT. 

“C’mon, you too pretty to be frowning.” Jaiaina had to stop herself from swinging on the slimeball that just slithered his way next to her. She turned her head to the side to face him and he smiled thinking he got her attention. She cringed at the food he had stuck in his teeth. 

“Thank you,” She said referring to the compliment. “But, uh no thanks.” She said referring to his advances. The bartender set down her rum punch, Jaiaina grabbed the drink and tried to walk away but the guy grabbed her arm. 

“Don’t be fucking rude.” He scoffed. “You didn’t even ask me my name.” 

“That’s cause I don’t wanna know your name!” She said, trying to pull her arm out of his grasp. Just from how tight his grip was, she knew she was going to have a bruise. “Let go of me!” 

“Don’t be such a bitch!” He spat at her, Just as Jai was lifting her knee to hit him in his balls, he was forcefully grabbed, which caused him to release her arm. 

“The fuck is you doin’?!”  

Jaiaina let out a gasp as Josh pushed the slimeball down to the ground. By now, more than half of the bar had turned their attention to them. “Don’t put ya’ fucking hands on her like that. Fuck is wrong witchu?!” 

Slimy McSlimerson tried to kick his feet at Josh but Josh sidestepped them and then kicked slimeball in his face, knocking him onto his back. Slimy let out a groan as he started to hold his now broken nose. 

“You alright?” The bartender asked coming around the bar and taking Jai’s arm in his hands, inspecting it. “You want me to call the cops?” 

Josh gently pulled Jaiaina away from the bartender, making him drop her arm. Jaiaina’s eyebrows furrowed together as Josh wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer, tucking her into his side.  “Nah, we good,” Josh said eyeing Slimy on the ground. Josh was tempted to knock Slimy’s teeth down his throat but decided against it as he led Jai out of the club and into the night's cool air. 

Jaiaina said nothing as she let Josh lead her outside. She momentarily allowed herself to lean into his familiar touch before remembering their current situation. “I’m fine now.” She said, taking another step away from him. “You can go back into the bar.” 

“And leave you out here?” He asked. “Bab–Jaiaina, you shaking.” 

“Okay, so send Trin or Mella out here. Go back inside.”  Josh sucked bus teeth and pulled off his black bomber jacket he was wearing and handed it to her. 

“Just take the damn jacket Jai” 

“I don’t want your damn jacket, Joshua. And I damn sure didn’t need your help back there. I had it.”

Josh scoffed and grabbed her arm, making them both look down at the purple bruise that was forming. “Yeah okay.” He snorted. He hated that she was so stubborn. “You can hate me all you want Jaiaina. But if you gon’ wait out here in the damn cold, take the damn jacket.” 

Jaiaina huffed and snatched the jacket out of his hands. “Happy?” She asked with a sarcastic smile and she slid her arms into the jacket. 

“Very.” Just as he said that the side door to the bar opened and her group of friends and Dasha spilled out. Dasha eyed the jacket and then narrowed her eyes at Josh, who was still looking at Jaiaina. 

“Girl! Are you okay?!” Trinity cried out as she and Leah rushed over to their best friend. Jai broke eye contact with Josh and turned her head towards her friends. 

“I’m fine. Just some weirdo who doesn’t understand the meaning of No.”  

Trinity, being the emotional drunk wrapped her arms around Jai’s head and pulled her down, so Jai’s head was resting on her breast. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help you friend.” She whispered as a few tears slipped down her face. Jon and Josh sucked their teeth. 

“Man, Trin get off her.” Jai let out a soft laugh as Jon pulled Trinity away from her. 

“Did I ruin the mood? Or can we go back in?” Jaiaina asked. 

“Hell no! You didn’t ruin the mood! C’mon!” Leah said as she grabbed Trinity’s and Jaiaina’s hands and started to lead them inside. 

“Actually. I’m not in the party spirit anymore… We’re gonna head back to the hotel. Dasha said as she walked over to Josh. Jaiaina hated the way her heart tightened in her chest. Jaiaina watched as Dasha slipped her hand into Josh’s, her fingers curling around his in that intimate, effortless way that people who were in love did. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a bit longer?” Josh asked, his voice soft but laced with that familiar warmth Jaiaina had once loved.

Dasha's hand tightened around his. “I’m sure. Come on, let’s go.” There was a finality to her words that Jaiaina couldn’t ignore.

Jaiaina’s chest tightened. It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t hurt at all.

She and Josh had broken up for a reason—no matter how hard it had been. She told herself she was over it. Jaiaina forced herself to look away from the couple. 

“I think I'm gonna head back too. I forgot I have an early flight to Birmingham in the morning.” 

Birmingham? Josh arched his eyebrow at the mention of Birmingham. He knew there was only one reason why she was going there, which meant she lied to Jon earlier when he asked about her arm. 

Trinity and Leah shot her playful glares, but their smiles quickly softened into teasing hugs. After making Jaiaina promise to hang out once all three of them were in Florida, Jon, Trin, Leah and Corey walked back inside the bar. 

Jaiaina stood there awkwardly. She pulled her phone out of her clutch and ordered an Uber. She could feel Josh and Dasha’s eyes on her. 

“Oh, your jacket,” Dasha said as their Uber pulled up. 

“She can keep it. It’s cold as hell out here Baby.” Baby.. just hearing that Josh had a nickname for Dasha made Jaiaina sick to her stomach.  

“It’s fine..” Jaiaina trailed off as she took the jack off and handed it back to Josh. “I should have brought out my own coat.” 

“Yeah, you should have.” Dasha scoffed and snatched the jacket out of Jai’s hands. 

Be the bigger person Jaiaina thought, don’t beat this bitch’s ass. 

“C’mon man, you ain't have to snatch it,” Josh muttered as he walked towards the Uber. Dasha rolled her eyes and stomped after him. 

“Well, why did you give her your jacket? Could have let the hoe freeze for all I care.” 

Jaiaina gritted her teeth as the door to the Uber slammed shut and they drove away. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the deep breathing exercises her therapist told her to do. Forcing herself to take slow, deliberate breaths in and out. In through the nose, out through the mouth...

It didn’t work. Not this time.

Dasha was so lucky that Jaiaina actually enjoyed her job, cause Jai would have BEEN beat her ass by now. 

Jaiaina’s head had barely hit the pillow before three sharp, rhythmic knocks echoed through the room. Her stomach twisted into knots at the sound of the knocks. 

There was only one person in the whole world that knew three was her safe number. Sighing, she threw the covers off of her, grabbed her pink Versace robe, and opened the door.

“Why did you lie to twin earlier?” Jaiaina blinked. 

What?” she scoffed, a quick laugh escaping her. “What are you talking about?”

“Earlier, Jon asked about your arm. You said you were fine but you not. Why you going to Birmingham in the morning.” 

“What I have going on in my life doesn’t concern you anymore Joshua,” Jaiaina said firmly, trying to shut down the conversation before it could go any further.

“Don’t do that.” He muttered, his eyes never leaving hers. “Don’t act like you weren’t a major part of my life.” 

“I was. Not anymore Joshua. Go back to Dasha and leave me alone.” 

Josh’s jaw tightened as he took a deep breath trying to compose himself. “Look, I know –” 

“No,” Jaiaina said as she started to shake her head. “I’m not doing this with you.” Josh looked confused as she started to close the door in his face, at the last second, he put his foot in between the door and the fame. Jaiaine huffed as he easily overpowered her and gently pushed her away from the door. 

She stomped over to the bed and threw herself down on it, while Josh shut the door behind her and went to sit in the armchair that was placed between the bed and the window. 

“Josh, it's been six months since we last talked. Let’s just go back to that.” 

“I don’t want to. I fucking miss you Jaiaina.” 

Jaiaina laughed making Josh scoff. 

“The hell so funny?” 

“YOU!” She exclaimed as she jumped from the bed and pointed at him. “You think you can just come swoop in like some type of Superman after what you did?! Fuck off, Joshua!” 

“Jai, I know I said some fucked up shit but -” 

“Said?! No nigga. It's about what you did!” She cut him off.  “The fact that you fucked that bitch the same night we broke up was foul as hell Joshua!” 

“Woah!” He called out, jumping to his feet. “I ain't do no shit like that. Fuck is you talking about.” 

Jaiaina let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah okay.” She said mockingly with a roll of her eyes. “The bitch already told anybody who would listen. The same night you walked out of our hotel room, you went to her! And you fucked her.” Jaiaina couldn’t hold it back anymore, the tears that threatened to spill since the bar came flowing down her face.

"Jai, I swear to you, that's ain’t what happened," Josh said, his voice low and urgent. He took a step towards her, but Jaiaina backed away, shaking her head.

“Don’t Joshua. Just leave.” 

“Hell no. I’m not going anywhere. I lost you once, I’m not doing It again.” 

Jaiaina childishly covered her ears. “I’m not listening to any of the bullshit you are spewing tonight Joshua!” She uncovered her ears and narrowed her eyes at Josh. “Okay let's just say, you didn’t have sex with her the same night. You’re still with her now! And don’t deny it, I heard you call her baby.” When Josh didn’t deny it, Jaiaina felt her heart break even more. “Please just go. Go back to your girlfriend and go back to ignoring me.” She whispered as she lowered her eyes to the ground. 

Jaiaina heard him sniffle but she didn’t lift her head to look at him. “I never wanted to hurt you Jai.” Jaiaina didn’t say anything back, she didn’t have anything to say. She was exhausted. She just wanted to go to sleep and forget all about Josh by the morning. 

Josh sighed and started walking towards the door, the silence between them was too much. It was suffocating. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to make things right. But he didn’t know how. With one last glance at Jaiaina, he turned and walked out the door. 

As soon as the door shut, Jaiaina broke down, she covered her mouth with her hand to try and hide her sobs. Outside, Josh leaned against the closed door, his forehead pressed against the cool wood. He could hear Jaiaina's muffled cries through the thin barrier, and each sob felt like a knife twisting in his gut. He wanted nothing more than to burst back in, to take her in his arms and explain everything. But he knew she wouldn't listen, not now.

April 18th 2017

Birmingham, Alabama

Jaiaina knew it was stupid to go through this surgery alone, but WWE provided the best doctors so she knew she was in good hands. 

Waking up from surgery was a feeling she would never get used to. She let out a groan at the dull ache in her right shoulder and immediately she heard someone shh her and place a straw at her lips. The comforting sensation of the water helped clear some of the haze, but as she blinked her eyes open, the shock of who was sitting next to her hit her like a ton of bricks.

“I gotchu, relax.” 

“What are you doing here?” She whispered,  her voice scratchy and weak from the anesthesia.

“Making sure you alright and not alone.” 

“Josh please –” 

He shushed her again. “I broke whatever I had with Dasha off. Imma be truthful and say that yeah, I got with her to fuck with you after I heard the rumor about you and AJ but, I did not have sex with her that same night. To be honest, I never had sex with her, I haven’t had sex with anybody since you.” 

Jaiaina’s jaw dropped open. She didn’t know how to respond to that. She had spent the past six months hating Josh because she thought he was a slimy asshole. She didn’t know how to feel right now. 

“Josh I-”  She started, 

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, Jaiaina,” Josh continued, his voice soft but firm. “Not right away. Aight? I know I messed up, and I know it’s not gonna be easy. But I’m willing to work this out, but only if you want to.”

Jaiaina stared into his eyes, no matter how hard she tried she would never get rid of the love she had for this man. It was a big relief to finally hear the truth about the night that they broke up but he still hurt her by ignoring her for six months. 

“Please.” He whispered. “I always seen you in my life. Always seen you as the mother of my kids. Just give me one more chance.” 

Jaiaina’s breath caught in her throat. This was the most vulnerable she had ever seen him in the three years they had dated. 

“Okay,” She whispered, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “But I swear on everything I love, this is your LAST chance.” 

Josh's face lit up with a mixture of relief and hope. He gently took Jaiaina's hand, careful not to disturb the IV line. “I promise you, I won't mess this up again. I love you too damn much.” 

Jaiaina stared at him for a second before a small smile came across her face. “I love you too.” 

Authors Note: I'm sorry if this sucked 😮‍💨😫

I've had this halfway written for about a year and just decided to say fuck it and finish it. I really do hope you all enjoy it! ❤️

Side Note:

Jaiaina had torn rotator cuff.

Josh definitely bribed and threatened an intern to tell him what was wrong with Jaiaina LOL!

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@southerngirl41 @reci1996 @alyyaanna @li-da-savage @kill-the-artiste

@trashbin-nie @adoreesun @shayaaaaaaa @bebesobrielo @bookuce

@rianasixx @kat3457 @queeny23 @privateeyed95 @cyberdejos2

@justazzi @jstarr86 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @vampygomez @msbigredmachine

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@aikosilo @vibessonvibes @magnificentbouquetmusic @tbmotw @nayys-world

[pico-farad]

I finished season 1 of Vrains and it was cool but I thought it needed about 2 billion more secret identity shenanigans

More Secret Identities AU

extended thoughts below

So I went into a deep dive in my last two posts (1, 2) about all the problems I had with Vrains, and you'd think I didn't enjoy it, but in fact as I was watching, there was a separate, parallel version of Vrains that was playing in my head, a Yugioh I think we were robbed of and which fixes every problem I had with the first season, and that is Secret Identities AU.

Yusaku needs FRIENDS

This is YUGIOH.

This dynamic is everything I wanted from Vrains. Yusaku developing unexpected fondness for these bozos who think he needs a defense squad. I want Miraculous Ladybug levels of secret identity shenanigans. I want Yusaku slapping his duel disk every time Ai tries to blow their cover.

This AU sprung forth from the scene in the duel club where he shows Naoki his decoy deck. Having Yusaku passing as a bad duelist is 1) so funny, but 2) Yusaku needing to maintain his low profile is a useful contrivance for other characters to get more duels, and 3) I think it would be a really fun one-off episode where Yusaku has to duel using his bad deck. When he wins, Naoki is so proud he cries.

Having Yusaku actually have to interact with the other characters in the real world opens up Greek play levels of dramatic irony. The crux of a secret identity story is that every single interaction builds up anticipation, because you the viewer know that the other party is being deceived, and that the tension will snap when the secret is revealed.

I have zero anticipation about Playmaker's identity being revealed, because Aoi would be like "oh.... I guess he goes to my school" and Go would be like "have I seen that guy before?" But SIAU Playmaker? My guy is making friends just so he can betray them. Insane.

Go needs A ROLE IN THE STORY.

I said in my first post that Go isn't a rival or a best friend character. SIAU fixes this by making him both simultaneously.

Having him be the ace of the duel club is a natural replacement for his whole hero of the orphans schtick, while placing him directly the circle of relevance with the other characters. Instead of being disgruntled that the orphans suddenly like Playmaker more than him, he's disgruntled that Naoki and the duel club mooks are fawning over Playmaker -- which is actually just Naoki's character anyway.

I would kill for a big dramatic moment where Go learns that Playmaker and Yusaku are the same person, and even though Go feels betrayed that Yusaku has been deceiving him, he stands by Yusaku anyway because they're friends.

With a secret identity story, every conversation is working on multiple levels because each character is working with asymmetric information. You get these fascinating, layered scenes of two characters talking past each other because they cannot give up their secret.

Which would go especially hard with Go and Yusaku, because Go has legitimate criticisms of Playmaker in canon and Yusaku has legitimate reasoning behind the things he does, and as Go Onizuka and Playmaker they could never come to an understanding on them, but as Go and Yusaku, two friends in duel club, that door becomes open to them.

Aoi needs WRITING THAT ISN'T A TRAINWRECK

I made a whole post on this. Basically every problem would be solved if Akira doesn't know that she's Blue Angel. There's no reason for her to lose grotesquely against Yusaku, or have her basic autonomy called into question constantly. 

Having her actively deceive her brother is delicious. Like I said in my last post, it's so obvious how Akira's overprotectiveness has taken its toll on Aoi, and pushed her into developing this other persona, Blue Angel. I want this absolutely dysfunctional sibling relationship so badly. The Blue Angel vs. Zaizen duel would make me lose my mind.

And a secret identities setting works so well with the potential themes of VRAINS as a stand-in for the internet and Blue Angel as an idol. Give me that Perfect Blue Satoshi Kon good stuff. Give me those themes about identity, and the different lives we live, outward and inward, online and offline.

This also helps Akira's character, because I think he would be much more interesting and relevantly positioned in the story if he stayed a SOL Technologies baddie. SOL Technologies has very little presence in season 1 despite being critical to the story. After Zaizen is replaced by an irrelevant clown, they don't do anything but send out mook AIs to get destroyed. By having a three-way standoff between Yusaku's squad, the Knights of Hanoi, and SOL Technologies, both Hanoi and SOL Technologies become more compelling. They've both got all the reason in the world to want to take down the other. Zaizen vs. Revolver or Spectre? That's good shit.

And don't get me started on how I would turn Revolver into a Secret Identities character.

[lizhly-writes]

hi! here's a bunch of words i wrote when i was supposed to be working!

There were probably better conversations to have on your first date with your fiance than "how are things going with your ex-fiance," but by the fucking gods, Shang Qinghua couldn't think of anything else to say. He was curious! He didn't write Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu as almost married! That must have been a disaster. Shang Qinghua could only imagine the terrible back-and-forth during their engagement. Dissolving the engagement probably would have made it even worse! There was no winning! It was a trainwreck all around!

Ah, but Shang Qinghua should really say something else. Why was his mind so empty today? It wasn't like Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan never talked. They regularly talked, they had overlapping spheres of influence, logistics was sort of an important thing to leadership. What did he and Yue Qingyuan even talk about? Paperwork?

"The weather has been impeccable today," Shang Qinghua said, at the same time Yue Qingyuan said, "How are things with Liu-shidi?"

Shang Qinghua stared at him. Yue Qingyuan stared back.

Wow! That question, straight out of the gate? Weren't their former engagements off limits as a topic of conversation? Weren't they supposed to have small talk first and coincidentally stumble upon it? Was Shang Qinghua showing more restraint than Sect-Leader-To-Be? Really?

"I thought Qiong Ding disciples were supposed to be diplomatic," Shnag Qinghua said.

"I thought my fiance wasn't supposed to make dramatic declarations of love to other men," Yue Qingyuan said.

Haha. Fuck. Fine. That was a point. In all honesty, Shang Qinghua hadn't thought the news would make it off An Ding and Bai Zhan, and even if it had, he hadn't thought Yue Qingyuan would care. Man was obsessed with his Xiao Jiu. Shang Qinghua fully expected Yue Qingyuan to drop all concerns in favor of running after that guy.

Speaking of which. "I'll tell you if you tell me how things are with Shen-shixiong," Shang Qinghua bargained.

Yue Qingyuan winced almost imperceptibly. "I hardly think that's of much interest," he said, like a lying hypocrite.

"Then you don't need to know anything about me and Liu-shidi, right?"

A pause. One. Two. Shang Qinghua watched, fascinated, as Yue Qingyuan's gaze skittered down and back up again.

"It isn't that I mind, if you and Liu-shidi are involved," Yue Qingyuan said. "It's only that I need to know about it."

"Because you're continuing your weird hatesex thing with Shen-shixiong and we need to have matching alibis?" Shang Qinghua said encouragingly.

"I don't have a weird hatesex thing with Shen-shidi," Yue Qingyuan said, which absolutely didn't convince Shang Qinghua that he didn't have a weird hate sex thing with Shen-shidi.

"Of course," Shang Qinghua said

"I don't even know what that means," Yue Qingyuan said.

"Don't worry about it."

"It's not hate."

"So it is sex!" Shang Qinghua didn't say, because a long-buried sense of shame within him reared its head. There was something a little sad, a little desperate, a little hurting in Yue Qingyuan's voice. It's not hate. It wouldn't be, from Yue Qingyuan. But from Shen Qingqiu? It didn't sound like they'd ever really worked out the Qiu Manor thing, so things had to be questionable -- nothing as straightforward as pure love. And if it wasn't love, then Yue Qingyuan had to be wondering. What sort of feelings were tangled in that mess they called a relationship, anyway?

"I'm not in love with Liu-shidi," Shang Qinghua offered as a concession. He contemplated reaching over to pat Yue Qingyuan on the shoulder. You know, as a sympathetic 'that's rough, buddy' gesture between bros. They were currently across from each other, so this seemed logistically difficult, but he could totally walk over if --

"Is it a weird hatesex thing?" Yue Qingyuan said.

Shang Qinghua choked on nothing. Yue Qingyuan smiled, just a little wry.

Yue-shixiong apparently had a sense of humor under all that perfect proper Qiong Ding bullshit!

"This is why we should get married," Shang Qinghua said. "We can have our own weird hatesex thing. It'd make Liu-shidi explode."

[grimsonandclover]

Next Last

Sympathy is a knife.1

or; Broken bones hurt less than broken girls

Stanford!Tashi x tennis player!reader

Song of the post 'Limp - Fiona Apple'

You didn't respect tennis, so why should she respect you? She hated you. The spoiled nepo-baby who's never had to work a day in her life, and yet somehow you've managed to pay your way into NYU and play on the team. Somehow, you managed to beat her last year when Stanford played NYU, and now she's scheduled to play you again at the French Open. You're a goddamnned mess, everyone knows that.

So how are you still so good?

You're a trainwreck self sabotaging in front of the world.

So why does she feel so terrible when you're on the ground, crying like that, clutching your knee? She should be celebrating. But she's not.

SFW

6k words

angst, rivals to ...something? more in part 2 whenever that is, reader's got issues, death of a parent, mommy AND daddy issues, substance abuse by the reader and possible addiction/dependancy, injury, early 2000s NYC socialite treatment, reader is very irresponsible with a DUI (ewww don't do that please), some vomit, panic attacks, some trauma post-parent death, pre-established relationship, cheating, art follows tashi like a lost puppy, suicidal thoughts/depressions, thats a weird order to put those warnings in but oh well, just overall sad times, big sister tashi, reader should get a therapist but instead she parties and plays tennis, best friend patrick

"You're fucking joking." Are the first words Tashi Duncan says when she's told that she's going to compete against you next week. They come out venom-laced and shoot from her lips like daggers. Then, she says them again. "You're fucking joking."

You, the prodigy of NYU that should've been kicked out long ago if not for your pure, unbridled talent (if unbridled talent meant daddy's money, too). You, the daughter of a late, hot-shot Hollywood producer father and triple-divorcee restauranteur mother. You, the younger sister to B-list nepo-baby actress Seline, the older sister to teenage heartthrob boyband member Jonah. You, the tennis star with her name known by people who've never even seen a single match of tennis in their life during the day, and hot-mess socialite with her DUI mugshot from last year plastered on TMZ by night, your name sprinkled over several blind items on Crazy Days And Nights despite your big-name boyfriend. You, the only person comparable in skill to Tashi Duncan. You, who had already beat her once the same week you got that DUI.

Tashi Duncan hated you.

No, hate was too simple of a word. Hate couldn't begin to describe what she felt. It was more akin to revulsion. You were revolting to her. She felt physically sick when she was in the same room as you, which wasn't often. Until now. Now she had to once again share a court with you at the French Open.

For a split second, she considered pulling out. Then, she got her shit together and remembered that she's Tashi Nicole Duncan, and she wouldn't let a mess of a person like you with no respect for the sport make her think like that.

"Art, could you call my coach?"

Her pet-- I mean, her friend did as she asked, handing the phone to her. "What's the earliest you're available tomorrow?"

"You're fucking joking..." Are the first words you say when you're told that you're going to compete against Tashi next week. They come out quiet and tired, slow and disappointed. "She hates me. She hates me and she's going to kill me.

Tashi, the prodigy of Stanford with better grades than you could ever dream of achieving. Tashi, the daughter of a very much alive working-class father and happily married once mother, oldest sister to twins Nathalie and Renee, who are very normal teenage girls still living their normal lives in high school. Tashi, the tennis star every coach wants to get their hands on, with sponsors creaming their pants for her name on their products. Tashi, who's never once been arrested because that's just not a thing well-rounded people do. TMZ has barely ever even heard of her, and nobody's ever anonymously speculated who she's sleeping with. Tashi, the only person comparable in skill to you. Tashi, who looked like she'd rather she was pronounced dead the day before than hear your name announced by the umpire last year.

Tashi Duncan hated you.

It wasn't just your insecure mind making that up, either. She made it blatantly obvious that she did when you went to shake her hand after winning against her. You could still see the laser-hot glare she gave you if you closed your eyes. Feel the iron grip of her soft hands on yours, like she was restraining herself from snapping your wrist. You didn't look forward to seeing those eyes stare holes into your skull until you got a headache, again, next week.

"Maybe I shouldn't go this year. I don't know... I mean, I just recovered from my ankle, and-"

"Don't be ridiculous." Your best friend, Patrick, cut you off, rolling his eyes. "You're not a pussy bitch, you're a tennis player. Act like one."

Despite his choice of words, you knew it came from a good place. The reassuring smile on him reaffirmed that. Patrick seemingly knew what you were capable of better than you did. "You're going to do fine."

Charlie, your boyfriend, patted your shoulder as he passed you to grab a bottle of water, offering no words of comfort past that. He never tried much in that department. Or most departments, it seemed. It's like he thought relationships were like modeling: show up and look pretty, that's all. You were there showering him with praise and words of affirmation when he had a stomach bug during fashion week and was scared he couldn't walk. Charlie reciprocated by patting you on the shoulder while you paced your living room.

Turning to your mom, who was sitting in a chair nearby, didn't do much to help ease your anxiety like Patrick's words did, though. She was on her phone, texting and calling the dozens of people she kept in contact with a day. It took her a minute to realize you were trying to get her attention.

"Oh, Christ, Y/N, you'll be fine." She waved her hand nonchalantly. "You'll win and it'll all be fine. And if you don't, well... maybe she'll feel like you're even. How's that?"

God, your feet were killing you in these chunky platforms. Is that wet patch on your skinny jeans from a spilled drink or are you so drunk you wet yourself on the dancefloor? Where are you, what's the name of this place? Patrick doesn't seem to know, either. You're pretty sure Paris is about two shots away from making out with him, based on the way she's staring at him. Why the fuck did you choose to wear skinny jeans, these are miserable. The sequin dress was right there. Is the music louder than usual? The brights are too light right now-- wait, shit, no, the lights are too bright. Where's Patrick?

You feel bile rise in your throat and shove a girl out of the way so you throw up into the club toilet. It tastes like strawberry and tequila and shit. Someone's banging their fist on the stall door begging to piss, and you can hear moaning and skin slapping in the other stall. Fifty-fifty chance it's Patrick. Twenty-eighty chance it's Patrick and Paris.

You flush, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and stumble out the stall to the sinks. God, you're a mess. You know you started the night with two hoop earrings, where did the other one go? The couple in the stall are so loud, and you can definitely recognize the sound of Patrick now. Mascara is smudgeding and it's making your eyes irritated and water, but you didn't think to use anything waterproof.

You almost trip over yourself and have a repeat of last time (the time you sprained your ankle at 1OAK and couldn't play properly for three weeks) as you approach the stall, knocking on the door. "Patrick," you gag a little as bile threatens to resurface, "Pat we gotta... gotta go. It's..." you pull your phone from your bra, "Fuck, it's three. Amber's gon' fuckin' killllllllll me." Amber being your coach. You wonder how not-hungover you'll be able to act when you see her in three hours.

It takes a couple more bangs on the door for him to stop. You can hear clothes shuffling, some giggling and whispers, and the zip of his fly before the stall door opens. Paris stumbles out with a giggle, adjusting her skirt before announcing that she's gonna go find Kim, and 'good luck with Amber.'

You're barely standing and conscious, but you're not so out of it to not notice how he looks. White residue on his nostril tells all. "You've got coke?"

Patrick steps out of the stall, eyeing a girl at the sink throwing him dirty looks in the mirror before he looks back to you. "You know what I'm going to say to that, Y/N."

"Come on, just enough to keep me up. I'm gonna crash by four."

"No."

"Patrick."

"No."

You huff, leaning back on the counter and crossing your arms. "Fuck you. Since when did you join the morals police?"

"Since last week."

That's not a pleasant reminder. You want to slap him in that moment, even if it was a perfectly reasonable excuse for his sudden reluctance to feed your craving. You were a nightmare to everyone you knew last week. And the week before. You wonder how far back this could go. "Fuck you."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, wiping his nose again and checking himself out in the mirror, adjusting his jacket.

TMZ, oh how you loathe them, has pictures of you leaving the club by the time you're meeting Amber on the rooftop court of your residence. She's livid, as she always seems to be. Like someone shoved a lemon in her mouth and no one told her she could just spit it out. "You're late. You've got the Open in four days and you're fucking late. And hungover."

"It's only two hours."

Your voice is tired and croaking, and you haven't slept longer than two since yesterday. Hungover is a generous diagnosis. You're still drunk. Charlie, who was absent from your all-nighter club hopping, makes sure you don't trip over yourself going up the stairs to the roof before leaving your side to lounge on the pool chairs. Someone texted you "Hey girl, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but..." around the time you made it out of bed, but you deleted the text before you saw any more of it. Your mind wanders to that text when you look at him.

"Two hours, my ass. Christ, I should quit."

Amber threatens leaving you as much as you promise it won't happen again. Like 'yes', 'no', and 'You do this one more time and so help me God I will make sure you can never find a coach again,' are all the basis of her vocabulary. You play and pay too well for her to ever commit to those threats.

Practice goes on until your bones ache and cry for a break. Charlie's fallen asleep with a magazine tucked under his chin. Amber leaves for the poolside cabana and calls her girlfriend while you just lay on the ground, staring at the clouds. The adrenaline starts to wear off, meaning you feel like shit. Your mouth is incredibly dry, the sun is blinding. It's like your body remembered that you're meant to be hungover and is only now catching up. At least it's after practice. Not that you did all that well. You can hear Amber argue with her girlfriend over the phone and it only makes you feel worse about being such a horrible player by showing up late and half-shitfaced. You knew they were going through a rough patch. Least you could do is make her job easier.

Closing your eyes is only temporary relief. You can still hear the cars from the streets below and Amber whisper-yell into the receiver. "I told you already... Wednesday's no good, no... well then tell them to reschedule... Rebecca, it's not like you didn't know what kind of schedule I've got when we started dating..."

It feels like your legs are going to snap when you roll over, hands planted on the hard court ground and you silently beg your muscles to push you up. You're dizzy, the doubled, now tripled vision bringing back the bile from last night/this morning to the base of your throat, but you swallow it down. Over your shoulder, you look at the pool, the sunlight bouncing from the cold water. Amber's on the other side of it, brows furrowed. She sees you watching her and turns around, back facing you.

She turns back around when she hears a splash. You fell face-first into the pool. On purpose. The cool water feels amazing, the sting from hitting the water nothing compared to the ache in your bones that has been there since childhood. You open your eyes, watching your hair billow around you like smoke, the way the sun glimmers on the surface like sparkles, the shadow peering over the ledge. "Oh, god. I'll call you later, Becca. I love you."

When was the last time Charlie said he loved you?

It's so quiet under the water. You wish the bubbles that escape your lips and float above you would carry out everything you hold in your chest. Then you could float like they do.

Like all moments of perfect peace, it doesn't last long. Babies must leave the safety of their mother's womb. People wake up every morning despite wishing to stay in bed and fall back into nothing. Amber reaches into the water and grabs your arm to tug you out and you feel like you could cry. The first wail, the sign of life. Opening your eyes to the sun leaking through blinds, signaling to you it's morning.

Is death truly the only time we have? When you ask Amber, she just frowns and tells you to stop drinking as she dries your hair with a towel.

"Come on, Y/N. Put your back into it!"

The ball barely makes it over the net, bounce, bounce, bouncing down the other side of the court. The racket is heavy in your small hands, but he won't let you put it down yet. "Dad, I can't." You whine.

"What did I say about can'ts?"

You should bite your tongue. Can't's for quitters. "Maybe I am a quitter!"

He stomps across the court, grabbing the collar of your little tennis whites. Despite the action, there's no violence behind it. "No daughter of mine is a quitter."

His voice is low, like he's whispering a secret to you. "You can."

Your collar is let go and your father stands straight. "And you will. Now, do it again like Ronald taught you."

It's Renaud. Grabbing another ball from the basket behind you, you try again. And again. And again. By the time you're done, your arms are sore for days to come and you've got blisters on your feet. He makes you drop out of your preschool Mother's Day dance to practice with Renaud instead. You had the dance down pat, practicing it for weeks.

You only ever started playing because he wanted you to. Maybe five-year-old you should've held your ground more.

Tashi bit the inner skin of her lips, her mother talking casually into her ear through the phone. "And Nathalie, well, you know how she felt about it all. Cried the whole way home."

"Is she alright? Well, clearly not, but..." She zips up the final suitcase on her bed, taking a breath. They were flying out tomorrow, the Open being the day after.

Her mother sighs, nodding her head even though her daughter can't see. "She will be, in time. First heartbreak's going to be pretty tough, poor girl."

A knock on her dorm door pulls Tashi's attention from the call. Looking up, she sees Art peeking in. She holds her finger up, asking him to wait. "Well, let Beetle know that she can call or text me about it anytime. She forgets to check my texts."

"You forget to call."

Tashi huffs. Her mother's right, of course. It's not on purpose, it's just she's constantly go, go, going, her phone often goes forgotten. "Still. I'll pick up whenever she wants me."

Her eyes trail a bird outside her window. It hops across the little ledge, pecking at something on the brick. She wished she had wings. Tashi would just up and fly to her family right now. It's been two months since she last hugged her sisters. Did they forget how she felt? Sometimes, when she can't sleep, Tashi thinks about when they were just little soft fleshy things in bassinets, waking her up at night as they cried in her parent's bedroom. Now, Nathalie was going through her first breakup and Renee was going through some rebellious phase back home.

"You've got your hotel booked for tomorrow?" Tashi asks after a moment, biting her lip again. She can't help it, her worries jump from one subject to another.

"Yes, Tash. I love you, we all love you. We're booked, we're packed, we're ready. I've gotta go finish dinner, have you eaten?"

Tashi hums a response, smiling to herself. "I miss your cooking, mom."

"I miss you. Now, get some rest and I'll see you tomorrow."

When the call ends, Art steps in fully. "Everything with Nat alright?"

She frowns in response, shaking her head and sitting at the edge of the small single in her dorm. The old mattress creaks under her, the weight of dozens like her over the years taking its toll on the springs. "Brodie and her broke up last night at some party. Nat's taking it kinda hard."

He frowns with her and sighs. "I do not miss high school..."

"What'd you come in here for?" Tashi asks after a moment, turning to face him better. She tucks a leg under the other thigh, and Art's eyes catch on the flexing muscle under the warm toffee skin for a moment. Blinking hard, he sits beside her, grabbing one of her pillows to play with. It's a nervous habit of Art's. "It's about her."

When Seline sees the news, she doesn't call. Just sends a text asking if you're alright. Jonah does call, but you don't pick up. You know if you do it'll be like pouring your feelings to a brick wall. And then, when you're done, the brick wall will recite some line from his therapist and ask you for your new dealer's number, and that will be that. Your mother has stopped trying all-together.

Tashi feels a strange sense of pity when Art shows her the headlines, an emotion she doesn't associate with you.

Charlie, mid-grind at the club, decided he no longer liked playing your boyfriend. He forgot to relay that information to you, though. Honest mistake, he assumed you'd gather that when he turned around and stuck his tongue down another girl's throat. Oh, you should've seen the look on your face.

All those unrequited 'I love you's coming back to hit you in the face in a single moment. You had even tossed one on the way here. One that he let hit his turned shoulder and slide off the curve of it like bird shit. Now, here you were, frozen on the dance floor as you watched your boyfriend of a year make it painfully clear how much it all meant to him. Charlie Maddox was known for his looks, never his brain or heart. You tried so desperately to make up for it. You'd rip the beating muscle in your chest out for him and for what?

You've never been good at holding in your emotions. You were the 'wear your heart on your sleeve' kind of gal, much to your dismay. Meaning, you slapped him in the middle of the crowd, screaming something about love and his small dick (it was average), and stormed out of the club only to be met with dozens of paparazzi who were always there waiting for someone to leave. Patrick was just getting another drink at the bar when you left, missing the whole thing. You barely made it five steps out the door, tears streaming down your face, ankles twisting with every step, before taking a detour and puking in the alley behind a dumpster. Pictures were taken of every moment. One guy even ran up and took a picture of the puddle.

Sure he wasn't the best boyfriend, and it was a long time coming, but you weren't exactly in the mental state for such a sudden change in relationship status. You flew to France tomorrow. Amber said no distractions. Here Charlie was, throwing a wrench in everything with his stupid model face and his stupid model lips and his stupid model ego. You think you would've married him if he asked. Have his stupid model babies. Not like he ever would want that with you. How pathetic are you?

You're a hiccuping, sobbing mess. Why'd you take the train here? That club was hardly worth the trip.

It's embarrassing to be sitting on the subway seats, slumped down as you stare at the floor. Not because of your status or who you are, but because... well, just look at the state of you. Your hair is a mess from partying for hours on end, you ripped your heels off your feet the moment you sat down (and they've already been stolen), mascara is running down your cheeks and frankly, you haven't stopped crying. You try to cover your face when you see camera phones curiously life up, some obvious and some not so obvious. The guy next to you gives you the side eye, squinting like he's trying to tell if he recognizes you.

You just want to curl up and die. That girl, the one Charlie practically impregnated through a kiss with his tongue so far down her throat he could probably taste her lunch, looked like Mila Kunis. It wasn't, of course, but she looked like her. Why didn't you look like her? Maybe then he'd stay. He'd try and taste your lunch. Or maybe it wasn't looks. Something that you felt like you had even less control over. You cry a little harder.

If your dad was here he'd have something to say. He'd have some schpiel about life and relationships that you probably wouldn't want to hear anyway, but at least you'd be hearing him. You'd take just about anything. Your phone rings with Patrick's number and you don't pick up. The guy next to you snaps a picture. You wonder if your dealer has anything available. Amber's going to murder you in cold blood. You'd welcome it just about now. The P.A. announces the next stop, and it's not yours, and it would be an hour of walking barefoot across New York to get to your place, but you leave the subway anyway when it comes to a stop. Because that guy kind of stank, and a kid was crying too loudly, and you could hear someone calling someone else to talk about who they just saw on the train, and you just wanted to go home.

The walk was miserable. Your feet hurt and you had to put too much attention for your liking on where you were stepping so you wouldn't get some uncurable disease from the sidewalk. Less people noticed you on the streets, but someone had clearly let the press know what train you were on and they knew if you'd left by foot, they could probably catch up. They did. Now, they had pictures of you crying leaving the club, crying on the New York City subway, and crying walking home. Fantastic. By now you were known more for your tears than your tennis. You'd hail a cab but it was rush hour, and there's no point in even trying then.

You knew it was a fruitless effort asking for them to stop taking picture of you, but you tried anyway. All requests were drowned out by the snapping clicks of the cameras. You were still drunk, and the flashes made your eyes burn and head spin. Your name was being called all around you.

"Need a ride home?" "What happened with Charlie?" "Any news you can share about your sister's latest project?" "Chin up, darling, I can't get your face." "Excited for your match with Tashi Duncan, Y/N?" "Hey, you need some shoes?"

You look over to the guy who just offered you shoes, stopping in your miserable and painful tracks. He's at least wearing socks when he pulls his sneakers off. They're a size or so too big, like clown shoes, but they get the job done. You thank him, and then go back to keeping your head down as you walk. You can already see the headlines.

Your head was spinning so much you didn't know if you could play. You're on the stationary bike to warm up, an hour or so until your match. An hour or so until you face her. You already spent last night with Amber on the practice courts, getting re-used to how the clay changes the speed of the ball, perfecting your strikes as best you can. She offered to take you again, but you were too nauseous to go. That seems to be a constant for you.

Patrick's back in New York. He's got his own tennis career to take care of, but he's sending you texts here and there. Words of encouragement.

"picture her naked or smething"

"actually no dont do that. that wouldnt even work for me"

"make chuck realize what hes missing by winning"

"i just took the fattest shit!!!! oooooh I wanna send you the pic soooo bad. thatll take ur mind off of it"

You had to block his number for a good fifteen minutes just in case. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd done that. That did almost get a laugh out of you if you weren't still so nervous.

Someone was watching on the small TV in the corner of the room, you think it was Rebecca. They're saying it's going to rain tomorrow, but that's all you can understand. So much for those French classes you took for five years straight. You tried to focus on the blurring syllables you once knew as you cycled.

Seline sends you a bouquet of good-luck flowers, but she forgets you're allergic. Jonah forgot altogether that the Open was today, and you don't have it in you to remind your little brother. He's on tour anyway, what could he really do?

Tashi's pacing the practice courts with her coach, Art in the corner talking with her mom as they half-watch her. She's stressed out of her mind. She played and won the Australian Open earlier last year. To win this would already take her halfway to a career Grand Slam. Tashi needed this. To have anyone like you get in the way of that would be unacceptable.

Her coach is doing his best to assure her she'll win. Forget last time, this was it.

"I mean, have you seen her lately?" He said with a scoffed laugh. "Nobody wins an Open like that."

You have. You won the Australian Open, too, a few years ago at 16, and you were equally off the rocks back then. It didn't do much to quell her nerves. "You've put in the work, Tash. You've been training for years, harder than she could ever imagine doing. It's in the bag. All you need to be worrying about is where you're gonna put your Suzanne Lenglin cup."

"It's only the first round. Once you get through the initial nerves, the rest will go by like nothing."

"Right." You said with no real believability. Amber was leaning over the front of the stationary bike and you slowed down your cycling, nearing the end of the warm-up. "Except it's not just the first round."

It's Tashi. It's Charlie. It's Seline, and Jonah, and your mom. It's the first major tournament you've played since...

Since him.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Amber could hear all of it just by looking at you, and she had nothing left to offer but a pitying sigh and a pat on your shoulder. Even Patrick, now unblocked again, had nothing left to offer through the phone.

Nathalie is crying on the couch and Renee is doing her best to console her twin when Tashi returns to the player room, their mother and Art following behind. She starts doing stretches in the middle of the room as she addresses her weeping sister. "Beetle, he isn't worth your tears. You know that."

Tashi's mother wraps warm arms around her twins. "Baby, heartbreak heals. You're left only with the unconditional love you hold for yourself. Let it out."

It was her mantra. Words she'd repeat after all three of the sister's occasional breakups. Time heals all wounds.

Tired legs climb off the bike. You overdid it, and Amber silently panics that the overexertion will affect your playing. The couch facing the door connected to the player's tunnel is plush enough. Thoughts trail off to your family, all of which aren't here to watch you play.

Your mother was in France, too. You asked her to come but she was busy meeting with vendors for her new restaurant. Seline was on set for some blockbuster horror film back home. Jonah, well... maybe you should text him a quick 'hey, just letting you know im about to play one of the biggest tournaments a tennis player can, against the scariest woman I know. wish me luck!' But you don't. And your father. Oh, your father. He might've been the only one out of all of them willing to show up.

That doesn't matter now, though. He won't.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

He won't.

Breathing gets a little harder to do, even though you're sitting.

He won't, he won't, he won't, he can't.

The words are falling out of your mouth now like sand seeping through the cracks in fingers. "He's not here. My dad's not here."

Your wild eyes look up to Amber, whose head whips to you. Her heart drops. Rebecca stops watching the TV. You've been here before.

"Amber, he's not here. He's not here. I can't play, he's not--"

A knock on the door, your name being called by two voices. One tells you to breathe, the other tells you that "they're ready for you."

You can only assume what comes from who as tears blur in your waterline. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

He's not here. The one person in your life that always would be. The one person who promised not to leave.

Tashi threw up after she played you and lost. Tashi Duncan lost.

Stanford Vs. NYU. She should've had it in the bag. It should've been nothing.

Top players lost all the time. It's a fact. Human error, lucky streak for the opponent, off-days. Not for Tashi. Losing to you was a slap in the face. It shook her confidence in herself so bad she didn't know how she'd recover. It was only when she played and won the Australian Open later that year, with you nowhere to be seen, that she got it back.

She spent a weekend learning everything she could about you. A weak moment in her own eyes, but she had to know more about the person who made her crumble. It wasn't hard to do-- researching you. You were in the press constantly, along with the rest of your family.

Your DUI and countless failed relationships, your sister getting thrown out of galas for fighting with other actresses, your brother sleeping with groupies and their tall tales about the ordeal, your mother's countless failed business ventures post-modeling career, and your father. Life and death.

Tashi had found an old interview of yours, done right after your own Australian Open win at 16. You mentioned how he's responsible for it all, pushing you to play since as long as you could remember. How despite his crazy career as one of the big producers in Hollywood, he'd still make time in his schedule to be there for all your games. He was your biggest critic and biggest fan, you said. That you didn't know where you'd be without him in any sense of the word.

When she checked the date of the interview, her heart stopped for a moment. A week before his accident. She even remembers seeing it on the news. How Tashi looked over to her dad as he folded laundry on the couch, watching it with her. "Hollywood producer found dead in major collision in L.A. A break malfunction is the suspected cause."

Maybe that moment, reading that interview on her bed with her father knocking on the door to offer tea, was the first time she saw you more than a mess. More as a hurt, teenage girl. Maybe she forgot it all, though, looking at you now.

You couldn't sit in a car for three months without having a panic attack after it happened. The mere mention of them could even make you spiral. It was after the funeral that you started your infamous 'spiral down the drain'. There was so much paparazzi outside the cemetery gates.

It's the only reason you didn't try to compete in any of the Grand Slam tournaments after winning the Australian at 16. Every time you picked up a racket for the next four years, you heard his nagging voice in your head.

"Come on. Not good enough. Put your goddamn all into it!"

"You're not getting a Grand Slam with this attitude. Do it again."

It was too much to do anything bigger than challengers or school tournaments. Every single one left you teary-eyed in the locker rooms before and after. Amber suggested a therapist several times, but nothing came of it.

You can still see the look of pride on his face after you won the Open. Every time you close your fucking eyes, he's there. Such a rare treat to see him smile, and you did it.

You thought you'd be ready now. You told Amber you're ready. It's been four years, damn it. You're supposed to be over it. What happened to time heals all wounds?

All this time, you thought you were scared of seeing Tashi again after beating her in '06. It's only now, the crowd in your ears as your name is announced, that you realize how wrong you were. He's still there, in the back of your heart. Oh, how that bit of flesh has been carved out over the years of your brief life. How it still beats, after all the shit you've put it through, only to make him proud. Could you ever make him proud again?

The only thing you could hear was your heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

A tennis ball soars over the polyethylene net in a perfect arch. Long-loved Chanel tennis sneakers skid across the clay ground, arm slicing through the tension and humidity in the air. Thwack! The ball is launched back to Tashi Duncan. "Come on. Not good enough."

Then, the hitch of your breath; a sharp intake like more air in your lungs would be the thing to save you.

Sweat drips from your brow to your cheekbone, sliding down like a tear. From the back of your neck down your spine like a chill. Even from this distance, you can see the drops slide down her temples and the slope of her chin. Another crack emanates from her racket. You brace for impact. You see your father behind the net.

The court ground under your feet scraping. The sound of skin ripping open in thousands of tiny cuts, the cccccrrrrrrrrack! of bone. Bone. The gasps of the crowd. The crack of bone. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Then, the only thing anyone can hear is the shriek of your cry.

Next Last

[whosscruffylooking]

Open Arms Chapter One

steve harrington x fem!reader Open Arms Masterlist word count : 6k Rewrite/Character Insert of Stranger Things This chapter takes place during Season 2 Episodes 1-5

~1984~

Chapter Two

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Another day in Hawkins. Another day of high school. Another day stuck in the same small, sleepy town you’ve known for as long as you can remember. It feels like nothing ever changes here, like every day just blurs into the next, predictable and quiet.

Every day, you wake up wishing for some kind of miracle, something that could shake things up, make life a little less ordinary. Something that could turn your world… Upside Down.

“Y/N!” your mom calls out from the kitchen, “Is Steve giving you a ride today?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Mom, seriously…when was the last time Steve drove me to school? He has a girlfriend to pick up now.”

Steve, your best friend since the first grade. To everyone else he was The Reigning King of Hawkins High. To you he was just the boy next door who reigns havoc on your life, makes everything a little more complicated whether you want it or not. 

Your mom hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time you found yourself a boyfriend.”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks.”

She gives a little shrug. “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be nice to be taken out on a date once in a while?”

“Mom,” you sigh, “please take your matchmaking somewhere else.”

She’s not wrong, though. You haven’t let yourself even think about dating anyone else since the last “almost” with Steve. Around a year ago, he’d done something reckless enough to mess up things with Nancy, and she seemed to be getting closer to Jonathan Byers. You had just gotten out of a relationship yourself. 

It happens every time: he messes things up with a girl, or you’re fresh out of a breakup, and suddenly, like clockwork, you’re back in each other’s lives, circling each other. It’s as if you’re both bound to this endless cycle of almosts—falling together just to fall apart again. You know the game by heart, and you’re tired of it, tired of the late nights that never lead to anything real, the unspoken words that hang heavy in the air between you both. But still, you can’t seem to let go.

Nothing ever actually happens. You just end up crashing at each other’s houses, watching movies till you both fall asleep, or driving out to Lover’s Lake to stargaze and rant about your trainwreck love lives. But you both know what it is—and what it isn’t. The truth is, you’re bound by a history no one else could touch. Growing up together, you made the stupid decision of being a lot of each other’s firsts, and you’ve always been the one person who truly gets him. It’s a bond that runs deeper than most things in your life, yet it never seems to go anywhere beyond these stolen moments. And maybe that’s why it hurts the most—knowing he’s always right there but never fully yours.

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At school, you overhear the girls in the hallway whispering about the new guy in town. Though “guy” isn’t the word they use—they’re calling him a real man, with a muscle car to match and actual muscles to back it up. You’ve never been the type to shy away from guys, and you’ve certainly never had any trouble attracting attention. Still, something about the way they talk about him piques your curiosity, though you’d never admit it.

You notice the once-empty locker beside yours is finally in use, a few things tossed inside. You wonder briefly who claimed it. That curiosity doesn’t last long.

“Excuse me, gorgeous, but I think that’s my locker.”

You turn to find the living, breathing embodiment of the girls’ descriptions. Tall, sharp-jawed, with piercing blue eyes, and that effortless, cocky grin. You don’t even have to ask if it’s him.

“Oh—my bad,” you say, stepping aside.

“And what’s your name?” he asks, his smile unwavering.

Who does he remind you of?

“Y/N…” You try to pinpoint it, that nagging sense of familiarity.

He tosses his keys into the locker, eyes still fixed on yours, something almost playful in his gaze.

Then it hits you.

“I’m—”

“Knight Rider?” you say slyly, a smirk playing at your lips. He blushes just a little, caught off guard, and you savor the small victory.

“Well played,” he says, taking your hand into his for a confident but gentle shake.

“That’s just the beginning,” you respond, shutting your locker with a quiet click, eager to keep the mystery between you two alive.

“I hope so. I’m Billy by the way,” he replies, his voice softer now, still slightly in awe of you. There’s something in his eyes—a challenge. And you can tell, he’s baited.

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At lunch, you find yourself walking through the crowded cafeteria, scanning the room for a familiar face. As luck would have it, you bump into Nancy and Steve near the food line.

“Hey,” Steve greets, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity. “What did you think of the new guy? Total douche, right?”

You catch the look on his face, a mix of hope and something else you can’t quite place. It’s clear he’s fishing for your opinion, eager for you to agree with him.

You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual, though you can’t hide the small smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean…” Your voice comes out just a bit higher than usual, betraying your uncertainty. “He’s like the entire cast of The Outsiders wrapped up in one package.” You leave it at that, the playful jab hanging in the air between you three.

Nancy chuckles, gripping her tray closely as she looks between you and Steve. You take the opportunity to point at her, nodding toward Steve. “Looks like your girl might agree with me too.”

Nancy gasps and bursts into laughter. “I don’t know, I guess. He’s not really my type though.”

You smirk, not missing a beat. “That’s so funny, because I’m pretty sure I saw a David Hasselhoff photo in your locker just last week?”

Steve’s face falls slightly, and you catch the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Oh please,” he says, his tone a bit too defensive, “he is not David Hasselhoff.”

“Knight Rider,” Nancy interjects, her eyes darting between you and Steve. You both freeze, caught off guard.

“What?” You ask, happy she sees the resemblance too.

Nancy looks back and forth between you two, realization dawning on her. “He has the car, the curls, and the mus—muscle car.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing her. “You just said the car twice. Sure you didn’t mean another kind of muscle?”

Nancy giggles at your comment, but Steve pushes you playfully, though there’s a layer of something more in his touch—like he’s trying to keep things light but it doesn’t quite feel like it used to.

“Have I told you that I hate you?” Steve mutters under his breath, though it’s more playful than anything else.

You smile, your tone laced with the usual teasing. “All too often.”

But as you both lock eyes, something shifts. It’s not just a playful exchange anymore. The usual banter feels heavy now, the space between you both thick with unspoken words. Steve’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same distance creeping between you two that you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. You quickly look away, forcing the feeling down as Nancy continues to laugh, unaware of the sudden tension lingering.

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You’re walking down the hall, a few steps ahead of Steve, the sounds of lockers slamming and voices all around you fading as the tension between you both hangs in the air. Every time you glance over your shoulder, his gaze is already on you—lingering, just a bit too long.

You both fall into an uneasy silence. It’s not the comfortable quiet you used to share, but something heavier. Something unspoken.

You stop for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’ll see you in class,” you murmur, turning to leave.

But Steve’s voice stops you. “Hey,” he calls softly, his hand brushing yours as he steps into your path. His touch is warm, too warm for something so casual. His fingers linger for a split second before he pulls away, but the moment still sits between you, unresolved.

You look up, meeting his eyes. His usual cocky confidence is gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to say something, anything to break the silence.

“Steve…” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You want to say something that makes it all feel normal again, but the words feel stuck in your throat.

He opens his mouth, hesitates, then shuts it again. “Never mind.” The smile he forces doesn’t reach his eyes again. It’s strained, tight. And suddenly, you can’t look at him anymore.

Turning quickly, you walk past him, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

From down the hall, Nancy watches the exchange, arms folded, leaning against the locker as she observes. There’s no jealousy in her gaze—she’s been there too. She knows the space between two people who care for each other but don’t know how to bridge it. She’s seen it with Jonathan, with the way they get tangled in unspoken words and moments that feel like too much, but too little at the same time. It’s just the way things go sometimes.

───⋆｡°✩🕰️✩°｡⋆───

*Flashback*

2 years ago

It’s a Friday afternoon, and the hallways of Hawkins High are quieter than usual. Most of the students have gone home, leaving the echoes of footsteps and lockers slamming shut. You and Steve are walking side by side, the familiar warmth of his presence at your side like it always has been—comforting, easy.

You laugh as Steve pulls an exaggerated face, trying to get you to laugh at his antics as he mimics one of the teachers. You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile spreading across your face.

“You’re such an idiot,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

He bumps you back, almost knocking you into the lockers. “You love me for it,” he smirks, and there’s a hint of something else in his gaze, something unspoken that lingers between you, like a question neither of you has the courage to ask.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no denying the way your heart skips. “Yeah, maybe,” you say, trying to brush it off. But you both know that maybe means something more.

You reach the end of the hallway, your steps slowing as the moment stretches, neither of you wanting to be the first to turn back, to end this rare, quiet time between just the two of you.

He glances over at you, his steps slowing, his voice quieter when he speaks again. “Hey, so… Bryan still around?”

You stop walking, surprised by the question, but it’s Steve, and it’s always been easy with him. “No,” you reply, shaking your head. “He’s out of the picture.”

Steve’s expression softens, a slight smile playing on his lips as if the weight of something between you two has been lifted. “Good. He never really seemed like the right guy for you.”

Your breath catches slightly at the unexpected warmth in his words, but you don’t let it show. “Yeah, well… sometimes you don’t really see things until it’s too late.”

Steve nods, looking down for a moment as if he’s trying to decide something. He looks back up at you, his usual carefree grin returning. “Well, if you’re not busy tonight, you wanna come over to my place? We can grab some takeout, watch movies… you know, normal hangout stuff.”

There’s something in his invitation that feels different this time, but you brush it off. It’s Steve. He always invites you over. You’ve done it a million times before—movies, pizza, talking about everything and nothing. It’s what you do.

“Yeah,” you agree, “sounds good.”

Steve’s eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes, his expression shifting. You feel your stomach flutter, the air between you thickening as the playful banter dies down.

You find yourself leaning in, just a bit, and you see Steve’s breath catch, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours.

But before you can get any closer, a loud bang from down the hall makes both of you snap apart like you’ve been caught.

You both step back, instantly awkward, eyes darting everywhere except at each other. The spell breaks, but the tension still lingers, heavy in the air. You glance at Steve, and his expression is unreadable—like he’s trying to hide something, or maybe it’s you who’s hiding it.

You break the silence first, a half-laugh escaping your lips. “Well… that was close.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed but also relieved. “Yeah, totally. We’re just—uh, messing around, right?”

You nod, trying to brush it off, but your heart is racing, and you know he feels it too. “Right. Just messing around.”

But neither of you says anything more. You both head in opposite directions down the hallway, still feeling the echo of what almost happened, both of you wondering if the other is thinking about it too.

───⋆｡°✩🕰️✩°｡⋆───

At last, it’s the day of the party. You’ve spent longer than you’d like to admit getting ready, but you’re finally happy with your look. Blue bell-bottom jeans, a tight orange top with a center zip that falls just below the line of modesty—it’s bold, but you feel good in it. Confident, even.

You arrive at the party, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside you. The music pulses through the house, and people are scattered, laughing and talking, their faces blurry in the haze of a dimly lit room. As much as you try to act like you don’t care, the anxiety creeps in. Funny how someone so confident can still feel out of place in a crowd.

You push through, trying to find your core group, but as you weave through the bodies, there’s really only one person you’re looking for. Steve. The one person who has always had a way of making you feel like you belong.

On your way through the crowd, you bump into Jonathan Byers. Another one of your longtime friends. You’ve all grown up together in Hawkins, so you’ve seen each other through the years—some friendships stronger than others, but still, it’s hard to forget those familiar faces.

“Jonathan!” you call out with a smile, pulling him into a quick hug. “Loving the look, very you.” You nod at his usual, low-key style—flannel and jeans. He’s always been the quiet, thoughtful one in the group, and you just want him to feel good about his understated vibe.

“I like… your shirt,” he says, his words trailing off awkwardly.

Well, at least your shirt is doing what you intended it to. Maybe just not with the target audience.

“Looking for Nancy?” you ask, hoping he’ll pick up the conversation.

“Yeah,” Jonathan responds, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I don’t really associate with anyone else here.”

You put on a mock-offended face, “Ouch.”

He immediately backpedals, realizing how it sounded. “I mean, you were gone for a while. We kinda lost touch.” His gaze drops a little, clearly uncomfortable, referring to the time when your parents separated again, and you spent some months with your mom in California. It had been a rough time for you, especially being away from Steve. You’re still not sure how you survived that.

“Well, I’m back now,” you say, brushing off the past. “Come on, join me. I’m on a mission to find Steve and Nancy.”

Jonathan nods, grateful for the company. “Alright, lead the way.”

And there he is, leaning against the wall by the kitchen, laughing at something someone said, a bottle of beer loosely held in his hand. He’s effortlessly cool as usual, but there’s something different tonight. Maybe it’s the way his eyes flicker over to Nancy every now and then, or the tightness in his posture that betrays the casual air he’s trying to maintain.

Nancy stands next to him, arms crossed, her jaw clenched in that familiar way when she’s upset—though it’s hard to say if it’s the alcohol or something else that’s fueling her frustration tonight. She’s leaning a little too heavily on the counter, her face flushed, the words she’s muttering barely audible over the noise of the party.

Steve’s smile is gone now, replaced by a more serious expression. He’s trying to keep things light, but it’s clear she’s not having it. 

As you and Jonathan walk toward the kitchen, you spot Steve and Nancy in their little world, tucked away by the counter. You can hear the edge in Nancy’s voice, even from a distance, though you can’t make out the words. Jonathan follows your gaze, his brow furrowing. You can’t blame him for looking the way he does—he’s been around long enough to know the dance between Steve and Nancy.

“Is she okay?” you ask, your voice quiet, though it feels more like an automatic question than one you really expect an answer to. You’ve seen enough of this cycle to know the routine.

Jonathan glances over, shaking his head just slightly. “I don’t think so,” he says, a rare seriousness in his tone. “But you know Nancy. She’ll push through.”

You feel the knot in your stomach tighten as you watch Steve’s stance shift, his body leaning toward Nancy as if trying to reach her without crowding her, trying to give her space but also not let her slip too far away. There’s something fragile in the air, something more than just the tension between them. It’s like Steve’s holding on by a thread, and maybe Nancy is, too, but neither of them wants to admit it.

“You should probably go talk to them,” Jonathan says, glancing at you. He doesn’t know what to say either, but it’s obvious that Steve’s been trying to manage things on his own. You could step in—or let him handle it.

You glance at Jonathan again, silently debating what to do. Jonathan nudges you gently with his elbow. “You good?” he asks. You nod, taking a step forward, your voice hesitant but warm. “Hey, guys, what’s going on?” you ask, trying to break through the tension without adding to it.

Nancy shoots you a sharp look before turning away, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He’s got that defeated, yet resigned, look on his face as he exhales deeply. He’s trying to hide it, but the frustration is written all over him.

“Just the usual,” Steve says with a small, forced smile, looking at you.

Nancy, still with her arms crossed, shoots you a look that says more than her words do. It’s not that she’s mad at you; it’s just that she doesn’t want to be the center of attention right now. She’s not ready to have the conversation.

Jonathan stands by you, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to say something. You don’t know what the right thing is. The silence in the room is thick now.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” Nancy slurs, her words trailing off as she pushes past Steve, who’s still trying to calm her down.

“Please don’t,” Steve says, his voice low and frustrated, but he’s too late. He sighs and chases after her, leaving you standing alone for the moment.

Not long after, a voice you’re starting to recognize from the past few days calls out from behind you.

“So if I’m Knight Rider, then who does that make you?” Billy’s voice is smooth, cocky, and unmistakable. He’s standing just a few feet away now, that grin still plastered on his face.

You turn to meet his gaze, letting a playful smile tug at the corners of your lips. You raise an eyebrow, a silent challenge in your eyes. “You’ll have to learn more about me to find out.”

He steps a little closer, eyes narrowing with amusement. “When?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a split second, you feel that old rush of excitement—the thrill of the unknown. Remembering your mom’s less-than-subtle hints this morning, you decide to play along.

“How about Wednesday night? We can go see the new Terminator movie. You look like someone who appreciates a little Arnold Schwarzenegger,” you say, testing the waters, letting a hint of flirtation slip into your voice.

Billy doesn’t hesitate, that confident grin of his widening. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up. And…I’ve been to the gym Arnold works out in.” 

You raise your hand to stop him, a slight smirk on your face. “Right…I’m sure you have. Also, I’ve seen how you drive your car. Maybe I’ll meet you there,” you tease, enjoying the playful banter.

He chuckles, stepping back, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. “I’ll go nice and slow just for you.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, the tension between you both shifting into something lighter, something you haven’t felt in a while. But as you look past him, your eyes flicker briefly to Steve, catching him trying to pry the solo cup out of Nancy’s hand. Just as the music halts, that red solo cup and the red mystery punch within it spills all over Nancy’s white shirt. 

Her face is in complete disbelief, she sways back and forth her reaction clearly slowed down by her alcohol intake.

“Screw you.” 

Jonathan follows her quickly into the bathroom. 

“You know,” Billy starts again, “Rumor has it that you and Harrington have quite the colorful history? Why is it that you two aren’t prom king and queen this year?” 

Something in Billy’s tone instantly makes you second-guess your plans for Wednesday. His fading smirk tells you he’s noticed the flash of disdain on your face.

“What does it matter if you’re the one taking me on a date Wednesday?” you say, your voice edged with a warning. You’re feeling oddly protective over you and Harrington’s history, a past that’s none of Billy’s business.

Billy raises an eyebrow, caught off guard but intrigued. “Fair enough,” he replies, but the cocky glint in his eyes lingers, as if he’s still sizing up the situation.

Shortly after, you spot Steve storming out of the bathroom alone, Nancy nowhere in sight. His expression is tense as he heads straight for the drink station, a familiar frustration in his stride. You catch a glimpse of Jonathan making his way toward Nancy, so you turn to Billy with a polite excuse and make your way over to Steve.

“Hey, you don’t need to be drinking any more right now,” you say, noticing that Steve has downed two cups of punch in the short walk it took to reach him.

“I’ve got a pretty damn good reason to,” he mutters, his jaw tight as he opens a beer.

“Steve, you don’t have to tell me what happened, but at least think about the fact that you still have to drive home,” you warn, trying to keep your tone light.

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “You can drive me.”

“I never volunteered for that,” you reply, crossing your arms.

For a moment, he looks at you, really looks at you, and you can tell he’s realizing that things are different. You’re not just there to pick up his pieces anymore. You have your own life to live tonight—a party to enjoy, and maybe even boys to dance with. The weight of another round of Steve-and-Nancy drama? That’s not something you’re willing to carry this time.

“You’re right,” Steve says, setting the beer down with a sigh. “I’ll just go sit out on the porch and sober up a bit. Then I’ll head out. And I wanna make sure Nancy gets home safe.”

You give his arm a quick squeeze, silently admiring that, even in the middle of an argument, he’s still looking out for her. That is… until his gaze drifts to the front door, where he sees Jonathan helping a barely-standing Nancy out to his car.

Crap.

“Go sit on the porch. I’ll be right there,” you say quickly, hinting you’ll handle it. You rush outside to catch up with Jonathan. “You know how this looks, right?”

Jonathan gives a solemn nod. “She asked me.”

Nancy lifts her head slightly, her words slurred and muddled. “I don’t want… Steve to take me home. Not Steve. I want to see Barb’s parents. Take me to Barb’s house.”

You pause, taken aback. “Barb’s parents? Why do you want to see Barb’s parents right now?”

Jonathan stiffens, worry flickering in his eyes. “Uh, I really think I should get her home now. Maybe check on Steve too.”

Without another word, they’re off, leaving you standing in the night with a sense of unease. You know Barbara Holland was Nancy’s best friend, missing since last year. But why would she bring that up now? And why with such urgency?

You find Steve out back, leaning against the porch railing, eyes glazed with frustration and a hint of sadness.

“Steve…why would Nancy want to see Barb’s parents tonight?”

He shakes his head slowly, the alcohol clearly loosening his grip on restraint. “God, I wish I could tell you everything right now. It would make things so much easier. You’re my best friend. I tell you everything. But for the past year, I’ve been keeping so many secrets from you.”

A pit forms in your stomach. “What do you mean, Steve?”

He looks at you, eyes haunted, and whispers, “If I told you, you’d die.”

You laugh nervously, trying to shake the unease settling over you. “C’mon, it can’t be that serious.”

“There’s stuff going on around here that you have no clue about.” He reaches up, gently brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering a second longer than they should. Your heart skips, half hoping this is just the alcohol, half hoping it’s not. He always does this, walks that fine line.

His voice cracks slightly as he murmurs, “I just want to keep you safe.”

In that moment, you realize it’s not just words—it’s a plea, and you can feel the weight of something dark lurking just beyond his gaze, something he desperately wants to shield you from. 

You give Steve a gentle pinch, trying to ground him. “I’m safe, Steve. I’m right here, see?”

But he only shakes his head, eyes dark with something close to dread. “Here is where it’s least safe. Those things… they’re out there.”

A chill runs down your spine. “What things, Steve?” You search his face, recognizing the unmistakable truth behind his words.

He just looks away, jaw clenched. Instinctively, your mind flashes back to last year, the disappearances of Will Byers and Barb. Then Nancy and Jonathan, vanishing for days without a word. Everyone assumed Jonathan had to hold things together while Joyce spiraled, refusing to believe her son was dead. There was even a funeral, and she still wouldn’t admit it. Then, against all logic, Will came back with no real explanation.

You remember Steve acting strangely after everything went down. He kept trying to make peace with Jonathan over the fight they got into outside the movie theater, but he dodged every question you asked about the night he went to Jonathan’s house, laughing nervously or changing the subject so fast it left you spinning. Then there was the night you found a bat in the trunk of his car—nails hammered into it like some kind of makeshift weapon. When you questioned him, he just shrugged it off, calling it a “guy thing,” and you let it go, though every instinct told you there was more to the story.

Whenever you pushed for answers, Steve would wave it off, teasing you about reading too many mysteries and spending too much time theorizing. But seeing the fear in his eyes now, the weight he’s carrying, it hits you like a punch: you were right to question everything. And he knows it, too.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You drive Steve’s car back to his house, figuring you’ll pick up your mom’s in the morning. One night won’t matter.

Helping him up to his room, you can’t shake the strange coincidences piling up around Hawkins.

“I missed this,” he mumbles, settling onto his bed.

“What?”

“You… in my room,” he says softly, grabbing your hand. “Stay tonight. Don’t leave.”

“You have a girlfriend, Steve. I don’t stay over when you have a girlfriend.”

He sighs, eyes full of something almost desperate. “What kind of girlfriend says she isn’t really in love with you?”

You freeze. “I’m sorry—what?”

“She said we’re just… acting like we’re in love,” he says, voice rough with frustration and something else.

You can see it—the hurt he’s tried to bury, the way he’s tried so hard to be enough for someone. To finally feel wanted.

His arms slip around your waist, his head resting against your stomach, and you feel his shoulders shake. Silent tears he doesn’t want you to see.

“Hey, hey… She was drunk, okay? Everyone says stupid things when they’re drunk. Talk to her tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“She meant it,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

You gently push him back onto the bed, pulling the covers over him. “You’ve got a long day tomorrow, Steve. Get some rest, and we’ll figure out the Nancy thing together.”

You hate to leave him like this, but you know it’s the right thing to do. So, once again, you walk away, leaving your best friend alone with his heartbreak and the last traces of alcohol on his breath. Another turn in the endless cycle that is your friendship—always there for him, even as it pulls you back into the same, unbroken loop.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The next day, Billy and Steve square off on the basketball court, the air thick with tension. Billy’s been taunting him non-stop, poking at Steve’s so-called “King Steve” reputation like it’s a worn-out joke. But Steve keeps his cool, mostly.

Until Billy casually drops your name.

“So tell me, Harrington,” Billy sneers with a smirk, “what made you go for the Wheeler girl over Y/N?”

Steve feels the muscles in his jaw clench, but he doesn’t take the bait. He knows better than to react. But Billy’s not done. He moves closer, a low chuckle escaping as he continues, “I mean, the King and the Princess of Hawkins High—cute match and all. But damn, man, have you seen the hips on her? Perfect for holding onto. Word is you already took her for a test drive, too. So I gotta wonder… why didn’t you ever claim her? Or maybe you just weren’t man enough?”

Steve’s control snaps. He shoves Billy hard, fire in his eyes as he stands inches from him, fists clenched. “Say one more thing about her. I dare you.”

Billy laughs, clearly enjoying himself, but there’s an edge to Steve’s stance, a fierce protectiveness that makes even Billy pause. Steve glares, his voice low and dangerous. “Y/N’s worth more than someone like you will ever know. So keep her name out of your mouth, or you’ll regret it.”

Right on cue, Nancy’s soft voice cuts through the tension. “Steve?” She stands just a few feet away, looking pale and uneasy, clearly having seen the entire thing unfold.

Billy smirks, throwing a last taunt over his shoulder. “Good luck, Harrington.” He saunters off, leaving Steve standing there, fists still clenched, his heart pounding.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

“Y/N!” your mom calls from downstairs. “Steve is here!”

Steve coming through the front door? That’s unusual—he’s always climbed the vines up to your window. You quickly spray a bit of perfume, fix your hair, then catch yourself in the mirror. Why are you even putting in effort for him?

When you come down, your mom throws you an excited smile, her back to Steve so he can’t see. She’s still holding onto that hope she’s had since first grade that you and Steve would end up together.

And then there he is, standing in the entryway with a bouquet of sunflowers—your favorite. Your heart stumbles as you take in every inch of him. For a brief second, you let yourself imagine you’re the only girl he brings flowers to. But realistically, he’s probably just coming from Nancy’s or on his way there next.

He hands you the flowers, his gaze lingering. “Thank you for everything.”

“It’s no big deal,” you say, trying to steady your voice.

“Well, I should get going,” he says, and your heart sinks. That’s it? 

“But, uh, make sure to open your window. There’s a nice breeze out tonight,” he adds with a wink. You bite back a smile, catching on.

You say your goodbyes and dash up the stairs, ignoring your mom’s questions as Steve leaves. You open your window, sitting on your bed, waiting for him like you have a hundred times before. Somehow, after all these years, the excitement still feels brand new.

“Miss me?” He slips through the window, quietly so your mom doesn’t hear, and makes himself at home. He turns on your record player, the soft hum of music filling the room, then joins you on the bed.

He stares down at his hands. “I’m sorry for the position I put you in last night. It wasn’t fair, and you deserve better.”

You try to catch his gaze, but he’s clearly embarrassed. “That’s what best friends are for,” you say, hoping to ease his guilt.

You bite your tongue, unsure whether to bring up what he shared last night—but you’ve never hidden things from each other, and you don’t want to start now. “You told me about Nancy… how she said it felt like you were just acting in love.”

He sighs, defeated. “Yeah. I confronted her about it today. Asked if she could say she loved me, and she couldn’t.”

Your heart aches for him. “I’m sorry, Steve. Maybe she’s just… having a moment. A lot’s happened this year.”

The silence hangs between you for a moment, heavy with unsaid words.

“I’m gonna bring her flowers after this. I don’t think it’ll change anything, but she deserves an apology for everything I put her through,” he finally says, breaking the quiet. You smile, resting your hand on his knee. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He looks down at your hand on his knee, his fingers hovering for a moment before he covers it with his own. His expression softens, a hint of something he quickly tries to hide, but you can see it—a sadness mixed with a reluctant acceptance, like he knows exactly what all of this means.

He lets out a quiet sigh, staring at your intertwined hands. There’s a heaviness in his eyes. Like even if things with Nancy are ending, there’s something between you and him that’s never quite let go.

His fingers tighten around yours, just for a second, before he releases your hand and gives you a small, bittersweet smile.

“You should go,” you whisper. You don’t want him to. But he needs to. 

He reluctantly resigns himself.

“Can I come pick you up in an hour? Maybe we can go to the movies or something?”

You know you should say no, but you can’t. “If you and Nancy aren’t making out and making up within the next hour then yes, we can go to a movie.” 

He stares at you, and you can’t quite read him. You avert your gaze. 

“It’s so funny,” he speaks almost as if he can’t believe himself, “No matter what…or who…I always need you.” 

And with that he’s out the window and on his way to try and win back another woman.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

[nikitaxlee]

"𝖒𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊"

✿ ❀ ✿✿ ❀ ✿✿ ❀ ✿✿ ❀ ✿✿ ❀ ✿✿ ❀ ✿✿ ❀ ✿✿ ❀ ✿✿ ❀ ✿✿ ❀

ᴊᴀᴋᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ₊˙♡﹗˚ ༘

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ᴀɴɢsᴛ, sᴜɪᴄ!ᴅᴇ, ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ, ɪɴᴛᴇɴsᴇ sᴄᴇɴᴇs, ɢᴏʀᴇ.

𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘫𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘑𝘢𝘬𝘦. ₊˙♡﹗˚ ༘

ᴍᴜsɪᴄ: ᴀ ʙᴏʏ ɪs ᴀ ɢᴜɴ*- ᴛʏʟᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀ

ᴘᴜᴘᴘᴇᴛ - ᴛʏʟᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀ

ᴛᴀɢs: @hwanchaesong here you are babes😊

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letter from reader

I didn't know why I so badly wanted him to go away that first time he talked to me. Maybe it was the way he always looked at me like one looks at a meal. Knowing he'll enjoy it in the moment but in the end he'll need a new meal preferably different than the one he had the night before, whatever the reason was, I was right to have wanted him gone. A small roadblock in my life. The night I caught him was the night I died. The day that car was speeding faster and faster until it hit that tree, figuratively and literally. That was the best way to describe me and Jakes relationship. Exhilerating in the moment but doomed from the start. A fucking trainwreck. Maybe that was why I loved him. Still do love him. God did I love every intoxicating moment of bittersweet hapiness. A paradox isn't it? A girl who loved and a boy who didn't. Perfect fucking match.

Jake, my love, why didn't you love me? I gave you everything and more. I wanted the kind of love you have for soccer, for layla, and you're stupid fucking PC that you would fucking waste time on. You know what they all had in common? You all loved them unconditionally. I. Gave. You. Everything. And as you read this I am giving you my life. Because, Jake, love, this is the last thing I do to prove I love you, to prove I can't live without you. God, even if you never loved me. As long as you were there... Please, my love, come visit me when I'm gone, at least once. I want you to love me when I'm gone, but I don't think that will happen. So this is where I say goodbye Jake, my pretty boy. Give Layla extra kisses for me. I love you.

---

1:02 A.M

When Jake made his way to the kitchen, unfamiliar body still tangled in his sheets, he didn't feel anything but numb. The look in your eyes as you opened the door to see him 8 inches deep in someone that wasn't you. In the moment it gave him this sick satisfaction of seeing you hurt. But he couldn't help but wonder if he had perhaps taken this game he played a little to far. Although the two of you weren't necessarily dating, you had a somewhat exclusive relationship. And he loved seeing the tears well in your eyes as he hurt you intentionally just to see run back to him. This wasn't the first time he had called you over here when he had a girl over. he loved seeing you break little by little. In his own sick world, he thought it would cause you to stay by his side.

The floorboards creaked as he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab some food. He would have to kick the girl out of his bed before you came back in about an hour he guessed. The second he stepped into the kitchen a feeling of dread rushed over him. He didn't notice anything amiss in the kitchen. Except the envelop sitting on the counter with the lighter he gave you for your birthday. The one thing you had from him. You had never reacted this way, usually you would just send him a text letting him know when you'd be back and to text you when he was done. As he pocketed the lighter and opened the letter he noticed the rushed handwriting right away, with bits scribbled out. He started reading and with each word his heart dropped. Each sentence was a stab in the heart. When he moved onto the next paragraph he started connecting the dots on what you were about to do. He didn't even finish the second paragraph before he was in his car.

1:10 A.M

"Fuck, Fuck, FUCK." He screamed. This could not be happening to him. Contrary to popluar belief, he really did love you, he just had a fucked up way of showing it. His tears streamed down his face as he sped to your house. "Y/N I swear to god, please, please, hold on for me baby, I'm so fucking sorry." he was going at least 15 over the limit right now. He entered the bridge before getting on the highway, and that was when he noticed the crowd of first responders on the highway. He was no longer crying just pure terror overcame him as he recognized the car lodged in the tree. The entire 3 lanes were blocked off but he still pulled up to the site. "Baby, baby, no no no NO" He quickly hopped out his car as his phone blew up with texts from the members;

Jay: JAKE, TELL ME THAT ISN'T Y/N'S CAR ON THE NEWS RN

Jungwon: oh god

Ni-Ki: call us now

10 new messages

12:25 A.M

Y/N: Hey Jake, js letting you know I'm going to be running a bit late, I'm picking up some food on the way over, wanna watch a movie? :)

12:36

Y/N: Omw, i picked up sushi!

Y/N: Is the key in the usual spot?

He felt like throwing up as his vision cleared and saw you laying there on the concrete paramedics rushing around you as others are currently performing CPR on you. For some reason he couldn't bring himself to run for you, just slowly shuffling towards the scene. He felt like he had just died and started seeing it all in 3rd person, him slowly walking towards you, the paramedics. Then he was running, almost reaching you but not before the police pulled him back.

"HEY THIS IS A SCE-" "THAT'S MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND!" He said as he dropped to his knees and cried.

The policeman just held him back as he thrashed and watched as the paramedics put the white sheet over you and spoke.

"Time of death 1:46, died due to imapct to the head flying through the windshield, suspected suicide due to last text messages to family."

'No, no, she can't be-" he sputtered and hyperventilated.

"Ch-check again" he said to no one in particular.

The letter you left crushed in his hand.

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A/N: Moral of the story don't take your roomates cinnabon or it's on sight. One ❤️= One Cinnabon for me🥹₊˙♡﹗˚ ༘

[saintmurd0ck]

lakeside dreamin'

masterlist

pairing: jedi general anakin skywalker x f!reader

summary: anakin reminisces about your lives together while he's away fighting in the clone wars

warnings: heavy angst, mentions of canon events in TCW, canon typical mentions of warfare, some smut/spice, mentions of sex, minors DNI 18+ only

a/n: to the one anon who requested this maybe a year ago? i saw clone wars anakin and it was over for my brain 🫠 anyway love you guys and leave a comment or reblog if you liked this! 🥺

song pairing: love on the brain (rihanna)

The war was taking its toll.

Day after day, planet after planet, all Anakin knew now was his place on the battlefield. And his role in leading the victory for the Jedi and the Republic, even though their dogma preached peace, not violence. Every skirmish brought a new kind of horror to his once uncomplicated life, whether it was watching Separatist droids and clone troopers alike, cut down as easily as marsh reeds, or the simple fact that his relationship with the Force was dwindling towards something impure. Something he couldn’t make sense of, and would surely raise more questions than answers if he were to confide in his Masters. It wasn’t that he contemplated reaching towards the Dark side, or thought of the kind of evil only the Sith could endure; it was more like an isolating numbness that spread from within, and before long, Anakin felt the cloud settle over his mind.

He was tired of seeing smoke — the kind that billowed in every direction, stinking of despair and lost hope on his front, despite the war turning to the Republic’s favour. It was the sound of unending blaster fire and the repetitive ignition of his lightsaber that haunted his nightmares, and with only the company of his clone legion, his Padawan Ahsoka and the occasional appearance from Obi-Wan, he felt himself starting to slip.

He was overwhelmed, and encumbered with burden. 

Never before had he experienced such guilt, anger and suffering — towards his army, towards the civilians caught in the crossfire, and towards his relationship with you. 

The secret life the two of you led, away from the Order, felt like something out of another galaxy, another lifetime. It was as if eons had passed since he’d last seen you, and yet the world was constantly evolving — not towards freedom, but into a more destructive version of its past. Even for a Jedi General (and, one could argue, because he was a Jedi General), Anakin had little comfort, and much less sway in which systems he visited and what he took part in. Seeing you was absolutely out of the question, but it wasn’t like he bothered to even ask, out of fear of inviting a lecture from Obi-Wan, or Maker-forbid, an audience with Master Yoda. 

At least things like facilitating training for the Onderon rebels allowed him to feel more of himself, and to an extent, a sort of unity with the Council, but all of that was quickly replaced by the more sinister side of the Separatist Alliance, such as the trainwreck on Zygerria. Liberation didn’t exist there. Not until Anakin showed up.

It was these events that really compelled him to look inwards, to not just seek the Force’s guidance, but to use it in tandem with a coping mechanism that would get him through the war. 

And so the vignettes began. Slowly, at first. 

It started off as little glimpses of your life together, slices of euphoric nostalgia that weaved their way into Anakin’s being. He didn’t realise just how much he yearned for you; not simply the way your skin felt on his, but the pureness of your energy, the reminder that good truly did exist in this world. As much as these images were a solace to his sanity, they brought about a sense of malaise. Contrition, actually, if he sought the Force for the purpose of clarity. Even though it all existed in his head, allowing himself these indulgences felt like once again, he was breaking Code. 

But could it really have been that bad, if it honed his focus? If it drew him back to the bigger picture, of the why? Reminding himself of who it was he fought for didn’t erase the atrocities, but it gave him that flicker of hope, knowing that the sum of his actions equalled a better world for you. 

And some selfish, miniscule part of him figured that if he could lead the victory, he’d be pardoned when the Order inevitably found out about the life the two of you shared. It isn’t as if no-one already knew. He was sure Ahsoka was aware. Rex, too. He doubted when it came to Obi-Wan, but then again very little got past his Master. 

While the memories of you lay fresh before his eyes, they seemed to sharpen at specific points throughout the day; often in the thick of battle, or when he woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat, nothing but thin shafts of moonlight illuminating his body. It’s like they were stitched perfectly amongst the real action, scattered at perfect intervals that jerked his body into manoeuvre.

The sweetest images had always featured the lake. 

Armed with nothing more but his wits, his back pressed against the cold, wet stone in a cave on Vanqor, he reminisced about that first night with you by the lakeside. The sweet smell of wildflowers carried in the breeze, heightened by his affinity for the Force. He recalled the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, and how the two moons cast their milky glow upon the shimmering surface of the water. And you — radiant, almost ethereal in the soft light, and the way your lips brushed against his neck, filling him with the kind of heat that flooded all at once. Not even the screech of the pursuing gundark could have interrupted this moment in time. He felt his breathing go ragged, because he remembered what happened next. He gritted his teeth, thinking about the way he moved inside you, and how you tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing chaste kisses to his mouth, his chest, whispering his name in sinful bliss. The gundark didn’t stand a chance. Not when Anakin’s motivation for getting out alive laid in sweet promise, embedded in these visions.

His name felt the most natural rolling off your tongue, nevermind that that was truly the last real thing he possessed, unmarred by time and the influence of the Jedi. In that moment, when you’d taken him over the edge with you, crying his name so loud he swore someone had heard, he knew he’d give it over to you if you’d asked.

He thought of the lake again when he was in Felucia, crouched low amongst the sillum. His lightsaber grew heavy in his hand, the ridges suddenly awkward in his palm, but the grip he’d started to lose on his lifeline gave rise to something he couldn’t ignore. 

It was another temperate day and the sun had created the most brilliant reflections on the surface of the lake. With the grasses and trees swaying in the wind, Anakin closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force. He didn’t prod or poke, but rather he cast a wide net, a delicate caress, to connect with the life that teemed. It sang to him in a multi-layered harmony, acting as a prominent reminder that the Force flowed in all living things. And when his eyes fluttered open, he watched you carefully as you walked towards the water, your feet crunching on the smooth pebbles that made up the beach. You turned around to give him a dazzling smile, moving with deliberation to slip off your clothes. Your laughter echoed in the crisp air as you dived into the lake, disappearing under a swathe of emerald green, only to resurface in the middle with a large grin plastered to your face. He didn’t hesitate to jump in, to shed his clothing on the spot. A shudder ran down his spine at the thought of what happened shortly after. 

Sometimes it was hard to return to the present, to remember that he’d sleep alone that night while you were only just waking up, systems away, most likely after another fitful slumber.  There were times where he thought these visions would serve no other purpose than to derail him, when the temptation of your touch shadowed his desire for victory. These moments guided him to channel the Force within, so as to remind himself of why he was doing this in the first place. Because it was more than just a coping mechanism. It was an anchor. A thrumming pulse point. A gentle acknowledgement of the life he wanted to come back to.

It’s then that he wondered when enough would be enough, when the war would come to a stalemate, as it so often did in their history. The tide was turning, and he knew it.

And there it was again, that kernel of hope, that ember of light that shone in the depths of his soul. Even reduced to a ghost in his memory, you were tangible, so tangible now. He wouldn’t let the Separatists win. He couldn’t, because there was too much at stake. And so if thinking of you, in these ways, helped him remember that, he wasn’t going to stop. 

Not for anyone. 

[aerialflight]

another fic rec list! (march edition)

I read so many good fics this month that I HAD to recommend. And again, I wildly pingponged between fandoms, though some still stuck around so you're in luck. Enjoy!

[Star Trek] (found some more! and reread old favorites)(also, fell in love with multiple ships)

Manner of Attraction by LiterallyThePresident

Ship: Spock/Leonard McCoy

“Spock, you think I’m sexy, right?” McCoy laughed “Yes.” Spock said honestly, and all three of them seemed to stop short

(short, sweet, and sparked my interest in this ship! it's my gateway drug fic and was what made me curious enough to hunt for more. definitely recommend! XD)

Anything You Can Do by igrockspock for ictus

Ship: Jim Kirk/Hikaru Sulu

'Anything you can do, I can do better' is not a healthy relationship philosophy - unless you’re Jim and Hikaru.

(listen, LISTEN, i love rarepairs and my god, this was written so fucking well and made me laugh multiple times. also, hikaru sulu is a bamf and i love when people portray him as the competent man he is! seriously, please give this a try, you won't regret it!)

freefall (flying) by tantamoq

Ship: Jim Kirk/Hikaru Sulu

Kirk is used to falling - what he isn't prepared for is the moment when he might actually hit the ground.

(again! a must read for this rarepair that i've fallen in love with nfewiofewa. seriously, i'm in a hole and i WILL drag people down with me! the potential of this relationship is too much! too powerful! please give it a go, i swear you won't regret it! this fic is fantastic!!)

Quirks and Their Side Effects by highschool-facelesshellion (orphan_account)

Ship: Jim Kirk/Leonard McCoy

Jim Kirk's always been a weirdo. Leonard could use some more weird.

(YES! LET THEM BE WEIRD!! truly, i accept every headcanon and everything this fic has spoken into the world, it's too good not to be true. i actually cried at some parts, you'll know which just from reading it. their friendship/queer-romantic or whatever the hell these two have here is so fucking good and i love it so so much!! seriously, please please read!!)

Long Road Home by EternalSheWolf for eyres

“It’s the greatest ship ever built.” His voice cracks, and he tells himself it’s because he’s been speaking for probably days now and he’s thirsty and his throat is probably bleeding and Bones will kill him, goddamit, Jim – A tear leaks out of the corner of his eye. “I want to go home.” He whispers.

(every time. every fucking time god damn it. *sobbing*)

Houses Made Of Earth by nsmorig for oneatatime

Ship: Spock/Leonard McCoy

In which Spock moves in with, uses the first name of, and falls in love with, Leonard McCoy. More-or-less in that order.

(okay, i just love the author and how they write. full stop. the slow building relationship and understanding between bones and spock was so rewarding and sweet. it's very introspective on both sides and explores what troubles and life changing things they're each going through, while also changing what they thought about the other. it's slow and thoughtful and pulled me in bit by bit. i absolutely recommend both the fic and this author in general, it's so good!!)

Pavlov's Cuddles by InsaneSociopath

Ships: Jim Kirk/Spock, Philip Boyce/Christopher Pike

Chris decides the absolute best way to get Jim to behave is to classically condition him using candy. Because. Um. That's perfectly normal and acceptable right?

(the entire premise of this fic sounds so weird but it works! jim is autistic and chris is deeply, truly weird. his whole relationship with boyce made me cackle so much! boyce has to suffer through chris's shenanigans and yet enables him constantly so he only has himself to blame lmao! and spock! is so cute and every time he showed up it's amazing haha! if you just want to have a good time and watch a successful trainwreck of a man try and adopt jim kirk, this is 100% for you lol)

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[The Witcher] (yup! again. these idiots won't leave me alone)

The Neverending Jaskier by TheSilverQueen

Ship: Geralt/Jaskier

Geralt goes fishing for a djinn to solve his sleeplessness. He is not expecting to fish up a man instead. Especially not a cursed, eternally doomed to resurrect bard of a man.

(i know this sounds ridiculous, but the author is just so good at making it believable. i love how geralt slowly starts to fall for jaskier, it's gradual and heartfelt and he doesn't want it lol. and so many of his problems are solved just because of sequence of events and how ridiculous jaskier is, which amuses me a lot. please read!)

in the belly of the beast by TheSilverQueen

Ship: Geralt/Jaskier

On the fifth day after Jaskier is swallowed alive by a lake monster, he meets a Witcher.

Part 8 of The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge

(the concept was so funny that i had to read it. and i was right, it's hilarious! seriously, please read! it made me laugh like a hyena and i never once thought someone can draw inspiration from fullmetal alchemist like this. the fact this is the same author right above has me believing they're just really good at making wild premises work lol. it's amazing!)

no reason to run by SummerFrost

Ship: Geralt/Jaskier

"You'll change your mind one day," says the innkeep. "The road can't love you back." What a strange way to flatten something so beautiful, Jaskier thinks. What a small way to love. Or: When Jaskier is hit with a curse that prevents him from having sex, he's lucky that the first person he meets is a Witcher. It's even luckier that Jaskier is used to hitting the road, because Geralt isn't waiting up.

(this fic has everything! it's hilarious, it's soft and tender, and it makes me want to hang it up on a wall for posterity. it's romantic, in the sense that jaskier sees the beauty of everything around him and geralt can't help but be drawn in by it. i couldn't help but be drawn in by it. also, it's so incredibly poly and i love that aspect of the fic, it painted love as such a giving yet selfish act and it's beautiful because of it. as geralt said in this fic, jaskier is a poet, ergo, the author is a goddamn poet and it shows. seriously, please read, it's so damn good!)

Keeping Crows by Castillon02

Ship: Geralt/Jaskier

If it was some kind of weird religious thing, it was for a god Geralt had never heard of. Probably it was just a weird Jaskier thing. Crows, of all creatures! Corpse eaters. Grain stealers. No one liked crows. But Jaskier was voluntarily traveling with a Witcher; maybe he just had poor taste.

(the metaphor!! geralt is a crow! jaskier loves things that aren't meant to be loved and is loved back for it! also, i personally just love crows so this love letter for them had me kicking my feet in delight. seriously, please please read! i want to hug this to my chest and sleep with it, it was so warm.)

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[Harry Potter & Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them] (yeah, i know, what?? i don't know what to tell you fnewpfwa)

Preantepenultimate by lonerofthepack

Ship: Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander

Newt Scamander had not intended to return to New York, much less the Woolworth building. Nevertheless, he arrived on the second of May, bedraggled and soaking from the spring rains with his arm trapped in a junior auror's grip, and just in time to make himself useful. Percival Graves has survived Grindelwald, with the scars to show for it, and returned to his role as Director of Magical Security despite a newly developed difficulty in speaking aloud. When Theseus Scamander’s younger brother gets dragged into the bullpen at precisely the right moment to be helpful, Graves seizes the opportunity to bring in a magizoologist for a sorely needed fledgling Beasts division, and a battle-tested asset into the MACUSA fold. Perhaps he should have expected chaos to follow in the path of a dragon rider.

Part 4 of Reticence 'verse

(*buries face in hands* fnewiofae it's so goddamn jane austen. the slow building romance, the respect they have for each other, the fact there's a freaking marriage of convenience plot that isn't contrived and makes sense, all of it! a victorian romance? in 1920s new york?? more likely than you think. god, i got so obsessed while reading this and flew through it in 2 days, it's so good!! and the fact that they show! real actual repercussions of graves imprisonment by grindlewald! he's selectively mute and the author expands how he now manages to live with it in a world where he went through something so traumatic is *chefs kiss* brilliant! and newt is so competent and graves recognizes that and is competent himself and i just, god, GOD, this is the best characterization for this ship i've ever seen, i love it so so much nfiewopewa. seriously, please please read this! i'm obsessed!!!)

Ad Sistendam Furto Magicae by InsaneSociopath

Ships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley

Hermione is all out of fucks to give. Ron and Harry reluctantly approve.

(time travel fic! a solid, fantastic read and i loved every minute of it! and the fact there's a tag specifically saying they stan ron is all it took to win me over lol. god, it's so hard to find a good ron in fics, drives me mad. if you want to have a fun time and watch as the trio run wild through hogwarts, this is definitely for you :D)

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[Buffy the Vampire Slayer] (look it's just one series that i immediately got obsessed with. but it made my month so i NEED to recommend it NOW.)

wouldn't it be nice? (in the kind of world where we belonged) by SummerFrost

Ship: Spike/Buffy

Spike is still beneath her, so hard he's vibrating, and a second ago she was living in this amazing, perfect, fresh piece of Dubble Bubble bubblegum world. A second ago, she loved him. Or: The thing about Willow's will-be-done spell is that, yeah, obviously it sucks that it happened with Spike. But now that all those totally fake lovey-dovey feelings are gone, Buffy is starting to worry that she'll never get them back—with anyone. Too bad the only person who might understand is her mortal enemy.

Part 1 of wouldn't it be nice?

(*deep breath* i need this like i need air. i don't really go for buffy fics but fuck, this is incredible. it's the same author who wrote one of the witcher fics on this list and their writing is just as beautiful here. it really looks at the aftermath of the episode something blue and what it means for both spike and buffy. and as for the rest of this series, it continues on to later seasons of buffy and how spike and buffy being an established relationship changes things in the future. this is the most healthy version of the buffy/spike ship i've ever seen and it's honestly heartbreaking to think about what could've happened if they had just talked to each other. this has become one of my favorite buffy fics ever and i absolutey recommend this to people, it's brilliant!)

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[Dimension 20] (i'm so random. also, currently watching unsleeping city s2 so i'm probably gonna rec more fics in the future, not sure)

the i love you fic by jorjudje

Fandom: Fantasy High

a scenario for each and every bad kids duo in which they tell each other they love them.

(this is the sweetest fantasy high fic in the fandom, i will die on this hill!! they love each other so much! the most friendship fic to ever friendship!! god, this made me want to watch fantasy high all over again, i love the bad kids so much fneiwofpewa)

everyone's a pessimist, I see a future painted in pink by HighAsAFlyingFish

Fandom: Fantasy High

Early Freshman year the newly formed Bad Kids run into themselves from the future. Or maybe a future? Who knows, time travel is weird, have another ice cream.

(time travel time travel time travel!! seeing how much the bad kids have grown up compared to freshman year always makes me feel teary eyed. and also cackle like a hyena, the freshmen have NO context on ANYTHING and it's hilarious XD)

Modify Memory by foxfantasma

Fandom: The Unsleeping City

“Pete,” the first man says slowly, like he’s trying to calm a spooked child. “What’s my name?” “Kingston,” Pete answers automatically, the feelings of trust and home and a fragment of being shouted at in a bodega he’s never been to all conflicting and coexisting in his skull. He hasn’t tripped this bad since the episode that had gotten him on the antipsychotics in the first place, and even this makes that look like a walk in the park. He can’t afford to get sent back to the hospital, not without insurance, and he really needs to get it together before someone calls an ambulance, or worse, the cops. “You’re Kingston Brown,” he says firmly, hopes to everything there is that he’s right. Or: Pete doesn’t remember being awakened to the Unsleeping City and has a rough time //Chapter two is Kingston’s pov

(i just finished watching s1 and immediately started hunting for kingston and pete friendship fics cause i NEEDED it. and then i found this and wow, it's such a great character study for both pete and kingston, i loved it! please read!!)

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[Deadpool and Wolverine] (we're back bitches)

Rotten Ones by atimefeeler

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson

“Oh my god,” Wade said. “I’m an idiot.” “Yes. And?” Logan snapped. “I forgot Logan died in 2029,” Wade said, horrified. “It’s 2024." ... (It's okay, Wade. The writers forgot too.) Deadpool and The Worst Wolverine join forces with the X-Men to save Laura and the kids from Project X-23, stop the Westchester Event, and prevent mutant extinction. Oh, and they also fall in love while they do it.

(i combed through so many fics and found this gem among the rubble of my search. it's soft and full of hurt/comfort, yet also plot driven and full of character interactions and moments between wolverine and the x-men of deadpool's timeline. and i have so much respect for the author's attempt to make sense of fox's bizarre timeline of events for the x-men series lol. i'm so invested in this fic and the slow burn between logan and wade has me kicking my feet in delight, it's wonderful! seriously, please read! i'm so glad i found this!)

Harvest Moon by SlugSniffing

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson

Logan still can't recall anything from his past, no matter where he goes or who he speaks to. He's at the end of his rope when a mercenary crash-lands at his feet in Bobby Drake's kitchen. (set during the events of X2 - consider this X2 featuring Deadpool-movieverse Deadpool, complete with Origins-era Wade backstory.)

(i'm not fucking kidding when i say i think the author is deapool, their end notes always has me fucking cackling, they sound exactly like him it's amazing. truly, this fic is so damn good and the writing is stellar! there were so many moments where i actually started crying because the emotions the author managed to convey got too fucking real, my GOD. and the plot! wow!! deadpool is inserted in the plot so seamlessly that i honestly wish i could watch this version of events play out on the big screen, it's so much fun! and heartbreaking! seriously, please read this, i'm so so excited to see what happens next and so will you!)

Mr. Forgettable by Arwriter

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson

Wade’s off the couch, moving slowly until he’s standing right in front of Logan. He’s eyeing him carefully, thoughtfully, like he can piece together a solution to whatever the hell is happening right now. “You’re not just doing this so you can get out of buying dinner, are you?" “Fuck you.” Or: Even if he can't quite place his face, Logan doesn't think he could ever forget Wade Wilson.

(i both want to punch and hug logan, he's really going Through It. this fic is both incredibly angsty yet sweet at the same time, amnesic logan deserves a damn hug! and wade is Suffering and just as bad as him. god, they're so dumb nfewiofpewa)

[yinyuedijun]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five of your other fave writers. Spread the self-love!

thank you to @hash-slinging-slasher-trash and @stellamancer for tagging me in this! </3 I had a lot of fun doing it!

here are my five fics, please do be careful and read the warnings for each if you decide to give them a chance!!

higher than the mountain, deeper than the sea

Touya watches you stare feebly out the window, your fingers curled around those useless flowers he bought, and he finally understands why his pathetic excuse of a father could never find the words to apologize to his mother.

notes: my masterpiece my trainwreck my baby my arch enemy. no piece has ever creatively pushed me like this before and no piece ever will again. I think I sold part of my soul to write it and now it haunts me forever. dark content.

there's a bluebird in my heart

On November 18th, 1988, the Gun Devil kills 57,912 people in Japan and displaces thousands more.

In a gymnasium full of grieving, starving strangers, you meet a boy who is as alone as you.

He's the only thing you have, and the only thing you'll lose.

notes: I have a very combative relationship with this story. it has never cooperated with me and it probably never will. I think I lost part of my lifespan in the writing process 💀 regardless, this fic is also my baby. dark content.

translation

Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.

(Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)

notes: this fic is my peak. I am not kidding. I will never write anything so good again. it's also the first completed story on this list (yay!). angst, nsft.

situationship

You are both the most diligent worker at Sakamoto's Store and the most hypersexual person that Shin knows. Overhearing your thoughts and accidentally seeing your fantasies routinely leads to profound psychic damage for him, as well as the most poorly timed boners in the world.

All of this only gets worse when the two of you start hooking up.

notes: this fic is my only proof that I can write fun things sometimes 😭 I'm also biased because I am experiencing immense lust for shin rn so of course my only shin fic is a current fave. I think the writing is actually pretty tight too even if it's not the most polished! smut, comedy.

nightflower

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

notes: I had a really hard time choosing number five. it was between this and desire path. I think the two are tied but I went with night flower because it's slightly less likely to get me assassinated ADLFJSKDJS. dark content.

tagging some of my favourite writers + writers whose works I want to dig into!! @prettyboykatsuki @seoafin @seravphs @saetiate @madaqueue @ariiadnes @mangostarjam (no pressure ofc!!)