#and i already have notes prepared about the significance of some of those differences and stuff

[infizero]

on break at work rn. when i get back i WILL be finishing up the nimona post ok? ok. i prommy

[malarign]

was this shirt always so big?

(when he comes back home from the tour and sees your weight loss)

contains: idolbf!Jake x fem!reader | genre: fluff | tw! mention of weight loss and insecurities, y/n is dealing with her body image, please read at your own discretion | wc: 1,1k

reblogs, likes and comments are highly appreciated!!!

author’s note: hello everyone! this is my first fic on tumblr, hope you’ll like it <3

After long months of touring with the rest of Enhypen Jake wanted nothing more than the comfort of your loving arms. Having to deal with teasing from the rest of the members, especially Sunghoon, was nothing nice - any thought of his partner made him miss you even more. But as the tour was coming to an end he started to brag about finally seeing and spending some time with his beloved significant other more and more to the point when the rest wanted to go back home even more than Jake.

And the day finally happened. Even though the tiredness from the tour was almost unbearable he couldn’t find himself sleeping during the flight, not with the thought of finally seeing you with his own pair of eyes and giving you all the gifts he bought.

Soon after the plane landed, Jake turned off airplane mode to call you.

“Already landed?” your sweet voice was heard on the other side of the phone, to which he responded positively, not being able to hide his excitement.

“I’m sorry that I’m not there to welcome you, but I don’t really think this would be a good idea with all those media” you said with a hint of regret in your voice.

“Don’t be sorry, lovely. Can’t wait to see you, though. I have so many things to show you!” assuring words made you smile.

The sound of a front door opening made you jump out of your seat. Almost tumbling on the carpet, you quickly made your way to the hallway where you met smiling widely Jake with gift bags in his hands. You rushed towards him to engulf him in a warm hug, not noticing how his smile slightly dropped.

Not that he was not happy to see you, it was definitely something he longed for the most. But as soon as he saw you, his first thought was: “Was this shirt always so big?”. That thought hit him harder than anything. The way your body was pressed against his was also a lot different. He could swear he remembered how it used to feel, never in his life had he felt more concerned for you. After you backed from the hug he could take a longer look at you face. Your cheekbones were more defined, eyes slightly dropped even while smiling sincerely at him.

“I missed you so much” you exclaimed cupping his face and leaving a soft kiss on his lips. Jake smiled seeing her so happy, the thought of investigating you later in the back of his head. “I made you lunch, you must be really hungry.”

“Will you eat with me?” he asked while taking a seat in the kitchen, hoping that your answer is going to sound affirming.

“I already ate, sorry” you said while turning around to place the dish in the microwave.

And while you were preparing his meal he scanned your body. This shirt definitely used to be a lot smaller. Your sweatpants also seemed way bigger than they used to be. This sight was heartbreaking. Jake was the last person to judge people based on their appearance, especially somebody as important as you. But the change in your look and silhouette was drastic and concerning.

“You were so far away yet you’re not gonna let me know how it was?” you asked turning around, smiling gently.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I just…” Jake thought for a moment, wondering how he should bring up the topic. Deciding to wait for better circumstances he continued: “I just missed you. Oh! I almost forgot about the gifts I have for you!” he said thrilled about having an opportunity to spoil his lovely girlfriend.

After going through tons of gifts and souvenirs, the two collapsed on the couch ready to watch something while cuddling. That's when Jake couldn't contain himself anymore and decided to bring the issue on the floor.

“Love?” he called you gently to which you raised your head to look directly into his eyes. “Before I say anything I want you to know that I love you and nothing will change the way I feel, okay?” The dramatic tone of his voice made you giggle a bit.

“Why so dramatic?” you asked and your face dropped a bit when you noticed how serious he was. Did you say something wrong? Is he mad that you didn't come to the airport? Maybe the company doesn't approve the two of you being together anymore? Those thoughts were interrupted when he said: “Love, I noticed how much weight you lost while I was on tour and I'm really worried” he said quickly. Those words made you stiff in his arms. You lowered your head and played with his fingers not knowing what to answer. Probably because you also didn't know why. Many factors such as him being away this long but mostly insecurities caused by unimaginable beauty standards layered leaving you confused about your own body.

“The fact that it had been almost like 4 hours since I came back and you've only drank a bit of tea is also concerning” he said trying to sound as soft and tender as he possibly could. The last thing he wanted was for you to be insecure especially if all of this was because of him.

“I just wanted to feel better in my body,” you whispered softly, while the tears were brimming in your eyes. Before they dropped he pressed kisses full of love on your eyelids. “Y/n, why didn't you tell me? We agreed to never keep that kind of thought to ourselves.” He sighed rubbing circles and little hearts on her back. “Which part in particular you weren’t satisfied with?” his question made you look up at him.

“Everything,” you mumbled.

“Lovely there are better ways to feel better in your body, but starving yourself is not one of them, you know that.”

“I know Jake, I just…” you started saying while getting up which he followed. “I wanted to be sure to lose weight before you come back home. Gosh now I’m embarrassed.” You hid your face in the palms of your hands.

“Y/n, please remember to never change for anybody. Neither for the sake of what would media say or what I would want. Because all I want and care about is you being healthy. The only person that can have any say to how you look is only you. Unless it’s not healthy, then I’m gonna talk you out of it,” he said smiling calmly seeing how you revealed your soft smile from under your palms. Opening his arms he invited you into his warm embrace to which you gladly accepted. The sound of your stomach grumbling disturbed the silence, making both of you giggle sheepishly. “Wanna order some take-out?” he asked looking at you. The sight of you nodding your head made him take his phone out of his pocket to order something for both of you.

thank you for reading! back to the masterlist

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Seven: Resolve

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 12.1k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Seonghwa invites you to the serene local park where he delivers the exciting news that you’ve secured the modeling job, marking a significant step forward in your new life in Paris. However, as you bask in the joy of this achievement, a nagging concern about Hongjoong’s sketchbook lingers in your mind. By the time you get your first modeling gig, you form a plan to return it to him on the very same day, but the uncertainty of how he will react keeps you on edge. Could things possibly get any worse than they already are?

a/n: so sorry for the long wait (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) i’ve been going through a major writer’s block lately (and i’m also really busy with my studies) but luckily i managed to finish this chapter before completely losing motivation again 😅 i’d love to have some feedback! <3

tags: @beabatiny

You were busy preparing breakfast for yourself—this time choosing to make an actual meal. You had finally caved in and decided to take a little portion from your savings instead of just settling for a pack of ramen. You decided you didn’t want to jeopardize your health with your terrible dietary choices. The aroma of sizzling eggs and freshly toasted bread filled the small kitchen, creating a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

In the background, the record player your mother had insisted you take with you to Paris was spinning an old vinyl you had secretly taken from your father back in Arcadia Bay. The familiar, nostalgic notes of “La Vie En Rose” filled the room, and you couldn’t help but hum softly to the melody, feeling a bittersweet connection to home. While your hometown wasn’t exactly filled with memories as lighthearted as a rainbow after a thunderstorm, there was a little portion of them that you deemed heartwarming enough to remember—such as this.

Just as you were about to turn off the stove, your phone rang, cutting through the serene atmosphere. You frowned slightly, wondering who could be calling you this early. Wiping your hands on a towel, you picked up the phone and saw your mother’s name flashing on the screen. A sense of unease crept up your spine as you answered. “Mom? Is everything okay?” you asked, feeling a somewhat strange vibe in the air.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted you, but there was a noticeable heaviness in her tone that immediately set off alarm bells in your mind. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need to talk to you.”

You quickly turned off the stove and paused the record player, giving her your full attention. Whenever those exact words came out of her mouth, it never meant anything positive, which was precisely why you were now standing near the edge. “What’s going on, Mom? You sound upset.”

There was a brief pause before she spoke again, her voice trembling slightly. “Your father and I... we're having a really hard time sustaining our financial needs. The café... it’s just not doing well. We’re getting fewer and fewer customers every day, and we’re really worried.”

Your heart sank. You knew how much the café meant to them, how hard they had worked to build it from the ground up. Years ago, when they decided you were grown enough to be able to take care of yourself, they flew to a different city, hoping to find a glimmer of hope amidst all the struggles you and your family have and still are going through. That glimmer of hope in question was deciding to open up their own small business.

“Mom… I’m so sorry to hear that. Is there something I can do to help? Anything, really,” you asked, desperation evident in your voice.

She sighed heavily. “I don’t know, dear. We’re trying everything we can, but we’re really scared it might take even longer to repay our debts.”

The mention of their debts made you feel a pang of guilt, especially knowing the major turning point in your life from years ago was the cause of it all. You knew they had taken on a lot to support you and your dreams, and now it felt like you were only adding to their burden. “This is all my fault… I’m so sorry. If I get the modeling job, I promise I’ll work so hard and earn so much that you and Dad will never have to worry again. You’ve already done so much for me. Let me repay you.”

“Sweetheart, you’re not a burden, and none of this is your fault,” she reassured you, her voice softening. “We’re proud of you, and we want you to succeed. Don’t think like that.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you choked out, “I just hate that you’re struggling because of me. Please, try not to stress too much. I’m going to make it. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I know you will, darling,” she said, trying to sound optimistic. “But remember, we’re always here for you, no matter what. We love you.”

“I love you too, Mom. Please take care of yourselves. I’ll call you soon,” you promised, your voice as quiet as the whisper of a passing breeze.

After saying goodbye, you ended the call and stood there, your phone still clutched tightly in your hand. The weight of her words embraced you heavily, making it hard to breathe. Slowly, you sank to the floor, your knees giving out as the tears you had been holding back finally fell.

You sat there, crying quietly, the phone pressed against your chest as you whispered to yourself, “This is all my fault.” The reality of your parents’ struggles and the pressure to succeed was a heavy weight to bear, leaving you feeling utterly helpless.

You had always felt like a burden, despite your parents’ constant reassurances that you weren’t. No matter how often they told you they were proud of you, that you were their greatest joy, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you were the source of their struggles.

The thought that haunted you the most was the memory of that one terrible day when everything seemed to spiral out of control. If only things hadn’t gone so horribly wrong. If only the world had been a little kinder to your parents, maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation. Sometimes, in your darkest moments, you wondered if things would have been easier for them if you had never been born. These thoughts had followed you around for years, like a shadow you could never fully escape.

You thought you had left those feelings behind when you moved to Paris. For a month, you managed to keep those dark thoughts at bay, throwing yourself into your new life with a determination to succeed. But now, with the reminder of your parents’ struggles, the harsh reality came crawling back to bite you, and it stung.

You were as fragile as a piece of glass, easily shattered by the weight of your guilt and the pressure to make things right. The façade of strength you had built up over the years crumbled away, revealing the vulnerable, scared person beneath. Maybe you were never as strong as you had made yourself out to be after all.

While you sat there on the cold floor, clutching your phone and sobbing, you felt utterly alone and helpless. The weight of your parents’ sacrifices and the fear of letting them down was almost too much to bear. You wanted so desperately to make things better for them, to prove that their efforts and love weren’t in vain. But in this moment, all you could feel was the crushing weight of your own inadequacy. The dreams and aspirations that had once filled you with hope now seemed like distant, unattainable goals.

A message notification from your phone suddenly emerged, breaking the loud silence of your broken sobs. It was from Seonghwa.

Are you free later in the afternoon?

4PM, specifically.

Quickly wiping your tears, you typed out a reply, telling him that you were indeed free. His response was swift.

Alright, meet me at the park by then. I have something important to tell you.

Your heart dropped even more, worrying that maybe it was some sort of terrible news. But you just told him you’d make sure to be there on time.

Standing up, you wiped the remaining tears using the sleeve of your sweater. You put the record back on to distract yourself from your thoughts, humming to the melody once more as a way of pretending that things were as normal as they could be, as if the phone call with your mother hadn’t occurred at all. The familiar tune of “La Vie En Rose” filled the room, providing a temporary distraction to your troubled mind as you went back to preparing your breakfast.

Hours later, you found yourself walking around the park, searching for Seonghwa. Just as you took your phone out to ask where he was, you received a cryptic text message from him.

I see you.

This made you raise an eyebrow in amusement and maybe a little fear. You remembered how a few of your work colleagues from Arcadia Bay used to do this to you all the time when they invited you to hang out. Maybe not all memories from your hometown were horrible, after all.

After looking around once more, you spotted him sitting on a bench on the other side of the park, holding two cups of coffee in one hand while the other waved to you, a smile on his face. You hurriedly made your way over and greeted him, taking the offered cup of coffee and thanking him. “Thank you for this, Seonghwa,” you said, sitting down beside him. The warmth of the coffee seeped through the cup, comforting you slightly.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, his smile lingering but a hint of seriousness in his eyes.

Curiosity gnawed at you, and you finally asked, “So, why did you ask me to come here so suddenly?” There was a slight shift in his demeanor as he turned a little more serious. This always seemed to happen whenever he needed to talk about work matters. Noticing this, you straightened up in your seat, bracing yourself for what was about to come.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, setting his coffee down on the bench. “I wanted to talk to you about the agency, the callback, and the process of choosing which aspiring models deserve the spot they’re aiming for. It’s a rigorous process, as you know. The panel looks at various factors: potential, adaptability, and how well a person can embody the vision we have for our projects.”

You nodded, your hands clutching your coffee cup tighter. “Yes, I understand,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, as if you weren’t nearly losing your mind.

He continued, “The decision isn’t just about how you look in the photographs or how you perform in front of the camera. It’s about your story, your passion, and your determination. It’s about how well you can represent the brand and connect with the audience.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, each beat echoing louder in your ears. “So… did I… did I make it?” you asked, almost whispering.

Seonghwa paused for a moment, letting the tension build. Then, a smile broke out on his face. “Yes,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and pride. “You got in. You got the job.”

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Relief, disbelief, and overwhelming joy mingled together, making you feel lightheaded. “I… What? I can’t believe it,” you stammered, tears welling up in your eyes again, but this time, joy was the cause behind it.

Seonghwa reached out and gently squeezed your hand. “Believe it,” he said softly. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and it’s finally paying off. We all saw something special in you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “Thank you, Seonghwa. Thank you for believing in me… for seeing something in me. I won’t let you down.”

He nodded, his eyes full of sincerity. “I know you won’t. This is just the beginning for you. There’s so much more ahead, and I can’t wait to see what you’ll achieve.”

The realization began to sink in, and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh, the sound of disbelief and happiness mixing together. “This feels like a dream,” you confessed, wiping away the tears that kept streaming down your face. “Just hours ago, I was breaking down, thinking about how I might never get this opportunity. And now�� now, I have it.”

Seonghwa smiled warmly, his expression softening. “I understand. It's a lot to take in. But you deserve this. You’ve shown so much potential and passion. We all believe in you, and I’m so happy to have you on board.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a wave of relief engulf you in a warm embrace, much like the setting sun. “I don’t even know how to express how grateful I am,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “This means everything to me. I promise I’ll give it my all, every single day.”

Seonghwa’s smile widened, his eyes twinkling with pride. “I have no doubt about that. You’re going to do amazing things. This is just the start of a wonderful journey.”

You felt a rush of gratitude, your heart swelling with warmth. “I can’t thank you enough, Seonghwa. For everything. For believing in me, for giving me this chance. It feels like a dream come true.”

Seonghwa chuckled softly. “Well, consider it a reality now. You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I think this is just the beginning of something truly amazing for you. You’ve got the talent, the drive, and the heart. That’s a powerful combination.”

You smiled, feeling a newfound sense of confidence. “Thank you, Seonghwa. Your words mean a lot to me. I'm going to work hard and make you proud.”

“I have no doubt about that,” he replied warmly. “And don't forget to enjoy the journey. It's going to be hectic, but it’s an incredible ride all the same.”

With a final, heartfelt thank you, you both stood up from the bench. Seonghwa gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “How about we go on a walk? You know, a small way to celebrate this moment,” he said with a grin. “You deserve it.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. “I think I could use a little celebration,” you admitted.

As you both continued to walk around the park, sipping on your half-empty coffee cups, Seonghwa began to delve into the upcoming autumn fashion week. “So, autumn fashion week is a massive event for us,” he started, excitement evident in his voice. “It’s where we’ll be showcasing all the new collections for the season. Hongjoong has been working tirelessly on this for months.”

You listened intently, eager to hear every detail. Seonghwa continued, “The theme this year is ‘Enchantment of Dreams.’ Hongjoong wanted to capture the delicate beauty of autumn, but with a twist. Think of flowing fabrics, soft, muted colors, and a mix of natural elements with a bit of fantasy. It’s all about creating a dreamy, almost otherworldly atmosphere.”

He paused to let the theme sink in before moving on. “The types of designs we’re aiming for include long, flowing gowns made from light, airy fabrics like chiffon and silk. There are also more structured pieces that incorporate natural textures like leaves and flowers. Some of the designs even have intricate beadwork and embroidery that give them a mystical feel. Like they’re made for forest fairies, you know.”

You could picture the collection in your mind, a blend of nature and fantasy coming to life on the runway. “That sounds so beautiful,” you whispered, nearly to yourself, genuinely impressed.

Seonghwa smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “It really is. Hongjoong has such a clear vision for what he wants to present. He’s been sketching and refining these designs for months. Each piece is a work of art.”

Curiosity got the better of you, and you asked, “How’s the process going so far?”

Seonghwa let out a sigh. “Well, aside from successfully recruiting models that are suitable for the event’s theme, we’re stuck in a bit of a predicament.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “What kind of predicament, exactly?”

Seonghwa’s expression turned more serious. “All of Hongjoong’s designs for fashion week were in his sketchbook, but the thing is, it’s missing. He still hasn’t found it.”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. Not only did the sketchbook belong to Hongjoong, but now you were also finding out that all his designs for autumn fashion week were drafted in there? Your steps faltered, and you nearly stopped in your tracks, eyes wide with shock.

I have to return it to him. No, I definitely need to return it to him. I can’t let myself be further consumed by my fears when the consequences waiting ahead are far worse than losing my job. Keeping something of such immense value is not an option. There will be a huge price to pay, but it’s nothing compared to the damage that could be done if Hongjoong doesn’t get his sketchbook back in time for fashion week.

Seonghwa noticed your sudden silence and the far-off look in your eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

You snapped back to reality, giving him a reassuring nod. “Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I just got lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

Seonghwa seemed to accept your explanation and didn’t pry any further. “It’s understandable. There’s a lot to process,” he said kindly.

Trying to steer the conversation back, you asked, “How is Hongjoong holding up with the sketchbook missing? He must be really stressed.”

Seonghwa sighed again. “He’s definitely not in the best place right now. Losing that sketchbook was a huge blow. He’s been frantically trying to recreate the designs from memory, but it’s not the same. That sketchbook held his original inspirations and ideas.”

You could only imagine the pressure Hongjoong must be under. “That sounds incredibly tough. I hope he finds it soon.” I hope I can return it to him soon.

Seonghwa nodded. “We all do. Everyone’s been looking for it, hoping it will turn up before it's too late.”

As the conversation continued, you felt a growing sense of urgency. You knew what you had to do. Returning the sketchbook wasn’t just about doing the right thing—it was about helping someone in a desperate situation. The weight of that responsibility was heavy, but it also gave you a sense of clarity and purpose. You walked with Seonghwa a bit longer, discussing lighter topics and enjoying each other’s company. But in the back of your mind, the decision was made. You had to find a way to return the sketchbook to Hongjoong before it’s too late.

—

The Fashion Week was still quite a long road away, but Seonghwa insisted you should get your first exposure to the fashion world in advance. This way, you’d gain valuable experience and not feel too pressured by the time fashion week arrived. Today, you were set to do a photoshoot featuring Hongjoong’s recent collection released earlier this year. The collection’s theme was ‘The Beauty of Time,’ a blend of vintage charm and modern sophistication. It featured outfits with intricate lace details, flowing silk skirts, and structured blazers in rich jewel tones. The setting was an old Parisian mansion, with grand staircases and opulent chandeliers, perfectly matching the collection’s vibe.

You also had a mission to return the sketchbook to Hongjoong today—before your fear could fully consume you and let the day pass by as a heavy failure. You just had to find a way.

Now, you were at the photoshoot venue, being prepped by one of the stylists. She seemed a few years older than you, with a kind demeanor that put you at ease. As she worked on your hair and makeup, you two indulged in small talk. “Have you ever done something like this before?” she asked, her eyes reflecting genuine curiosity.

You softly shook your head. “No, this is an entirely foreign world to me.”

She seemed genuinely shocked. “Really? That’s hard to believe because you have the perfect features for a model. We’re lucky Seonghwa found you before any other agency did. Are you from around here?”

You smiled at her compliment, feeling a bit more at ease. “Thank you. And, no, I’m actually from a small town, not from Paris.”

“Ah, that explains it,” she said with a knowing nod. “Small towns tend to have restricted opportunities. Perhaps that’s why your well-deserved exposure is long overdue.” You nodded in agreement, appreciating her understanding. It was true, in a way. If Arcadia Bay wasn’t as small as it was, you probably never would’ve considered flying to Paris. Unfortunately, reality has a twisted knack for imposing challenges even when you’re not up for it.

After she finished styling you, she complimented your look and wished you luck. Just as she left the room, Seonghwa walked in, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “Wow, you look elegant.”

You smiled, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. You weren’t used to receiving compliments, much more being called elegant. “Thank you. The stylist was really nice.”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really? She isn’t usually talkative around models. She must’ve taken a liking to you.”

You chuckled softly, feeling a bit more confident. “Well, I’m glad. She made me feel comfortable.”

Seonghwa smiled, clearly pleased. “Good to hear. Now, let’s get you to the photoshoot.” You nodded, taking a deep breath as you followed him. You wore a stunning outfit from Hongjoong’s collection: a flowing, floor-length silk dress in a rich sapphire blue, with eye-catching lace details along the neckline and sleeves. The dress had a vintage yet modern feel, and it felt perfect for the theme.

The photoshoot began in earnest, with Wooyoung directing each shot. “Alright, let’s start with some classic poses by the grand staircase. Think regal, timeless elegance.”

You positioned yourself as instructed, feeling the weight of the dress and the grandeur of the setting. Each click of the camera seemed to bring a new wave of confidence.

“Beautiful,” Wooyoung praised, adjusting the lighting. “Now, let’s move to the balcony. I want you to look out as if you’re lost in thought, dreaming of something wonderful. Kinda like if you were Cinderella daydreaming about her Prince Charming.”

The example he set was… unexpected, to say the least, but much to your surprise, it actually did its wonders and helped you immerse yourself in the theme. You followed his guidance, leaning slightly against the ornate railing and gazing out over the mansion’s lush gardens. The soft afternoon light cast a golden glow over everything, enhancing the ethereal quality of the shoot.

Hours passed as you moved from one location to another within the mansion, each scene more breathtaking than the last. You posed by antique mirrors, draped yourself elegantly on velvet sofas, and even walked through a hallway lined with vintage portraits.

Finally, the photoshoot came to an end. Wooyoung clapped his hands together, beaming. “That’s a wrap! You did an amazing job.”

You smiled, feeling a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. “Thank you. It was a wonderful experience.”

Seonghwa approached you, looking pleased. “You were fantastic. I’m really proud of you.” Just as you were about to respond, you saw Hongjoong entering the venue. Panic surged through you, and you quickly turned away, leaving behind a confused Seonghwa and heading straight for Wooyoung, who was busy checking his shots.

“Sorry to bother you, but is there a restroom around here?” you asked, trying to keep your voice calm.

He looked up in surprise, eventually nodding as he pointed towards a hallway. “Yep. Just down there, to the left.”

You quickly made your way towards the restroom, heart pounding. Once inside, you leaned your back against the wall, a hand on your chest as you sighed in relief. You didn’t know why you were so scared of crossing paths with Hongjoong. Maybe it was the guilt of not immediately returning his sketchbook to him the moment he introduced himself to you. Perhaps it was simply because you’ve always been a coward, just like when you were young.

Taking a moment to steady yourself, you walked towards the mirror to fix your appearance and wash your hands. Just as your hand held the doorknob to leave, you overheard two familiar voices coming from a corner nearby—Hongjoong and Seonghwa. You paused, listening intently.

Hongjoong let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples. “While I’m glad things seem to be turning out well for her, I still can’t shake off the thought of permanently losing my sketchbook. We already have the perfect model for the collection, but this predicament outweighs the greener side of the grass.”

Seonghwa tried to reassure him. “Maybe it’ll come by when you least expect it.” But even he sounded doubtful. Comforting Hongjoong through blatant lies was just as bad as adding fuel to the fire. Their voices grew more inaudible with each second until you could no longer hear them. Maybe they went back to the venue’s main hall.

You bit the inside of your cheek, making a mental note to ask Seonghwa for Hongjoong’s number before it was time to head back home. You couldn’t keep something with such a huge value in your hands much longer.

Once you were sure the coast was clear, you emerged from the restroom, walking back to the main hall while nervously fiddling with your fingers. You spotted Seonghwa sitting by the staircase next to Wooyoung, and as soon as he saw you, his face lit up.

He walked towards you with a welcoming smile. “Why’d you run off so suddenly earlier?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

You waved him off, hoping he wouldn’t pry further. “I just needed to go to the restroom,” you said, keeping your tone as casual as possible. Fortunately, he didn’t push for more details.

“Well, Hongjoong stopped by for a bit and left just a few seconds before you got back,” Seonghwa informed you, his eyes scanning your face for a reaction.

You tried to act as if you weren’t already aware—as if Hongjoong wasn’t literally the reason you ran towards the restroom. You forced a nod, your expression neutral. “Oh? Did he say why he was here?”

Seonghwa shrugged. “He was actually looking for you, but something urgent came up, so he had to leave early.”

Thank God for that, you thought, your relief barely concealed. You nodded again, a desperate attempt to act casual, subtly biting the inside of your cheek. “Did he mention why he was looking for me?”

Seonghwa shook his head. “He didn’t get a chance to tell me. But don’t worry, he’ll most likely elaborate further once he’s done with whatever urgent business he’s handling.”

You let out a small sigh of relief, though your mind was still racing. At least you had a chance to return the sketchbook before the day was over. But what if that’s exactly why he was looking for you? No, no, that couldn’t be the case. You had to quit stressing yourself out.

Suddenly, you remembered your mental note to ask for Hongjoong’s number. You glanced at Seonghwa, trying to keep your voice steady. “Seonghwa, could I get Hongjoong’s number? I might need to discuss something with him... you know, business matters.”

Seonghwa smiled, not seeming to be suspicious. “Oh, sure thing. Give me a moment.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts before finding Hongjoong’s number and sharing it with you.

“Thank you,” you said, grateful that he didn’t ask further questions. Being a model on the fresh start of her journey needing to message the creative director of the brand she’s under was perfectly plausible.

With Hongjoong’s number saved in your phone, you felt a mixture of anxiety and determination. You couldn’t let this opportunity slip away, but you also couldn’t let fear control your actions. Now, you just need to find the right moment to return the sketchbook and hopefully clear the air.

Hours had passed, and the photoshoot concluded perfectly. Before you left the venue, Wooyoung approached you with a smile. “I might take about a short while to edit the shots I’ve taken. I’ll make sure you’re the first to see them, just in case there are a few photos you wouldn’t like to be published,” he said, catching you by surprise.

You nodded, genuinely touched. “Thank you, Wooyoung. I appreciate that.”

He grinned, his eyes turning into small crescents. “No problem. It’s important that you’re comfortable with everything.”

As you left, you reflected on how considerate everyone had been. It shattered your preconceived notions about the fashion industry. Prejudices can indeed be harmful, you mused.

Now, you found yourself at the park once more, nervously shaking your legs as the tips of your fingers hovered over the letters on your phone’s keyboard. You deeply contemplated what message to send Hongjoong. Every possible phrase ran through your mind, each one feeling inadequate or too forward. How were you going to construct a message asking him to come to the park because you had something important to talk about?

After what felt like an eternity, you finally settled on a message you deemed sufficient:

Hi, Hongjoong. Sorry for the late notice, but I was hoping we could meet at the park for a moment. There’s something important I need to discuss with you. Let me know if you’re available. Thank you.

For a moment, you could only stare at the send button, which seemed to glare back at you with an almost mocking intensity. Letting out a sigh, you closed your eyes shut the exact moment you hit the button, trying so hard to keep yourself calm. Okay, maybe you were being quite dramatic right now, but you’ve always had a thing for being an overthinker—so what’s the surprise now?

It took a couple of minutes until your phone buzzed with Hongjoong’s response.

I’ll be on my way in a bit.

You sent a quick message back, ensuring he knew you’d be patiently waiting. Then, deciding to avoid making yourself more nervous, you turned off your phone. Your eyes drifted to the sketchbook inside your bag, a contemplative gaze settling on your face.

Your mind began to spiral into a torrent of overthinking. What if this doesn’t go the way you’re hoping it will? What if this makes things awkward between you two? The sketchbook held his designs for Autumn Fashion Week. Losing it must have caused him immense stress. Would he even be able to trust you again after this? What if the consequences were more severe than you anticipated? Each scenario played out in vivid detail, heightening your anxiety with every passing second. Most of all, you worried about Hongjoong’s reaction. Would he be disappointed? Understanding? Furious?

As you sat there, these thoughts swirling uncontrollably, you began to realize just how significant this moment was. The weight of the sketchbook in your bag felt heavier with each passing minute, a tangible reminder of the impact your actions could have.

Just as your thoughts were about to spiral deeper into a vortex of anxiety, a familiar voice softly called your name from behind. You turned around sharply, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest. There stood Hongjoong, his expression warm and slightly curious.

You immediately stood up from the bench, awkwardly fumbling with your hands, struggling to find the right way to greet him. At that moment, you realized how foolish your plan was. Here was the creative director of the brand you were now modeling for, and you had asked him to meet you at a local park? The idea seemed incredibly disrespectful in hindsight, and you cringed inwardly at your own lack of foresight.

Hongjoong seemed to notice the shift in your demeanor. His eyes softened, and as if he could read your mind, he laughed gently, attempting to put you at ease. “It’s all good,” he reassured you, his tone kind and understanding.

“I’m so sorry for asking you to come here at such an unexpected hour,” you apologized, your voice tinged with genuine regret and bashfulness. Truthfully, all you could wish for right now was for a lightning to magically strike exactly where you were currently standing. It would hurt less than having to endure the embarrassment you were currently facing.

“It’s alright, really,” he said, waving off your concern with a nonchalant gesture. “How about we take a seat, and you can tell me what you called me here for?”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest. You sat back down on the bench, scooting to the side to give him ample space. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your nerves, your fingers trembling slightly as you clasped them together.

“So,” Hongjoong began, his eyes never leaving your face, “what’s on your mind?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but your words came out in a jumbled mess. “Well, you see, it’s just... I mean, I wanted to... there’s something important I...”

Hongjoong listened intently, his expression patient but slightly puzzled. He waited for you to continue, giving you the space you needed to gather your thoughts. He could tell you were avoiding the main topic, and his curiosity was piqued. After a moment of watching you struggle, he gently cut in, his voice soft and encouraging. “It’s okay. Just cut to the chase.”

You pursed your lips, feeling the anxiety tighten like a vice around your chest. With a shaky hand, you reached into your bag and pulled out the sketchbook, shoving it into his arms. Immediately, you stood up, your first instinct to run away. But Hongjoong quickly stood up too, catching your wrist in a gentle but firm grip and turning you back towards him.

The look in his eyes was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. Under his steady gaze, you felt a wave of shame and guilt wash over you. You began to ramble, the words spilling out uncontrollably.

“Look, I’m so, so sorry—I really didn’t want to keep it for so long, I just couldn’t find a way to return it to you because I was so scared my career would be jeopardized before it even started. I was afraid you’d be upset, and that’s completely valid because if I were you, I would be chasing myself around with a knife right now, and...”

Hongjoong let go of your wrist and laughed, a sound so unexpected that it made you fall silent. The tears that had been threatening to fall halted themselves, leaving you feeling both confused and relieved.

You looked at him with a puzzled expression. “... Why are you laughing?”

He smiled, still chuckling softly. “Upset? Not once was I ever upset the day I found out you had my sketchbook because I knew it was in good hands.”

This statement only deepened your confusion. “Huh? Sorry, what do you mean by that?”

He shifted lightly. “Do you remember the first casting audition you attended?” he asked, his eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. You nodded wordlessly, your mind racing to recall the details. “I knew my sketchbook was in your hands the moment I saw what you were wearing,” he explained, his tone matter-of-fact.

Then it hit you. The dress you had worn that day was inspired by one of his designs, a subtle homage to his work. “Is… is that why you approached me in the waiting room that day?” you asked, realization dawning on you.

“Yes, but I also wanted to see how you would react to me introducing myself,” he admitted, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I had a hunch you had no idea I was the owner of the sketchbook.”

You felt dumbfounded, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. “You knew all along? Why didn’t you confront me about it?”

He shrugged comfortably, his demeanor relaxed. “I knew I could trust you to return it eventually.” He looked down at the sketchbook now back in his hands, his expression one of satisfaction. “And I guess I was right, after all.”

“So… what’s going to happen to me now?” you asked, your voice small and uncertain, the weight of your fears hanging heavy right above your head, the rope holding it up a second close to snapping.

“What do you mean?” he replied, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

“Aren’t I going to get in trouble? It’s what I deserve, you know. Seonghwa told me about how much stress you’ve been having to endure because of your missing sketchbook.”

He waved you off, shaking his head with a reassuring smile. “You only would’ve gotten in trouble if you had chosen to leak my designs or didn’t come forward like you did now.”

There was a short pause as he reached into his shoulder bag. When you saw a tiny peek of what it was, your eyes immediately widened.

“So, now that that’s out of the way, I’m guessing this is yours, then?” he said, raising the object high enough for you to see.

Your journal.

You could only look at it in complete, utter shock, your eyes wide with surprise. He had your journal all along, too? But how come he had it with him now, at this very specific moment? Did he already know beforehand that you were the owner of it, too?

“How did you... how’d you know that belongs to me?” you asked, still dumbfoundedly staring at it as it remained in his hands.

He shrugged with a knowing smile. “Call it a hunch.”

You took it from his grasp, flipping through the pages just to make sure it was actually your journal. It was. “No, seriously, how did you know...?”

He paused, then admitted, “Well, may have read a single page. What I read was an entry about wanting to move to a new country to restart your life and turn over a new leaf. I remembered that the moment you told your story about your past to the casting directors during the auditions, and that’s when I put two and two together. I was just waiting for the right time to return it to you.”

“The right time as in the time I’d finally decide to return your sketchbook?”

“Precisely,” he responded, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“So you knew my intention behind asking you to meet up tonight?” you asked, a mix of amazement and embarrassment flooding through you.

“I did. Call it a hunch—for real this time.”

You looked up at him, trying to process everything. “So... where do we go from here?”

He tilted his head slightly, a curious expression on his face. “What do you mean by that?”

You fiddled with the hem of the sweater you were wearing, not really sure how this night was meant to be concluded—another thing you forgot to consider, thanks to your constant overthinking. “You have your sketchbook, and I have my journal... I suppose we should call this a day, then?”

He chuckled softly. “You’re still tense, aren’t you?”

You sighed, feeling the tension in your shoulders that you had been trying to ignore. “I can’t help it.”

Hongjoong tried to lighten the mood with a playful tone. “You better be, because who knows if I might switch up on you last minute or not.”

But his attempt at humor backfired. You immediately began to worry, your words coming out in a frantic scurry. “Please don’t! I mean, I really didn’t mean to keep it for so long. I was just scared, and...”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that,” he quickly interjected, his smile turning sheepish. “That was probably not a good joke... Sorry about that.” Hongjoong then spoke up again, his tone more sincere. “Let’s see… Why don’t we stop by the cafe where this all started? Just to get your mind off your persisting worries?”

You hesitated, trying to turn his offer down. “Oh, I don’t want to take up more of your time than I already did. You’re probably busy...”

He shook his head, his expression earnest. “That’s not the case at all. I don’t mind. Really, I insist.” Seeing the genuine look in his eyes, you finally nodded, a small smile forming on your lips as you caved in.

As you both started walking, you felt some of the tension begin to ease. The sketchbook and journal were back with their rightful owners, and despite the initial awkwardness, the evening was starting to take a more positive turn. The park was quiet, the air filled with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of city life, creating a calming backdrop for your walk to the cafe.

Hongjoong led the way, his steps confident yet relaxed. “You know,” he began, glancing at you, “I’ve always believed that the right things find their way back to you at the right time. Looks like today was one of those days.”

You nodded, reflecting on his words. “Yeah, I suppose it was.”

You and Hongjoong eventually approached the cafe, the warm, inviting light spilling out onto the street through the large windows. The bell above the door chimed softly as you entered, and a comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air. The interior was cozy, with a few patrons scattered around, each immersed in their own little worlds. You both walked up to the counter, where a cheerful barista greeted you with a welcoming smile.

Hongjoong glanced at you, gesturing for you to go first. “What would you like?”

You scanned the menu briefly before deciding. “I’ll have a caramel macchiato, please.”

The barista nodded and turned to Hongjoong. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll take an Americano,” he replied with a friendly nod.

As the barista prepared your drinks, you and Hongjoong made small talk, the earlier tension steadily dissolving into a more relaxed and natural conversation. Once your drinks were ready, you carried them over to a small table by the window, where the soft evening light created a serene atmosphere.

Settling into your seats, Hongjoong took a sip of his coffee before turning his attention to you. “So, about that dress you wore at the audition. How did you make it? Because, as my memory serves me, it was a hundred percent identical to the design I made.”

You smiled, reminiscing about the creation process. “The landlord of the apartment I’m currently staying in helped me with making it. It was her way of thanking me for helping her with grocery shopping one day. She’s really talented with a sewing machine.”

Hongjoong’s eyes softened, and a warm smile spread across his face. “That’s really heartwarming. It’s wonderful how small acts of kindness can lead to such beautiful collaborations. It’s like the universe has a way of bringing the right people together at the right time.”

Touched by his words, you nodded. “The design itself was really beautiful and eye-catching. What was the inspiration behind it?”

Hongjoong’s expression shifted to a more somber tone as he gazed out the window, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. “They’re inspired by the dreams I have failed to reach.”

Intrigued by the depth of his statement, you leaned forward slightly. “Sorry, could you elaborate on that?”

He paused, as if carefully choosing his words, before responding with a poetic yet cryptic tone. “Sometimes, the dreams we chase slip through our fingers like grains of sand, leaving behind a haunting echo of what could have been. But in that echo, there’s still beauty, still inspiration.”

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight that spoke volumes. You could sense there was more to his story than he was letting on. “Is this dream of yours still up there, or has it already dissipated?”

Hongjoong sighed, a touch of uncertainty in his eyes. “To be honest, I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want it to be the latter.”

Sensing the mood deflating, you decided to steer the conversation towards lighter waters. “Tell me about Seonghwa and Wooyoung. Have you known them for a long time? The three of you seem really close.”

A smile tugged at Hongjoong’s lips, and he nodded appreciatively. “Yes, we’ve known each other since our youth. Seonghwa and I go way back. As for Wooyoung, we met him in college. He’s a year behind us, but it didn’t take long for us to become close friends.”

“How did the three of you meet?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Hongjoong’s eyes sparkled with fond memories. “Seonghwa and I have known each other since we were kids. We grew up in the same neighborhood and went to the same schools. Wooyoung, on the other hand, we met him during his first year of college when we were in our second. He was this energetic, passionate guy who always had a camera in his hand. We quickly became friends, and our bond just grew stronger over time.”

He continued, his voice warm with nostalgia. “Wooyoung had this knack for capturing moments, and he saw the world in a way that inspired us both. Seonghwa and I were drawn to his creativity, and he brought out the best in us. The three of us complemented each other perfectly, both in our personal lives and in our professional endeavors.”

Hongjoong turned the conversation towards you, his curiosity piqued. “What about you? Do you have any friends that you cherish as much as I do with Wooyoung and Seonghwa?”

You paused to think about it. The figures that appeared in your mind were the daughter of the diner owner you used to work for and another person whose friendship you were unsure about.

Clearing your throat, you snapped out of your thoughts and looked up, meeting Hongjoong’s gaze with your own. “Yes, I do. She’s from Arcadia Bay, my hometown. Her name is Chloe—she’s someone I met through her mother, who owned the diner I used to work at before I got fired for always gobbling up both the leftovers and incorrect orders.”

Hongjoong’s laugh broke the story, and he immediately apologized, but you smiled, shaking your head. “It’s okay. I have to admit, it was a ridiculous way to get fired.” You continued, recounting your friendship with Chloe.

“She’s really cool. A bit of a bad influence, but she was one of the few reasons why I still consider my life in Arcadia Bay worth remembering. She was like those typical angsty teens you’d see in movies—the whole starter pack, even. You know, dyed hair, tattoos, alternative clothing style, sneaking into concerts of rock bands. She had every right to be like that, though. During my shift hours, she’d always keep me company by entertaining me with life stories she definitely shouldn’t have been going through at her age back then. We were sixteen, but that’s usually the rebellious time period for teenagers, so I guess it checks out.”

Hongjoong listened intently to every word, his focus never wavering. You could tell he was genuinely interested in what you were sharing. His attention made you feel valued, as if your stories were as important to him as his own.

“Sounds like your typical high school friendship,” he mused with a smile. “Can’t say it wasn’t the same case for me and Seonghwa, honestly.”

“Hold on, you had a rebellious teen phase?” you asked, leaning forward, genuinely curious.

Hongjoong’s expression grew more animated as he recalled his rebellious past, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and nostalgia. “Oh, you have no idea. Seonghwa and I were quite the troublemakers back then. We were involved in some pretty intense stuff—definitely not your average teenage rebellion, but I’m not too proud of that fact.”

You leaned in, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor. “Like what?” You had to admit, finding out that the man who always seemed to be so poised used to be a reckless teenager was jarring.

He chuckled, a hint of daring in his voice. “Well, for starters, we were heavily into the underground party scene. I’m talking about secret raves in abandoned warehouses and hidden clubs where the music was so loud, you could barely hear yourself think. The kind of places where the lights were always dim, and you had to know someone to get in.”

You listened intently, picturing the vibrant, chaotic scenes he described. “That sounds wild.” It was the type of life you’ll never be able to picture yourself experiencing—the very first proof of this being always turning down Chloe’s invites to parties taking place in a shady venue. It seemed fun, that’s for sure, but you just weren’t really built for it.

“Oh, it was,” Hongjoong agreed, his smile widening. “We were also really into street racing. Seonghwa had this old, souped-up car that he’d been working on for months. We’d drive it through the city streets, racing against anyone who dared to challenge us. Sometimes, we’d even have to make a quick getaway when the police showed up.”

His words painted a vivid picture of adrenaline-fueled nights and high-stakes races. “The police? That must have been thrilling.”

“It was,” he said, his gaze distant as if replaying the scenes in his mind. “And then there were the run-ins with the law. We were caught a few times, of course. Nothing too serious, but we had our share of close calls. There was this one time we were cornered by the cops after a particularly wild race, and we had to evade them through the back alleys of the city. It was like something out of a movie.”

Your eyes widened, impressed by the intensity of his teenage years. “Didn’t that ever scare you?”

He shrugged, a nonchalant smile on his face. “Not really. At the time, it felt like living on the edge was the only way to really feel alive. It was exhilarating, but we always managed to stay one step ahead. Those experiences made us who we are today, and while I don’t miss the chaos, I look back on it with a certain fondness.”

“You seem so different now,” you observed, noting the contrast between his past and present demeanor.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong agreed, his smile softening. “I guess I’ve changed quite a bit. Those days taught me a lot, but I also realized that I needed to channel that energy into something more constructive. That’s how I ended up finding my path in fashion designing. It was like a transformation from chaos to creativity. I still have a taste for adventure, but I prefer it now in the form of pushing boundaries in design rather than… dodging the cops.”

You laughed, though it was soon followed by an understanding nod, taking in the depth of his transformation. “It sounds like those years shaped you a lot. What was Seonghwa like during all this?”

Hongjoong’s eyes lit up as he spoke about his friend. “Seonghwa was my partner in crime, quite literally. He was just as reckless and adventurous as I was. We were inseparable back then. He had a natural knack for getting us into the thick of things—whether it was by pushing our luck with illegal street races or sneaking into the most exclusive underground parties.”

You could sense the warmth in Hongjoong’s tone as he spoke of Seonghwa. “And did he ever get tired of all the chaos?”

“No,” Hongjoong laughed, shaking his head. “If anything, he thrived on it. We both did. But as we grew older, we started to see the value in channeling that rebellious spirit into something more sustainable. We realized that we could use our drive and creativity in more productive ways.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze reflecting a mixture of nostalgia and contentment. “It’s funny, really. What once was all about defying norms and breaking rules became a passion for creating something new and innovative. I think it’s one of the reasons why Seonghwa and I get along so well. We understand each other’s journey from foolish teens to responsible adults.”

“Do you ever miss those days?” you asked, curious if he ever longed for the simpler times.

Hongjoong’s expression softened. “Sometimes. Life was simpler back then. No major responsibilities, just living in the moment. But I also appreciate where I am now. Those experiences shaped who I am today, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

You nodded in agreement, understanding his sentiment. “It’s amazing how those memories stay with us and influence who we become.”

He smiled warmly at you. “Right. And it’s the people we meet along the way that make those memories special. Like Chloe for you.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, thinking about your old friend. “Chloe was definitely one of those people. She made my time in Arcadia Bay memorable, despite everything.”

Hongjoong’s eyes held a hint of admiration as he looked at you. “It sounds like you had a real connection with her. Those kinds of friendships are rare and valuable.”

“They are,” you agreed, feeling a sense of nostalgia. “I’m grateful for those times, even if they’re in the past now.”

You leaned back in your chair, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before speaking. “You know, it feels a little weird sharing these stories with you. Not that it makes me uncomfortable, it’s just… I quite literally work under you. I can’t help but feel worried that I’m crossing a boundary by talking about these things.”

Hongjoong’s expression softened as he leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours. “I understand why you might feel that way, but you’re not crossing any boundaries. Outside of work and the industry, I’m not a creative director. I’m just a normal human, just like you. So, it’s alright to talk to me about these things.”

You smiled, feeling a bit more reassured. “It might take a while for me to get used to talking to you comfortably without feeling guilty right after, though.” You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck.

He nodded, his smile understanding. “That’s completely understandable. Take your time.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and minutes later, you both decided to call it a night. Hongjoong stood up, lending his hand to help you out of your seat.

“Let me take you home,” he offered. While your initial thought was to turn him down, you knew deep inside you had a huge fear of walking alone late at night, so all you could do was accept his offer with a wordless nod of gratitude.

As you walked together towards your apartment, Hongjoong began to indulge you in small talk. “So, tell me more about your landlord.”

You smiled, thinking of Madame Dupont. “She’s always been very kind to me ever since I first moved in. She’s a lovely woman. She has a beautiful garden at the apartment, and back when I was still on my job hunt, I’d see her early in the morning, watering her plants and flowers. I think it’s a nice hobby to have.”

Hongjoong nodded, appreciating the sentiment. “Gardening does sound like a peaceful hobby. Have you ever thought about making your own garden?”

“I actually have, quite a few times already. But I can barely even take care of myself, so taking care of something else—a whole bunch of them at that—doesn’t really seem like a good idea on my behalf,” you joked, and both of you shared a laugh.

The laughter faded, and you shifted the conversation. “What about you? Do you have a dream hobby you wish to indulge in one day?”

Hongjoong’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I’ve actually been wanting to learn how to play the guitar—an electric one specifically. But I’m just currently too busy with my work to sneak in a hobby.”

You decided to test the waters with a light-hearted joke. “That hobby is long overdue. You should’ve thought of it back when you were in your angsty teen phase.” Was that alright to say? Was it too far?

Much to your relief, Hongjoong laughed heartily. “You’re right. It would’ve fit perfectly with who I was back then.”

When you both finally reached your apartment building, you let out a small hum of surprise as a familiar figure darted towards you—a mischievous little feline known all too well to you.

“Pompidou?” you called out softly, crouching down as the cat stopped right in front of you, looking up with wide, curious eyes. You bent your knees, scooping it up into your arms with a gentle smile, feeling the comforting weight and warmth of the small creature.

Hongjoong watched this interaction with a fond smile, his eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Is that your cat?” he asked, stepping a little closer to get a better look.

You shook your head, still smiling as you stroked Pompidou’s soft fur. “No, he belongs to a fellow tenant. Pompidou just prefers to stay outdoors more. He’s quite the adventurous little guy.”

Intrigued, Hongjoong reached out to rub the cat’s head. “Be careful, he might—” You started to warn him about Pompidou’s unpredictable nature, but to your surprise, the cat began nuzzling its head against Hongjoong’s palm, purring contentedly.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, glancing up at Hongjoong. The proximity between your faces made your heart skip a beat, and you quickly looked back down at Pompidou, feeling a bit flustered. Clearing your throat to regain composure, you said, “It likes you.”

Hongjoong continued to rub Pompidou’s head, his touch gentle and kind. “Does it usually not accept physical touch from people who aren’t its owner?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

You nodded. “You’re right. Sometimes, Pompidou doesn’t even like being touched by its owner. Poor Monsieur Frank always has to chase him around. It’s quite a sight.”

This made Hongjoong chuckle, a warm sound that resonated in the quiet evening. “But it likes you?”

You shrugged, still a bit puzzled by the cat’s behavior. “I honestly have no idea why that’s the case. Maybe he senses something.”

Hongjoong’s eyes softened as he watched the cat nuzzle against you. “I remember reading an article about animals and their behavioral traits, and it said that when a cat is naturally drawn to you, it means you have a kind soul and they can sense it.”

The thought of Pompidou seeing your soul as something pure warmed your heart, making you embrace the cat a little tighter. You glanced at Hongjoong, touched by his words. “Maybe that’s why it likes you a lot,” he mused quietly, almost as if speaking to himself.

As you cradled Pompidou in your arms like a baby, Hongjoong took a step back, reaching into his bag to retrieve his phone. He quickly snapped a candid photo of you with the cat, the moment capturing the tender interaction between you and Pompidou. Once the photo was taken, he discreetly put his phone back in his bag.

Only then did you turn your attention back to him, smiling warmly. “Thank you for spending the evening with me and walking me home. It was really nice. And… I’m still so sorry about not choosing to return the sketchbook sooner.”

Hongjoong laughed softly, shaking his head. “No need to thank me. I enjoyed it too. And don’t worry about the sketchbook. It’s really not a problem.”

You waved goodbye, watching as he safely crossed the road before finally heading inside. Setting Pompidou down gently on the floor, you bid the cat farewell too before heading up to your apartment. Once inside, you heaved a soft sigh of relief, feeling the familiar comfort of your home envelop you after a long day. Stretching your arms, you plopped yourself on the floor, leaning back against the couch to relax.

A message notification from Hongjoong pinged on your phone, showing a photo attachment. Opening it with initial confusion, you smiled widely as you saw a candid photo of you holding Pompidou in your arms. The image captured the warmth of the moment perfectly. You quickly reacted to the photo with a heart, typing out a response.

How come I didn’t notice you taking this photo?

Hongjoong’s reply then came swiftly, nearly a couple seconds right after you sent yours.

When you have a cat in your arms, it’s quite impossible to focus on everything that’s happening around you.

You laughed at his message, feeling a sense of warmth spread through you. You thanked him for today once more before shutting your phone and calling it a day—a well-spent one, at that.

—

It still felt surreal to everyone except for Hongjoong that the sketchbook was finally back in his hands, removing the key obstacle that had been troubling him for a while. It had been three days since he shared the news with Seonghwa and Wooyoung, and despite the word spreading quickly, people still found it hard to believe that it had resurfaced just when everyone least expected it. Relief was the dominant sentiment among the team, but Seonghwa and Wooyoung couldn’t shake their curiosity about how, when, and where Hongjoong found the sketchbook. This mystery led them to their usual spot for private conversations about Hongjoong: Seonghwa’s office.

Seonghwa sat at his desk, diligently working through paperwork, while Wooyoung sprawled on the office couch, staring at the ceiling with a thoughtful frown.

“I just don’t get why he’d be so cryptic about it,” Wooyoung said, breaking the silence. His voice carried a mix of confusion and frustration.

Seonghwa shrugged without looking up from his papers. “He’s always had a knack for being secretive. But in this situation, it doesn’t seem quite sensible.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Wooyoung almost yelled, sitting up abruptly. Seonghwa glanced at him, surprised by his outburst. “Oops. But yeah, it’s not like he has to share every detail with us, but why wouldn’t he, you know?”

“I’m as lost as you are,” Seonghwa replied with a sigh, flipping to the next page of his paperwork. “Maybe he’ll come around eventually. For now, we should just be glad he’s got it back. You know how much it means to him.”

Wooyoung nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I do. It means as much to him as a worn-out bunny plush means to a child in a horror movie.”

Seonghwa chuckled at the comparison. “Nice observation.”

“You think he’s gonna magically appear anytime soon now?” Wooyoung asked suddenly, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. “He always seems to show up exactly when we’re talking about him.”

“You think he’ll show up if you say his name three times?” Seonghwa asked, playing along with Wooyoung’s musings.

“What, like Bloody Mary?”

“I was leaning towards Beetlejuice, but that fits too,” Seonghwa responded with a contemplative look.

Wooyoung grinned. “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetle—”

At that exact moment, the door to Seonghwa’s office swung open, and Hongjoong walked in. “Speak of the devil,” Seonghwa said, unable to hide his amusement as he looked at Wooyoung, who appeared mortified.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of their conversation. “Talking about me again?”

Wooyoung tried to play it cool. “Oh, I was actually summoning you right before you came in.”

Hongjoong gave him a deadpan expression. “I heard you chanting Beetlejuice’s name three times before entering.”

Feigning innocence, Wooyoung shrugged. “Pure coincidence.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes and brushed him off, turning his attention to Seonghwa. “Anyway, we need to discuss the plans for Fashion Week now that the sketchbook is back. Can we go over the details?”

Seonghwa nodded, clearing his desk to make space for the discussion. He pulled out a large binder filled with notes, sketches, and timelines. “Of course. We have a lot to cover.”

Hongjoong settled into the chair across from Seonghwa, pulling out his own notes. “I’ve been thinking about our initial concept for the collection. Now that we have the sketches back, I want to make sure we stay true to the original vision.”

Seonghwa flipped through the binder, stopping at a section filled with sketches and fabric swatches. “I agree. The original vision was strong, but we need to ensure every piece aligns perfectly with it. Let’s start with the color palette.”

Hongjoong nodded, leaning forward. “I’m thinking we stick with the bold, contrasting colors. It’s a statement collection, and the colors need to reflect that. The deep reds, midnight blues, and metallic accents should remain as the primary focus.”

Seonghwa made notes as Hongjoong spoke, occasionally nodding in agreement. “And the fabrics? Are we still going with the mix of leather and silk?”

“We are,” Hongjoong confirmed. “The juxtaposition of the tough and the delicate is what gives the collection its edge. The leather jackets with silk linings, the silk dresses with leather accents—it all needs to be cohesive.”

Wooyoung, now sitting up properly, watched the discussion unfold with interest. “What about the accessories? Are we doing anything special with those?”

Hongjoong glanced at Wooyoung, then back at Seonghwa. “I was thinking about incorporating some custom jewelry pieces. Something that complements the outfits but stands out on its own. Maybe some statement necklaces and rings?”

Seonghwa jotted down the ideas, flipping to another page in the binder. “And the runway show? Do we have a clear vision for the presentation?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong said firmly. "The runway needs to reflect the collection’s theme. I’m envisioning a stark, industrial setting with dramatic lighting. The music should be intense, something that amplifies the mood we’re going for.”

Seonghwa nodded, his pen moving quickly across the paper. “Sounds perfect. We’ll need to coordinate with the production team to make sure everything aligns.”

Wooyoung, still lounging on the couch, suddenly broke the silence with a thoughtful question. “Would you ever tell us about how you got your sketchbook back someday? Like, you know, maybe after Fashion Week?”

Seonghwa, leaning back in his chair and stretching, hummed in agreement. “While I’m not usually one to pry, I have to admit I’m a little curious about that as well.”

Hongjoong simply smiled, leaning back in his seat. “It’s up to the answer if it wants to come forward. If not, I’m afraid all you can do is accept things as they are.”

Wooyoung frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the cryptic response. “Why are you always so mysterious whenever there’s something you don’t want to tell us about? You sound like a riddler.”

Hongjoong laughed, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Maybe I am,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He then shifted the conversation, clearly intent on steering it away from the sketchbook’s return. “Anyway, how did the recent photoshoot at that old Parisian venue go? I couldn’t stick around long because of work.”

Wooyoung’s expression brightened at the change of topic. “Oh, it went really well! She was fantastic. She had this natural ease in front of the camera that made everything flow smoothly. The venue was perfect too, with its rustic charm and vintage vibes. It really brought out the best in the shoot.”

Seonghwa nodded, visibly pleased with the feedback. “I’ve seen some of the raw shots. They’re set to be uploaded on our social media platforms tomorrow. Are the chosen photos finalized?”

Wooyoung leaned back, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. “Yes, they are. I sent the file to you last night, actually. I left it up to her to choose which ones she wanted to be uploaded and which ones she didn’t. She has a good eye for these things.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That’s a lot of trust to put in her.”

Wooyoung shrugged. “She chose the best shots—she knows her stuff, that’s for sure. Plus, she’s the one in the photos. It only makes sense for her to have a say in how she’s presented.”

Seonghwa agreed, his fingers tapping thoughtfully on his desk. “I think it’s a good call. It’s important that she feels comfortable with what’s being shared. It builds trust and respect, which is essential in this industry.”

Hongjoong nodded, appreciating their insights. “I’m glad to hear it went well. It’s good to know we’re on the right track.”

Wooyoung’s grin widened. “I agree. And I have to say, she really brought her A-game. I think the location also played a huge role. There’s something about that old Parisian charm that adds a layer of authenticity and nostalgia to the photos. It’s like we’re capturing a piece of history.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, his interest piqued. “I’d love to see the final selections. Can we go through them now?”

Seonghwa reached for his laptop, quickly pulling up the folder with the chosen photos. He positioned the screen so all three of them could see. “Here are the ones she decided on.”

They spent the next few minutes reviewing each photo, discussing the angles, the lighting, and the overall composition.

“This one,” Hongjoong pointed to a shot where you were caught in a candid moment of laughter. “It feels so genuine and warm. It’s the kind of photo that draws people in.”

Wooyoung nodded. “That’s exactly why she chose it. It’s authentic. It shows her personality in a way that’s relatable and endearing.”

Seonghwa scrolled to another photo, this one a more posed shot with you looking pensively out of a window. “And this one has a different kind of impact. It’s introspective and thoughtful. It adds depth to the collection.”

Hongjoong agreed, his eyes lingering on the image. “It’s a good balance. We need both the candid and the posed shots to tell a complete story.”

Wooyoung chimed in, “She really knows how to work the camera. Even in the posed shots, there’s this natural grace about her that just comes through.”

Hongjoong added, “The lighting in this one is perfect. It highlights her features without being too harsh. It’s soft, yet striking. And the backdrop of the Parisian venue really adds a timeless quality to the photos. It’s like we’re capturing a moment in time, a blend of the past and present.”

Wooyoung leaned back on the couch, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “You know, while I think the backdrop and the angles definitely helped, I believe it was her visuals that completed the whole thing. There’s just something about the way she carries herself.”

Seonghwa nodded, glancing at the photos on the laptop screen. “I agree. Even when I first saw her on the other side of the road, she looked like she was part of some sort of painting. There’s an almost ethereal quality to her presence.”

Hongjoong, who had been lost in thought, found himself contemplating the same thing. There was something about you, not just your looks but your overall vibe, that felt different to him. It wasn’t just your physical appearance; it was the way you composed yourself, the quiet confidence you exude. It was as if you were in a world of your own, and yet fully present in the moment. He couldn’t quite place it, but it intrigued him deeply.

Snapping his fingers in front of Hongjoong’s face, Wooyoung dragged him out of his reverie. “Hey, earth to Hongjoong. You okay?”

Hongjoong blinked, realizing he had been staring off into space. “Sorry, I was lost in thought. Were you saying something?”

Wooyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I was just saying there’s something about her charisma that sets her apart from every other model I’ve worked with. Don’t you agree? It’s like she has this unique energy that just draws people in.”

Hongjoong nodded slowly, his mind still partially occupied by his earlier thoughts. “Yeah... yeah, I agree. There’s definitely something special about her. It’s not just about looks. It’s more than that.”

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. “I think It’s her presence. She has this natural grace and ease that’s rare. It’s like she belongs in front of the camera, but she’s not trying too hard. It’s effortless.”

Wooyoung smiled, his thoughts aligning with Seonghwa’s words. “You get it. It’s like she’s not performing, she’s just being herself. And that authenticity shines through in every shot.”

Hongjoong nodded. “That’s what makes her perfect for our brand. She embodies the kind of genuine beauty and charisma we want to showcase. It’s refreshing to work with someone who doesn’t rely on pretense.” He glanced at the photos once more, feeling a sense of satisfaction and excitement. “We’re lucky to have her on board.”

Seonghwa nodded, closing the laptop. “Agreed. And with Fashion Week coming up, we need all the positive energy we can get. This is a great start.”

Wooyoung stretched, a content smile on his face. “I can’t wait to see the reaction when these photos go live. I have a feeling they’re going to be a hit.”

As the conversation shifted to the finer details of the upcoming Fashion Week, the room buzzed with excitement and determination. They knew they were on the brink of something great, and they were ready to give it their all.

Yet, amidst all the planning and strategizing, Hongjoong couldn’t shake the lingering thoughts of you. There was something about your presence that stayed with him, a quiet, unspoken connection that he couldn’t quite define. He knew there was more to you than met the eye, and he found himself eager to discover what that was.

🪞 — lividstar.

[saellefanwork]

𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐬

Kamado Tanjiro x DemonSlayer!F!Reader x (Past) Rengoku Kyojuro

Reminder: This Demon Slayer fic is rated Explicit (adults only) for canon-typical violence and, disturbing and explicit sexual content

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Chapter 2: The Shadow of the Mentor

Tanjiro and you don't cross paths again for several weeks, until Tengen plans an infiltration mission in the Red Light District.

Author Note: The timeline here is different from the canon story (characters are older, it's implied that Tanjiro has been Kyojuro's tsuguko for a while before his death). That's why Yoshiwara's team composition is also different. Since this is not a fic focusing on the Demon Slayer story, but rather on the relationship between the characters, I skipped the fight scenes. So there won't be any epic battles here, unlike in my other fic "The Tears of Time".

TAGS applying to this chapter: Red Light District Arc, Grief, Sad, Angst, Depression, some Healing though?, Near Death Experience, Ghost, No sex here, only Feels, hints of Tanjiro/Kyojuro's Platonic Love

Several weeks passed without Tanjiro visiting you. Missions kept pouring in relentlessly, and it seemed that the hierarchy, perhaps aware of the changes in your relationship, no longer assigned the two of you on expeditions together. The solitude the young man experienced, punctuated by moments spent with his friends, provided him a degree of perspective on the situation. Despite regularly inquiring about your well-being from the girls at the Butterfly Estate (although they didn't always give him answers), he remained convinced that he had made the right choice.

However, this conviction did little to quell the emptiness he felt without you by his side. While he hoped to reconnect with you in the future, he couldn't envision how to do so without falling into the same patterns as before. After what had happened, perhaps you no longer desired his presence, not even as a friend.

One day, Tengen summoned Tanjiro and Inosuke at the Butterfly Manor. The three of them were tasked with investigating the mysterious disappearances of prostitutes within Tokyo's infamous red-light district. The Sound Pillar had previously dispatched his wives on an infiltration mission in brothels there some time ago, but they had returned with no significant findings. But it seemed the demon living there was active again, as there was an unprecedented resurgence of crimes, prompting the Corps to take action once more.

"We need an additional member, preferably a girl," Tengen declared, his strong arms crossed. "Let's get Aoi," he commanded, pointing toward the main wing of the building, where the butterfly girls were working.

Tanjiro furrowed his brows. He had been raised with manners and harbored deep respect for his superiors, especially his new mentor, who had taken over his training following the Flame Pillar's tragic demise. However, it contradicted his very nature to ignore the call to protect those who couldn't fight.

"Let's leave Aoi alone; she is already making significant contributions to the Kisatsutai," Tanjiro argued. "Can't we request another female Slayer for this mission?"

"They're a scarce commodity. My wives are on another operation, and Zenitsu's late puberty facial hair would make for a terrible courtesan. Your and Inosuke's looks, on the other hand, can still deceive some with some makeup and disguise. Unless you have a better alternative, be prepared to enlist your sister for the task," he concluded.

Tanjiro was about to protest when a voice interrupted him.

"I'm coming with you."

The young man's heart skipped a beat as he turned around, spotting your silhouette in the shadow of the building. You stood there in your Slayer outfit, your katana secured at your waist. His chest tightened, and without thinking, he whispered your name. Despite the circumstances of your separation, he had missed you dearly.

You stepped toward them, fully revealing yourself in the daylight. You had lost weight since your last encounter, and dark circles had formed under your eyes. Your usually well-groomed hair was unkempt, and your uniform appeared somewhat shabby. Tanjiro looked at you with concern, but he summoned the strength to smile gently and offer a greeting, which you acknowledged with a nod.

You couldn't help but notice that he had once again cut his hair short, just like when he had first joined the Corps; you guiltily wondered it was a result of what had transpired during the last night you shared.

"Hmm..." Tengen eyed your tenses expressions alternately with a skeptical expression. "Weren't you supposed to be prohibited from heading on missions together, following Kocho's request?"

"If I volunteer, then it's fine," you replied curtly.

"Well, that settles one issue," Tengen shrugged, displaying little concern for your love drama. "We'll keep Nezuko as a backup. We’ve wasted enough time already; let's go!"

"Wait, Uzui-san!" Tanjiro turned to you. "Are you sure about this? It could be the work of an Upper Moon. I'd rather... have you stay safe here," he admitted.

You were hurt that he considered Nezuko an option for this mission and not you. Despite being in a fragile mental state, you were still a competent Slayer.

"It's precisely because it might involve an Upper Moon that I want to come with you," you declared firmly.

I want to be there to protect you if possible, especially now that I'm stronger than I've been since... the incident on the train. And if you were to die, I want to die alongside you, you mentally added, but you kept your thoughts to yourself, aware that he wouldn't agree with your mindset.

Tanjiro was not a telepath, but your scent and determined expression spoke volumes. He knew he couldn't convince you to stay behind, yet he still felt uneasy about the idea of you joining them. It was evident that you hadn't had a good meal or rest in weeks. His master grabbed him by the collar of his haori and turned him toward their departure.

"Listen to your woman if you want to succeed in life. Her opinion matters the most, second only to the God of Festivities. Stop wasting our time and let's move!"

"Your woman is a pain in the ass," Tengen complained just two days later. "She's exhausted but refuses to sleep. She's like a zombie and is inefficient in her research."

"This mission is tough, and she's doing her best. Plus, I told you it wasn't a good idea in her state, Uzui-san," Tanjiro sighed, not wanting to argue further about the topic. "And please, stop referring to her as 'my woman.' She's... just a dear friend. You know very well that she is Rengoku-san's fiancée."

"Hmm, whatever you say, your heart's melody doesn't sing the same tune when you see her. Besides, Rengoku is dead," Tengen remarked casually.

Listening to his words, one might mistakenly assume that Uzui didn't hold much regard for the departed Pillar, but Tanjiro knew better. The two men had been close friends; the shinobi had simply grown accustomed to burying his loved ones and moving forward.

"That still doesn't change the fact that she's not my woman," Tanjiro responded sourly. He carefully smoothed the folds of his kimono and checked his reflection in a mirror, ensuring that the makeup you had applied earlier remained intact. With night descending upon them, everyone had to return to their investigations separately. "I'll head back to my brothel. I think I've found a lead... I'll reach out to you when I get more intel."

The echoes of roaring flames and crumbling buildings gradually faded into nothingness, as Tanjiro teetered on the brink of life and death, poisoned by Upper Moon Six. His vision plunged into an abyss of darkness. Within this eerie realm, an icy stillness prevailed. Tanjiro wandered aimlessly, guided by an indistinct longing for something he couldn't define – perhaps a way out of this frightening place. He could discern your scent. Maybe you were close to his body.

He longed to return to you so badly...

"Kamado!" a voice called out from behind him.

Surprised, Tanjiro's gaze shifted to the silhouette of his former mentor standing only a few steps away. Kyojuro's arms were folded, a gentle smile graced his face, and his fiery eyes were locked onto his tsuguko.

His white and red haori was draped elegantly over his shoulders, waving slowly behind him, and the golden buttons of his Slayer gakuran gleaming softly. At his side, he carried his trusty katana with the flame-shaped tsuba that Tanjiro had inherited. The Hashira looked exactly as he did in life, radiating strength and vitality. His very presence dispelled the surrounding darkness, providing a reassuring warmth, much like before.

"Rengoku-san, Aniki!" Tanjiro exclaimed, tears immediately welling up in his eyes.

He stepped toward his mentor, overwhelmed with the desire to embrace him before stopping himself, remembering the gravity of his current situation.

"Aniki... I'm sorry. I failed. I slew an Upper Moon with Uzui-san and the others, but I couldn't protect the people of the entertainment district... a lot of people have died. And as for your fiancée, she's alive... However, I couldn't fulfill my promise to take care of her. I did all that I could, but... I just can't fill the void you left..." Tears now flowed freely down Tanjiro's cheeks, and he futilely wiped them away with the sleeve of his uniform.

The Flame Pillar placed a reassuring hand on his tsuguko's shoulder.

"Kamado, my boy, you were magnificent. You fought valiantly, and I commend you. You pushed your limits to the absolute extreme and emerged victorious. Thanks to you and your friends, these demons won't harm anyone else and will face retribution in hell. As for my former fiancée... I know the current situation is difficult for both of you, but she truly loves you, believe me. Hold on to hope. The two of you will find your way through this."

"You're mistaken, Aniki. She has eyes only for you; she doesn't like me that way. I fear I've only made things worse for her by trying to grow closer to her. I... I'm so sorry... I feel ashamed. To think that you had discerned my feelings for her when you were still with us, and instead of resenting me, you entrusted her to me... and yet, I failed..." Tanjiro's voice trembled as he sobbed, his tears mingling with hiccups.

He held Kyojuro in such high regard, idolizing him as much as he envied and begrudged him for occupying such a significant place in their lives, especially in yours, only to leave behind an equally immense void... The idea of letting him down was unbearable.

Kyojuro's spectral form embraced him gently. Though insubstantial, his warmth immediately enveloped and consoled his protege.

"Kamado... have more faith in yourself. She loves you. She chose me because circumstances made her realize her feelings for me before the ones she harbored for you, and I was deeply honored that such an extraordinary woman wanted me. But I'm certain she already loved you when I first met her. Don't try to take my place. You're an exceptional young man. Hold your head high and set your heart ablaze, especially in the face of adversity. She will return to you."

Tanjiro managed to suppress his tears and stared at his mentor, who was so kind and encouraging. His smile and reassuring gaze had the power to reignite even the most dimmed flames within one's soul. Despite the passage of time, this man would eternally remain a role model for the younger Slayer, someone he would forever admire and regret. He vowed to himself that he would heed his master's words and attempt to regain his self-confidence, honoring him in the afterlife.

"I'll do my best, Aniki," Tanjiro promised with a feeble smile. "At least, if I survive... I think I'm dying..."

"You're alive. Nezuko neutralized the poison, and you'll wake up shortly. Take care of yourself and our beloved, Tanjiro. The three of us will meet again in our next life."

The Hashira pressed his forehead against his subordinate's then straightened up, affectionately ruffling his burgundy hair with a broad smile. His silhouette vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared, but the warmth he emanated lingered long after his departure.

Tanjiro gradually regained consciousness. He was alive, albeit severely wounded, amidst the debris of Yoshiwara. The rest of his team was surrounding him, bent over him with worried expressions. He was so grateful that nobody had died... But perhaps his greatest reward was your presence close to him.

You wept profusely, cradling him in your arms.

"Tanjiro! I thought you were gone... I was so terrified." You hiccupped loudly, unable to stifle your sobs.

"Thanks Gods, Nezuko managed to burn the poison with her Blood Art. But you're still seriously injured... focus on your wounds to stop the bleeding, okay? The Kakushi will arrive soon. Hang in there and stay with me, Tanjiro. Promise me?"

He stared at you for a few moments, taken aback by your pleas and your tears. They weren’t for your fiancé, but for him. He turned his face slightly, nestling his cheek into your warm hand.

"Always," he whispered, closing his eyelids with a faint smile.

You were expecting (dark) smut, you got bittersweet relationship development instead. Maybe in next chapter ;)?

Tell me if you want to be tagged for next and last update of this story!

@gyusimp @kimiwotabenakatta-blog

Next chapter: "Closure" (will be released in two days maximum)

[fairykazu]

operation: is wanname real? ft. scaramouche x fem! reader

notes: this was my yoiscara fic on ao3 but i replaced every yoimiya part with reader stuff

it wasn’t odd that wanderer has a significant other. yeah, he was a fatui harbinger but he said that’s all behind him now. lumine wouldve believed it couldve been childe or hell, even mona. but name? now that’s suspicious. she has discussed it with paimon and honestly, they had different theories. paimon said that wanderer might have been harassing name into dates. but lumine pointed out that scaramouche might have done it but not wanderer and name would never let that slide. two solutions: they’re actually just friends or they’re actually together. 

“paimon hopes it’s just friends.” paimon said. lumine doesn’t really care if they’re together or not. she just wants to make sure they’re both safe and if it’s real. paimon agreed. so it’s time for their super secret top mission: operation: is scaramiya real?

the travelers split up into spying the pairs. lumine took up the job for wanderer and paimon asked name upfront. “psst, officer pie nom nom?” lumine asked into her walkie-talkie, an invention she recently got from fontaine. her walkie-talkie picked up paimon’s voice, 

“copy that, ying! tcch!” lumine lowered the walkie-talkie as it no longer detects the frequencies. she spotted wanderer’s indigo hair as lumine tried to walk up to him casually. but already, the older male turned around and met eyes with lumine. 

he furrowed his brows, already suspicious of lumine’s next moves. lumine nervously laughed as she rethought the process of paimon calling dibs for name and it all made sense. well, wanderer isn’t hard to tolerate, right? just a simple question. “what do you want?” wanderer asked, sternly. she crossed her arms. lumine mockingly mimics wanderer’s crossed arms, 

“can i ask you a question?” lumine asked as wanderer’s brows seemed to furrow even more. so scary! she might even leave a permanent dent in her face. almost as if wanderer knew what lumine was thinking– what if he developed mind reading like nahida??? he changed his expression to be more neutral. well, whatever the definition of neutral is to lumine. 

“you already did.” lumine rolled her eyes as wanderer still stared daggers into her skin. lumine wondered how paimon’s mission is with name. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

paimon managed to find name nearby komore teahouse. the girl was preparing teabags and packaging up some orders. she looked giddy but more than usual. paimon assumed it could be about anything but it was most likely about wanderer. but not wanting to jump into conclusions, she floated her way to name. 

name looked up to paimon as she smiled and waved. she removed one earbud from her ear and asked, “hey, paimon! what’s up?” paimon smiled back. name is outgoing and the total opposite of wanderer. archons, she’s even compared to taroumaru.

“hi name! i have a question,” paimon asked as the taller woman nodded as a signal to say more. she was tweaking on whatever tea recipe she had. “are you seeing anyone?” 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“what?” wanderer said, his face dropping into disbelief. lumine could joke right now that wanderer’s puppet joints were creaking from the shock. the traveler tried to stifle a laugh before saying again, “are you seeing anyone?”

wanderer pinched his porcelain skin, “no, i’m not. why are you asking that?” lumine squinted at wanderer’s body language to see if he still had the tell from his harbinger's days. wanderer scoffed but the little bit of his lips curled up. there it is. he’s lying. but lumine knew that she couldn’t push the anemo wielder a bit more. 

“okay okay, just asking because i know you got those admirers!” lumine teased as wanderer cringed. “they were asking.” 

“again?” wanderer asked even though he already knew the answer. lumine was in relief that the azure haired man didn’t catch up to her lie. she nodded to wanderer’s question, 

“again.” lumine watched the indigo eyed man trying to gain back her composure. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

you were absorbed in your thoughts though your red tipped ears gave it away. paimon waited patiently for your response despite being super impatient the whole time. it was clear that name was fighting herself for how to reply but paimon accidentally cleared her throat. not in a “hurry up and answer way but more like in a “this is awkward but i have no clue how to leave '' way. 

“ah sorry, paimon,” as paimon tried to reassure you that it was completely fine and she could be misunderstanding paimon. but you gestured paimon to come closer, “i can tell you anything and you won’t tell anyone, right?” paimon nodded despite crossing her fingers behind her back.

“yes, paimon promises.” you gleamed as paimon had to squint a little because of how much you were glowing. 

“okay, between you and me, im seeing this guy and he’s a bit cold at first. but he’s so adorable and our tenth date together is being under the stars in the chinju forest. i think, around 12pm? well, it’s always night there but shhh, he’s so cute.” you overshared as paimon kept a mental note of what you were saying to recount to lumine. although, you were obvious of who it was… kind of. paimon got the memo. 

“woah, that’s so cool, nickname! but lumine is calling paimon,” paimon pretended to get a call from lumine. “bye-bye, name!” she nodded as paimon waved goodbye. paimon flew away enough further where you were. she opened the mini map in her tiny backpack, gifted from aether, and teleported to lumine. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

once lumine and paimon were together, they conspired with each other on the next move of the operation. paimon summarized what she heard from yoimiya as lumine recounted her visit to wanderer. “okay, what now?” the pixie asked as lumine tried to make up the next step. 

operation: is wanname real? (pt 2. the tenth date) 

“you said that the date started around 12pm?” lumine asked, holding a white chalk. paimon nodded as lumine wrote “date: chinju forest, 12pm, go a bit earlier than the pair.” on the board. on the left of the chalkboard, there was a key for colors. pink being name, teal for wanderer, blue for paimon and yellow being lumine. “so the game plan is to find a hiding spot in chinju forest and i think i remember some because of windtrace. do you know where they’ll be?” 

paimon raised her hand as lumine stifled a laugh. “yes paimon?” paimon cleared her throat as she floated to the board. 

“no, but name said that they’re going to watch the stars.” paimon answered, picking up another white chalk and writing it on the board. it was sprawled next to lumine’s neater handwriting. 

“hmm, that could be a cliff-ish area. okay, that’s the plan? any objections?” paimon raised her hand again as lumine gestured her to continue. paimon was still thinking of what to say, scripting it in her head.

“no but what about disguises? do we wear the leaves on our head or wear camouflage?” paimon asked as lumine took out her wallet. 

“hm, do you think anything is cheap for–” she dug around the light blue pouch. “– four pieces of mora?” paimon winced, 

“no… but do you think we could ask childe for help?” lumine raised a brow, 

“we’re not going to use childe as a personal bank, paimon.” paimon’s slight smile of mischief slowly turned into a frown, “you know he would let us!”

“it’s game plan, paimon.” lumine replied as she opened her map. she selected a waypoint near chinju forest. paimon flinched at the map, 

“can we not teleport? it makes me feel sluggish.” lumine looked as if she was debating between walking there or teleporting. she left the opened map on the table and came back with a treat for paimon. “here, have this.” 

paimon quirked a brow, “what?”

“it’s a dessert with slime. eat it, pie.” lumine replied. paimon took it and ate it hesitantly. paimon usually has naps after food and she is similar to a dog. kind of. eats, sleeps and doesn’t pay rent. anyway, paimon may seem like she’s brave but she still hates the taste of medicine. after paimon was finished, she was in a food coma. lumine scooped her sister into her arm and the other held the map. she selected the waypoint. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

wanderer feels like something’s off and it irritates him. today was the day to stargaze and make flower crowns with name. clenching his fist while the other handheld a basket with various flowers from their respective nations and foods. he already cleared the surrounding area from the monsters or fatui members, which some recognized him. but he swirled them away before they could question his actions. 

taking the blanket from the basket, he laid it down on the lush grass. each time he walked on the grass, it lit up just a little. something with a bioluminescent plant or something. nahida told him before but he doesn’t remember. he placed down the plates of shimi chazuke and– he winced– dango. not like he hates name's favorite food. just not his type or it reminded him of someone else.

nevermind, he took out his k-phone to call name. the phone buzzed with an outgoing call sound while he waited. “hi babe,” wanderer flushed at the nickname and thanked god for name not being here yet. “im on my way! don’t wait up!” 

wanderer laughed, “i won’t.” he could hear name's giggle in the call. rustles of leaves coming from the call or was it in the forest? “wait, nickname, ill put you on mute for a bit. i think there’s a hillichurl camp nearby.” 

“okay!” 

wanderer knew by his heart that there wasn’t any hillichurls or whatever since he cleared it the moment he got there. the bushes were rustling and as wanderer creeped closer, it was only a bake dankui. the little animal danced a little, playing a little charm. wanderer rolled his eyes as it did its disappearing act. he called back name, “nevermind, i was just paranoid. where are you right now?” 

“near the gate!” 

“okay i’ll walk to you.” wanderer replied as she marked the location on the map. namehummed in response and the call ended. she followed the stone scattered path down the hill until he saw the top of name's head. name was dressed in a tank with a tiny bow in the middle with jorts. wanderer remembered when name insisted that jorts were a statement in which wanderer replied, “you mean, a fashion question?”

when name's eyes met wanderer’s indigo ones, her face lit up and she waved frantically. her pace up the stairs went faster as wanderer was about to warn her to go slower. his girlfriend managed to fall on her face. wanderer stifled a laugh since he was always prone to laugh at people falling. 

the indigo haired boy walked down the cobblestones stairs. although there were lanterns dimly lighting the path, it was clear the what or who was glowing the brightness was name. “give me your hand,” wanderer said. maybe a bit too sternly but name ignored the cold facade, knowing that her boyfriend meant it in a good way. “hurry up or else, the food will get cold.” 

name's softer and was in wanderer’s calloused hands as he led his girlfriend up the stairs. the night in the forest is everlasting but never too cold. maybe too spooky for the average person but wanderer enjoyed that fact. it meant no one would bother his date with name. wanderer’s smile curled a bit at the thought. the two lovebirds were at the date location, and it was decked out with more decorations than before. strange. 

well, wanderer can ignore how strange it is right now since name looked mesmerized. “how is it? the scenery here should be quite breathtaking.” name laughed, “it’s… amazing. how did you find this place?” 

name sat next to wanderer as she took out the flowers from the picnic basket. there were flowers all around the world. from sweet flowers to qingxins to even sumeru roses?? she inspected them a bit, swirling the stems around her fingertips. it looked as if they were recently ordered too? how long was wanderer planning this? 

“well, when i was younger, i found it when i was wandering around. ironic since–” he rolled his wrists a little, ball joints moving. “your name?” 

“yes. anyway, do you want to make the crowns now or watch the stars even–” 

“— even though they’re fake.” name finished. wanderer’s smile curled up again. she was listening to his mindless rants about tevyat despite maybe not agreeing to them. cute.  

[polysprachig]

Pardon me as I prepare to intrude my thoughts on language learning upon the public (again).

I’m working on taking myself less seriously and getting over what I like to call *nonsensical, self-inflicted recording stress*. Hence the one-take and post method I’m trying to experiment with on tumblr dot com in which I read and comment on my ***polyglot journal***.

WIP, unbeta’d, off-the-cuff. 🧿💙  

Transcript below (Orange = Speaking/commentary, Blue = Written commentary, White = Reading)

In the spring of 2020 I decided to write a detailed book on all of the language learning activities that I was doing. As I look here at page 27 of the book itself—it's pretty long; there are still blank pages—I can see several things. The one is a general overview, together with my own commentary about what I did wrong right from the off. 

[Reads] In which I accidentally bite off far more than I can chew, determine to do too much, establish a routine check in system and throw organization to the wind. Includes: Irish, Greek, German and Middle English; the Merlin project in its infancy, plus voca; a note on colour-coded translation exercise; a start to translating authors whose work I know; and the initial return to reading historical verse, which means, generally speaking, [whispers] Chaucer. The overwhelming theme is to consider what core vocabulary and skills I will need to accomplish the activities described, with special emphasis on trying the first ... to first rely on my own language skills in a—in an in almost Test -Teach slash Test-Check manner.

Now let's see how it starts. 

During the summer season I have decided to focus my language learning efforts on my productive skills, those being speaking, writing, translation and the creation of new materials. At the center of this decision burns the desire to spread the seeds of my knowledge of different languages to others and espouse the personality of fire to keep my learning active, invigorating, and all consuming. This trimester of learning—Yes, I can count, I just really like the word trimester (it's technically a semester) from May through to the end of August, is meant to prevent me from becoming too lethargic in my study habits. I shall focus predominantly on Irish, with approximately three lessons per week scheduled with various teachers—hilarious— in the hopes of levelling up within 3-6 or even 8 months—this timeline is still up to debate depending on various factors such as finances, travel, quarantine status and miscellaneous slash other. My secondary main languages are Greek, German and Middle English—[Laughs] Sorry, reading it now is hilarious to me because I already know what happens, and now I know where I am in my studies and we're ... we're basically back at this point, but in a better way. Okay, let's not jump ahead of ourselves—So, my secondary main languages are Greek, German and Middle English. In these languages I aim to create one to two significant works of translation—wow—and/or auditory material. My main goal is to drastically avoid using the Internet—best of luck with that—and other electronic digital tools to aid me, with the exception of the online Greek-English Dictionary (until I have purchased my own dictionary in Greek)—I should add a footnote here: I have got my grandfather’s print dictionary and Greek and it is from the 1920s and I need a ... updated one. Anyways—and the Middle English corpus as necessary. Moreover, I should hope to complete some written exercises and short writings in Hebrew, Italian and possibly even French.

Correct me if I'm wrong: too much is going on in this section, and as we'll see, it just gets worse. 

Stay tuned next time to find out the mistakes I made, but also the benefits I experienced in trying to learn multiple languages at the same time and, especially, improving those levels at multiple times (???) without having the firm foundation necessary to actually complete that type of an activity. Ohh so many things to go over. I'm very excited. See you next time!

-polysprachig

[shadowsong26fic]

do i twist; do i fold

Author: shadowsong26

Rating: R

Fandom: BSG

Characters: Gaius Baltar, Caprica-Six

Warnings: Significant discussion of genocide and murder; more oblique references to torture.

Summary: Caprica comes clean a few months early.

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of their respective creators.

Notes: Written for the Year of the OTP event. April prompt: canon divergence. This is one I’ve been looking forward to posting since I decided to do this whole event, and while there are a couple things I keep poking at to reword (particularly the last couple lines), it’s one of those ‘If I don’t just let it go, I’ll never stop’ situations, so here it is. Also, while I know The Plan implies a much tighter timeline here, this a) makes a little more sense to me, and b) makes for a more interesting story, so I’m going with what I’ve got here.

Title comes from ‘Voodoo Child’ (Rogue Traders)

(I am also going to do this for Star Wars and some of my original ‘verses, if you’re interested in checking those out! One ship per canon. The fanfic ones will be posted to AO3 probably a day or two after they’re on tumblr. This fic is also available on AO3 here. Master list of all fills can be found here.)

592 days, eighteen hours, forty minutes.

That’s how long it’s taken to get to this point. To complete her mission.

Well, mostly. She’ll have to remain in position until the very end, of course; to monitor for any problems, to guard against exposure, to make any changes to the program that can’t be done remotely.

It’ll take approximately three months, according to the most optimistic projections.

Three months for the last pieces to fall into place, for the final preparations for the strike.

Six months is a more realistic estimate; twelve is the worst-case scenario.

Worst.

592 days, eighteen hours, forty-one minutes since they met. Not that she’s been counting.

And in a few months, maybe a year, it’ll all be over. Really, truly over. Humanity will burn, she will be reborn, and…

It seems like an eternity. To stay with him, to lie to him--and, yes, she’s been doing that for so long already, and no, nothing has changed, not really, but it feels different.

It seems like no time at all.

Her heart races, and her mind whirls, spinning through all the little moments they’ve shared. Not the big ones--not their first meeting, not helping with his father, not the moment he said yes, but the little ones.

His fingertips, brushing against hers as he passes her a cup of coffee.

Lying together lazily in the morning, talking about everything and nothing.

Dragging the whiteboard out of his office to settle an argument; not really caring who won as they built their equations together.

Even that insufferable amused tolerance when the conversation turns to religion.

The way he smiles when he thinks she isn’t looking.

All the little pieces of the life they could have built together. That they almost have.

It will all be gone.

And he--he won’t wake up after. He won’t be reborn. He will just…burn.

He’s sitting there, next to her, like he has so many times before. If he’s having second thoughts, he’s hiding it well. He’s ready to give her everything she wanted.

Everything she asked for.

And all she can think about is that three months, six months, maybe a year from now, he will burn.

Five hundred ninety-two days, eighteen hours, forty-two minutes.

I can’t do this.

(It’s not just him; it’s all of them--however righteous her people’s fury, when weighed against all of those little moments, multiplied by billions of human beings…but if she hadn’t known him, if she hadn’t--loved--)

“Wait,” she says, putting her hand on his. Stopping him from going any further.

He blinks. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“There’s…” She takes a breath. “There’s something you should know.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

His hands are still shaking.

He’s not sure how long it’s been, exactly, since she told him. Since she stopped him. Since he almost--

Gods.

Unsteadily, he pushes himself to his feet; gets another drink; only spills a little. He presses the cold glass to his forehead, reminding himself to breathe, to think, to--

I’m a Cylon.

She’s always seemed so…so real.

His heart races, and his mind whirls, spinning through all the little moments they’ve shared. Not the big ones--not the day they met, not the first time she brought him to her flat, not the moment he said yes, but the little ones.

The feel of her fingers against his when they brushed together across a cup of coffee.

Waking up together and staying in bed for hours, talking or making love or both or neither.

Dragging the whiteboard out of his study so one of them could prove a point, and it not mattering in the end who was right, because they worked it out together.

Even that irrational certainty when she talks about her God.

The way her face softens when she smiles at him.

All the little pieces of the life they might have built together. That they almost have.

…she seems real because she is.

After six hundred days, give or take, of seeing her, of sharing his life with her in ways he never has before, not with anyone, he knows that much for sure.

She is a real person. A real woman. A woman he--

He finds himself back across the room, back on the sofa, not really recalling how he got there. He seems to have brought the decanter along with him--probably wise.

He leaves it on the end table, though; stares at the melting ice in his still-mostly-full glass, and thinks--

What do I do now?

The obvious thing--the smart thing--probably the right thing--would be to turn her in. Tell his friends at Defense that he was…approached. As--as she pointed out, he hasn’t actually done anything yet. Nothing irrevocable, anyway. Nothing he can’t talk his way out of. He wouldn’t have to admit how close--and if she tried to claim otherwise, it would be her word against his, after all.

His reputation would be damaged, possibly irreparably, and he’d likely never work another government contract, but he’d keep his freedom and his head. Which is certainly something to consider.

And she…

He stares into his drink for another moment; slowly takes a sip.

In all likelihood, she would be…be executed. Terminated. Would they even see it as an execution? Would they--could they--even see her as a person?

…but in truth, as much as he hates to admit it, he knows that that is not the likeliest scenario.

A Cylon, one who looks--who feels--so perfectly real? So perfectly human?

No. Murdering her would not be their first move.

She would be studied. Tested, to determine her capabilities, her differences. If she cooperates, she may even be treated--decently. Considering. He would probably never see her again, but she’d be alive. They would both survive this.

Except…

He considers some of his other Defense contacts. What they might do with her. To her.

He shudders again and finishes his drink.

And, yes, all right, it’s entirely probable that cooler--saner--more human heads will prevail, but…

He cannot--he cannot risk that. He cannot risk her. Not like that.

He pours another drink, and pauses, recalling--something else she said.

That he was--that her mission was--their first, best choice for access (and whether he should be flattered or insulted at the thought is something to think about another day).

But he was not--is not--their only option.

The Cylons--her people--have backup plans, alternatives, should her mission fail.

And she doesn’t entirely know what those alternatives might be.

His blood runs cold at the thought.

It doesn’t change what he--what he already knows. He still cannot turn her in.

But he also cannot--knowing what he now knows, he has to do…something.

Can I? Can I really…can I do this? A question he hasn’t really asked himself, not in this sense, not in a long time. He is very good, the best, but getting into this so late in the game, and the risks involved…

…I have to. I have to try.

And if he fails…if he fails, having tried, at least he’ll be remembered as a hero. There are worse things to contemplate.

And she’ll be here.

She came to him for a reason, after all. The first time, yes, but the second as well. If she’d only been doubting her mission, she could have simply walked away. To stop this--if there is any hope of stopping this--she needs him. As much as he needs her.

Whatever…whatever else he might…

His phone is in his hand before he can change his mind, and he dials a number he’s spent five hundred and ninety-three days engraving into his mind and heart.

Not that he’s been counting.

She answers on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” he says, then takes a shaking breath. “I think that…that is, we should…I’d…can you come over? We should…we should talk.”

She lets out a little breath of her own; what it means, what she feels, he couldn’t say. “I’ll be there,” she says.

There’s a long, aching silence, full of things he wants to say but--can’t. Not now. Not yet.

Perhaps not ever.

“…I’ll see you soon,” he says, when he can’t bear it any longer.

“See you soon,” she echoes, and the line goes dead.

Perhaps it’s simply…a decision has been made, he’s taken a step in a direction, but he somehow feels less…

He puts the phone down carefully; closes his eyes; finishes his drink; settles back to wait.

For the end.

For some kind of frakked-up beginning.

…for her.

[halforcdad]

I watched POI when it already finished airing so whenever I see someone said they watched it when it was still airing I went

Oh honey

Oh dear

Oh sweetie

You watched it live?? You watched 5x10 live?? Not knowing whats going to happen??? *Give you a hug*

I already know what was coming and still that episode left me heart broken just shattered emotionally (which is to say, also, that good writing can still make an impact even when the audience knows what's going to happen so take notes Marvel)

On another note, the 4x11 self-sacrifice lives in my head rent-free. "If you die die for something that you love" and "i'm a sociopath i dont have feelings" then she goes and kisses Root and saves them all I am on the floor bawling

the funny part is i saw bts photos from the finale that showed root and reese together and i naively thought, 'ok cool they still might die, but at least they survive until the end' and the writers really said Lol. but considering the type of show it was (and what happened to carter) and how dire things were going in s4-s5 i kinda prepared for character deaths leading up to the season. it left me numb and sad for a while, but i dont remember being extremely devastated about it. all the stuff we got with shaw dealing with it afterwards, however, that shit hurt bad. and unfortunately i love angst a lot (the writers were very good at writing sad stuff!)

my main complaint is that the death was so sudden and kinda anticlimatic (but i guess there has to be one of those to further stress how much their backs were against the wall). everyone else in the show gets a poetic death/sacrifice scene and in carter's case, at least she was killed by a significant villain in her arc and we're allowed to really feel the pain and consequences of her death, root gets taken out by a guy who started the job like two weeks ago and no time to mourn bc we're in a war Lol (and they had to rub salt in the wounds by showing us her for-sure dead body and telling us samaritan dug it up to get her implant, which while realistic, was brutal).

i feel like a lot of people talk about it as one of the worst writing decisions, but i can see why they chose to keep root's fate the same. yes, it sucked to losing a wlw character (especially when that was so close to clexa, if im not getting my times wrong), but i don't believe lgbt media should only be happy, soft stuff and that lgbt characters should be plot armor protected always. i still found a lot of meaning and emotion in the ending we got with shaw carrying on the work her team left behind with the machine and having some small piece of root to hold on to (and shaw being the only one next to fusco who never really had a lot of direct contact with the machine, getting the chance now to work closely with it and understand root more maybe that way). the show was always dealing with death/loss and grief and emphasizing how people still leave significant legacies behind and stay with us even if it's just the influence and impact they left on their surviving loved ones. i would still prefer if it had ended differently, but at least I could understand the message they were going for.

ill never stop loving 4x11 it's genuinely one of my favorite tv episodes ever. poi was very good at normalising shaw's apd and everything they did with shaw and especially what they did in the aftermath of that episode ripped me to shreds (her telling simulation root that she was her safe place and then telling real root she'd rather die than get them all killed, that made me totally normal). shaw getting the big emotional, meaningful moments in 4x11 (in the machine's simulation when she shows root one last act of kindness with 'maybe someday', the subway scene with the bomber, and of course the ending scene) was so important and well done. and root's slow-moed reactions at the end were gut-wrenching i must have rewatched that scene maybe 1000 times.

[umichenginabroad]

Post 1 (Week 0): Managing The Flight

Intro

Bonjour! This is Andrew, a rising sophomore here at the UofM. As you’ve probably already guessed, I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to come to Paris for a one-and-a-half month study abroad experience, and I’m here to tell you all about it! Quick note, I wrote a lottttt of stuff in this post, and it can get really boring, so feel free to just pick a section to read and skip along. Also feel free to just read this paragraph, it’s chill and all up to you!

This will be my first blog of the trip, and I will be beginning with the process of managing your flight. As an international student, flying has already been something I have done countless times; when some people simply hop into their cars and drive themselves home, I have to spend a LUDICROUS amount of money to pay for a HORRENDOUS 13 + 5 hour flight back to Taiwan just to see my dog. Ranting aside, what I really want to say here that I think will prove useful to those of you who are interested in pursuing a study abroad experience of your own is that there are many things that have to be taken into consideration when arranging your trip, especially your flight there. In this post, I’d like to focus on how you can (and should) prepare your transportation to whichever country you wish to visit, using myself as a terrible example for you to NOT follow~  (All photos used were taken by me so no credentials provided)

#1: Booking The Flight

Assuming that your destination is somewhere other than America, it is probably a very good idea to book your international flight at least 3~4 months before your projected departure date. I recommend using google flights to track ticket prices and book at the best time possible. Me personally, despite knowing this, booked my tickets a bit late, at around 2.5 months before my program start date. You might be thinking, “Well that’s still ok right?” It kind of is, but I forgot something really important. The Olympics are this year, and yes, they’re in Paris. Which means? Airlines become scammers and quadruple their prices. (Exaggerated, but still you get my point.) So I think the bigggg takeaway is that you should note any significant event, natural disaster, or things like political conflicts that may influence the prices of your plane tickets. Start doing this as soon as you decide to do a study abroad program, and you’ll be saving yourself some big cash, all while ensuring your own safety.

#2: Packing For The Trip

Traveling is very different from living at home. You can’t really bring everything with you, and you’re gonna have to choose which teddy bear comes with you and which stays in your room. My recommendation when it comes to determining what to bring is to look up checklists for packing. Yes, I know, so unoriginal, but hear me out. The people who make these lists don’t know who you are, what you do, or where you’re going. That’s why their lists only include things that are absolutely essential to ANY travel experience. An example of this can be seen here. Following these guides will ensure that you don’t get stranded in an airport, get sent back to America, or get yourself in messy situations abroad. After you’ve gotten all the essentials packed, you should still have plenty of space for other items. Now you can start throwing in your extra shoes, frisbees, idk, whatever you think you’re going to use during your trip. Checking things such as the weather, geography, and local culture could be very helpful when packing these non-essentials. Don’t be like me, bringing half my furniture and two thirds of my clothes just to have them sit in the suitcase the entire time. I kinda didn’t have a choice because I didn’t want to spend money on storage back at Ann Arbor, but still, try not to let yourself tow 80lb worth of junk around.

#3: The Actual Flight

Like I said, I’ve flown quite a few times. I still get panic attacks at the airport. “Where’s my passport? Where’s my gate? Did I pack a kitchen knife by accident (Don’t)? Where did I put my batteries???” So regardless of whether you’ve flown 100 times or never once flown, it’s normal to feel pressure at the airport. What’s not normal or okay is feeling like flying is just like a normal walk in the park, unless you’re fine with losing a passport or two when taking a stroll (you’re not). Some things that I recommend paying attention to when flying are as follows. First, have your passport(s) on you at all times. Whatever you lose, never lose your passport. Actually no, just try not to lose anything lol. I have a passport case that I always keep in my hoodie pocket, always in reach and felt. If you lose it or them, it’s kinda gg for you. Second, if you’re transferring flights, book them with at least 2~3 hours of layover time. I booked mine with 50 minutes of layover. Don’t do that. I repeat, DON’T do that. Whichever teacher who’s checking this post, I know what you’re thinking. “Wha-how-nahhhh, 100 bucks he didn’t make it.” I made it, but I’m thanking the airport god every day for this miracle. A quick note is that if you’re transferring from a domestic flight to an international flight and you booked your two flights together from the same airline, you “might” be able to just head straight over to the next terminal and hop onto your next plane. If you’re making an international flight before a domestic flight though, there will likely be a re-check-in and/or additional security check as you enter the new country, which will take up more time. Plan for the worst, which is the latter. I learned this the hard way, as I missed my second flight back to Michigan last year after a slight delay in my first. Almost missed the CFB Finals, wouldn’t have forgiven them if that happened. Finally, ask questions. Different airports have different layouts and security procedures, different airlines have different regulations and offers. It’s never a bad idea to make sure you’re doing the right thing, especially when something like a 1 lb overweight checked bag will set you back $200 for United Airlines(Really United?). That’s a lot of stuff, and I sound like a teacher, I know. But I hope these little unnecessary mistakes that I made won’t be a problem for any of you during your trips!

#4: Arriving At The Destination

Yay! I’ve finally arrived in Paris. I’m so excited to start my journey at my studio that’s a 35 minute drive away from the airport! More likely than not, you won’t be having or even be allowed to have a car when studying abroad, so transportation can be a big issue. First one you’ll need to take care of is your drive to where you’ll be living. In my case, CEA CAPA, the study abroad program, was very helpful and arranged transportation services for students who arrived within a certain time frame (I believe roughly between 8:00 and 18:00 on 05/13), but that may be different for other people. Make sure you won’t be stranded at the local airport after finally making your way there because trust me, you won’t have the energy to worry about too much after your long travel session. After my flight to Paris, I struggled to find the CEA CAPA driver, and therefore had to call the emergency contact line, which successfully helped me resolve the issue. This is all thanks to a pre-bought e-sim from orange travel that allowed me to use my French number as soon as we set foot on Parisian soil. Finally, after all that work, and of course after making sure my luggage was with me, I was able to safely make it to my studio. Now, the fun starts! 

Hsien-Cheng Chou (Andrew Chou)

Mechanical Engineering

Engineering in Paris

[healthfitness-product5]

Berberine: A Game-Changer for My Diabetes Management

I've been living with type 2 diabetes for five years now, and while I've gotten a good handle on my diet and exercise routine, keeping my blood sugar levels under control has always been a bit of a challenge. Medication helped, but it often left me feeling sluggish and wasn't always as effective as I'd hoped. That's when I decided to explore natural supplements, and after some research, I came across the Diabetes Offer: Berberine Supplement.

Improved Blood Sugar Control

Since incorporating Berberine into my daily regimen, I've noticed a significant improvement in my blood sugar control. My morning fasting numbers have dipped considerably, and overall, my blood sugar seems to stay more stable throughout the day. This has given me a newfound sense of confidence and peace of mind. I no longer experience those afternoon crashes or spikes in energy levels that used to be a regular occurrence.

Natural and Effective

What I particularly appreciate about Berberine is that it's a natural approach to managing my diabetes. I like the idea of supporting my body with a plant-based compound rather than relying solely on medication. Of course, I always discussed any new supplements with my doctor before starting them, and Berberine was no exception. They were happy to give it the green light, especially after reviewing the research on its effectiveness for blood sugar control.

Easy to Take

The Berberine supplement itself is convenient and easy to take. I simply swallow a capsule with a glass of water twice a day, usually with breakfast and dinner. It fits seamlessly into my existing routine and doesn't require any special preparation or dietary changes.

Enhanced Energy Levels

An unexpected benefit I've experienced since taking Berberine is a noticeable boost in energy levels. I used to feel drained and sluggish throughout the day, especially after meals. Now, I have more sustained energy, allowing me to be more active and engaged in my daily life. This has been a welcome change, and it's made a big difference in my overall well-being.

A Word of Caution

It's important to note that everyone's body reacts differently to supplements. While Berberine has worked wonders for me, it might not be the right fit for everyone. As with any new supplement, it's crucial to consult with your doctor before starting Berberine, especially if you're already taking medication for diabetes or other health conditions.

In conclusion, the Diabetes Offer: Berberine Supplement has been a game-changer for my diabetes management. It's helped me achieve better blood sugar control, provided a natural approach to my health, and even boosted my energy levels. If you're looking for a way to support your diabetes management plan, I highly recommend discussing Berberine with your doctor.

[thelistingteammiami]

5 Things To Skip Renovating Before Listing Your Home For Sale — Because A Buyer Might, Anyway

When you decide to put your home on the market, you want to put your best foot forward in preparing it to look its best for prospective buyers. Besides, the better your home shows, the more offers you'll likely get, right? Next, you make a to-do list of what things to fix and update around your home, only to realize that the list could go on forever. That’s when you realize: Do I have to do everything?

For starters, all those projects could cost money. Unfortunately, not everything is going to pay off at the closing table. Knowing what to fix – and what not to do when selling a home – can be tricky. Fixes are critical for any issues or defects that affect the intended significant function of a house system. To break it down, you should take care of any leaks, cracks in the foundation, minor electrical or plumbing issues, pest infestations, and other safety issues that could hurt your home's value and pose imminent risks. But beyond those, especially when it comes to cosmetic repairs, it's actually up to you. 

The last thing you want is to get carried away and pour money, time, and effort into any project that won’t get a return on your investment. So here are some of those fixes or updates you can skip without too many repercussions.

Having state-of-the-art appliances such as a refrigerator, dishwasher, or oven can be appealing and is a nice bonus. But not having them is seldom a deal breaker. Especially in hot seller's markets, old but working appliances may not need replacing or upgrading. All that you need is to give the appliances a good cleaning.

If your older model appliances are worn, broken, or missing some parts, that's the time to think about replacing them. However, brand-new appliances can cost a fortune and are not worth buying only to get your home sold. So instead of splurging on top-of-the-line models (that you won’t be able to use much, anyway), consider buying used or floor models that can still add a lot of value to your home without draining your bank account. 

Should you renovate the kitchen and bathrooms? That's probably one of the biggest questions sellers have when they decide to sell. 

It’s important to note that a kitchen or bathroom remodeling project can be costly and time-consuming. A kitchen remodel (midrange) will only recoup about 56 percent of the value, while remodeling a bathroom will only recoup about 59 percent, according to the 2022 Cost vs Value Report by Remodeling Magazine. First, you should consider several factors, especially time and budget, before spending thousands of dollars on these projects.

Likewise, your vision of a perfect kitchen or bath may differ from those of a potential buyer. And given all the home decor styles to choose from, trying to second-guess what they want and giving it to them when they visit your home is just plain unrealistic. It’s a risk when renovating these areas because they’re some of the things buyers look forward to when they can finally call it home.

If your kitchen or bathroom looks dated but functional, you only need to ensure it’s clean and clutter-free. Present it as a space with potential that is easily customizable to the buyer’s preferences. 

If your home already has hardwood floors, there's no need to tear out the existing flooring and replace it for the market. What’s important is to have your floors shined and polished before the staging or showing. The next homeowner may rip it out anyway and replace it with their choice of flooring, which could be wood, laminate, vinyl, or even carpet. If you have older carpets, you only need to spend a few bucks and hire a professional cleaning company rather than investing money into replacing them. The only time to consider ripping it all out is if there is a terrible odor from pets or if there are impossible stains that would deter a buyer from submitting an offer.

While improving your home's curb appeal is crucial in enticing buyers to knock on your door, your home's exterior needs not be perfect. Do not worry about fixing every small, minor, or insignificant crack in driveways and walkways that do not present any safety risks. They are common, and re-doing the paving of the entire section will cost more than it is worth. Only spend the money on fixing them if the cracks are hazardous for driving or walking.

Trends come and go, even for home colors and fixtures. What looks “cool” now can become dated in a heartbeat, or what may be trendy for a specific slice of the population may be off-putting for others. When you decide to sell, your goal is for a wider pool of potential buyers to come to your showings. By providing them with a blank slate, it'll be easier for them to envision themselves in your home.

If you’re repainting a room, door, trim, or cabinetry to provide a quick face-lift, pick neutral colors, such as whites, beiges, and light grays. Should you choose to fix any broken or damaged things like light fixtures, faucets, and cabinet hardware, never replace them with something too obnoxious or trendy. Always choose common fixture styles that can appeal to almost all buyers. They’d be happy to do their renovations once the house belongs to them!

Show off your home's potential

Don't get overwhelmed by the idea that you need to fix everything you think is wrong with your house to get more offers. You’ll only waste valuable time and money on unnecessary upgrades that you could use to cover closing costs. You aren’t going to get a return on your investment if your house becomes “too much for the neighborhood” and yours is the only one that stands out. Aim to show your home's potential instead of trying to achieve perfection. And if you’re still in doubt about what kind of repairs to make before listing your home, consult with your real estate agent so you’re guaranteed to make the most out of your home sale. 

[casulafishmarkets]

The demand for specific types of oysters has increased in Australia

 In order to defeat the shell, it is imperative that every member of the squad is fully attentive and working together cohesively. It is fascinating to learn that the price of an oyster can vary greatly depending on its size. Due to the numerous variables involved, we have a significant amount of information to assess.

The chef must skilfully address the challenge of preparing the delicate flesh of the oyster. No matter how challenging your project may seem, you possess more than sufficient capability to accomplish it.

We appreciate your attention to detail in considering the size of the oysters. We have some wonderful news! Oysters can range in convexity from 0 (being the flattest) to 5 (being the most convex). It is common to find oysters with hollow shells. Wow, it's absolutely fantastic! It is now possible to accurately measure the size of an oyster. Oysters with higher numbers generally exhibit larger shells compared to those with lower numbers. When discussing the Seafood Suppliers in Australia, it is important to emphasise its significance.

It is believed that a single flat oyster has the equivalent volume of 100 regular oysters

Oysters, which weigh between 46 and 65 grammes, are highly nutritious. Important disclaimer: Contrary to popular belief, it is important to note that oysters are not entirely edible. To fix it, simply use your fingernails to pick at it. These oysters are perfect for first-time oyster eaters due to their small size and well-balanced salinity. Wow, this evening is absolutely delightful! In my opinion, the perfect date would involve a romantic candlelit dinner accompanied by a bottle of Sancerre, along with the delightful company of two Tap marines. Enhance your journey to Australia by learning about its top oyster market. Australia boasts a thriving oyster market known for its exceptional quality. You are free to select any of the options offered by Seafood Retailers Australia.

These tidbits are absolutely fantastic! Oysters that weigh between 66 and 85 grammes are classified as medium-sized. It's great that it is available in a standard size that should fit most people. Now is a fantastic time to try oysters for the first time. Every dinner will feature oysters that were purchased from Sydney's renowned seafood market in Australia.

To obtain a satisfactory sample of the delicious meat, oysters weighing between 86 and 110 grammes are required. According to oyster connoisseurs, this portion size is considered ideal. Discover the art of incorporating it into a diverse range of delectable seafood recipes.

Although size 5 oysters are smaller compared to other sizes, they still offer a delightful and unforgettable dining experience. I greatly appreciate the availability of a wide selection of extra-large oysters. To ensure the best taste, it is recommended to reheat the food just before you start eating.

Since oysters come in several sizes, choosing the right one should be easy

It is truly fascinating to observe how people's preferences can change when they are exposed to different environments. Oysters are capable of reproducing once they reach sexual maturity. If you're not in the mood for an old oyster, there are plenty of other delicious seafood options available. The Seafood Wholesalers Australia service is available at that location.

There has been a significant increase in demand for second-class oysters. Larger oysters have a greater surface area to volume ratio, which allows them to release flavour more quickly and leave a longer-lasting aftertaste. This enhances their already excellent flavour even further.

The Fines de Claire oysters are highly regarded for their delicate flavour and versatility, ranking at number four on the oyster scale.

Both oyster beginners and experts will appreciate the delicious taste of No. 3 oysters, making them an excellent choice. If you find yourself feeling hungry, we highly recommend trying our delicious No. 3 Fines de Claire oysters.

Anyone who wishes to may securely close the window

Oysters can be enjoyed for a longer period of time before opening, if desired, but it is not necessary. To save time and prevent any potential hand injuries, consider ordering a platter of pre-shucked oysters.

Author Bio: Jeremy is a professional writer writing on the Oysters Market in Australia and that is the reason that you will be having the best details for the same from him.

[mypoisonedvine]

contains adult themes such as sex and sexuality, drug use, violence/assault, and misogyny; other things to be prepared for include complete irrelevance to the canon of stranger things, 17-year-old jason is trying to bang 15-year-old elle which makes me wanna peel my face off (but it's accurate to the film), reader is adopted and has some issues with her bio parents, mileven and lumax with background robin/vickie, and dad!hopper being MVP as per usual

note: significant sections of dialogue were lifted directly from the film, because why mess with perfection? I still took liberties with it, but for some of those really iconic scenes, please know that I'm not the reason those lines are so hilarious. credit for the scenes I transcribed go to Karen McCullah & Kirsten Smith, the screenwriters of 10 Things I Hate About You, who of course themselves based the work on The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare.

length: 20k words

for @get-your-fics midsummer night's writing challenge!! thank you for hosting rosie!

As his hand slid up her creamy white thighs, she could feel his huge member pulsating with desire…

Mike was looking down at his hands, interlaced in his lap, until Ms. Kelley shut her laptop.  She smiled at him politely, and he smiled back.  “So!” she began, checking his file again.  “Michael—”

“Just Mike,” he nodded.

“Right.  Well, we’re glad to have you at Hawkins High— it shouldn’t be too different from your last high school!  You were well-behaved your freshman year, correct?”

“Uh, mostly… one or two tardies, that’s it,” he assured.

“Great!  That means if you see me again, something’s gone horribly wrong.”

“Huh?”

“This is where kids with behavior problems get sent.  Deviants, misfits, sluts, weirdos, creeps— they all have to come in and chat with me to get their shit straightened out.”

“Their what?” Mike repeated.  “Are you— am I in the right office?”

“Not anymore, my novel isn’t gonna finish itself,” she announced.  “So scoot.”

He didn’t, at first, too stunned.

“Scoot!”

He jumped up, trying to process what conversation just occurred, only to bump into someone as he backed out of the doorway.  “Watch it!” a firm voice warned him, and he spun to look up in ill-suppressed terror at the guy he’d just collided with.

Mike was too intimidated to even choke out an apology; it’s hard to say where to start with what scared him most.  Maybe the chains, maybe the leather jacket and denim vest, maybe the glare?  Yeah, it was definitely the glare— that was what made Mike cower and dart away before it could get any worse.

“Ah, Mister Munson!” Ms. Kelley greeted with faux sweetness.  “I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual.”

As her smile fell, Eddie’s grew.  “Only so we can have these moments together,” he cooed, taking another step inside.  “Should I hit the lights?”

“Oh, very clever, trailer park boy,” she offered flatly as she examined the incident report already in his file.  “Apparently you exposed yourself in the cafeteria?”

“I was just joking around with my bandmates,” he promised.  “It was a bratwurst.”

“Bratwurst,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow and glancing down— ostensibly at his handcuff belt buckle.  “Aren’t we the optimist?”

A hint of Eddie’s resolve faded as she tilted her head and smiled at him cheerily again.

“Next time, keep your dangler in your Wranglers, mkay?” she suggested, chipper yet hollow.

Eddie shook his head as he left, leaving Ms. Kelley to return to her desk and re-open her computer.  Examining her screen, she erased one word and replaced it.

…she could feel his huge bratwurst pulsating with desire…

~

“Hey!  Mike, right?” 

Mike turned, seeing another sophomore standing in front of him with a high top on his head and hightops on his feet.  “Yeah!” Mike answered.

“I’m Lucas,” the other student offered with an extended hand for a shake.

Mike sighed with relief as he returned the handshake energetically, noticing Lucas’ basketball uniform.  “You know, normally they send down one of those audio/video geeks.”

Lucas nodded; “Yeah, I know— I know what you mean.”

Right on cue, Dustin Henderson rolled by with the A/V cart.  “Hey, Lucas,” Dustin nodded, “where should I put the radio equipment?”

Lucas coughed and brushed Dustin away.  “Lucas?” he shook his head, pretending he had no idea who that could be, as he ditched a bewildered Dustin and guided Mike along down the hall.

As they walked past a crowd of popular seniors, Lucas motioned towards them.

“So, over here, you’ve got your basic beautiful people,” he explained, “unless they talk to you first, don’t talk to them.”

“Is that your rule or theirs?”

“Watch,” Lucas offered, nodding in their direction.  “Hey there,” he greeted.

“Who are you talking to?” Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington asked with a sneer.

“See?” Lucas smiled at Mike, who shook his head as they moved along.  “Anyways, you’ve got your Diet Coke drinkers,” he explained as he motioned toward a crowd of students all holding red cans.  “Very edgy, don’t make any sudden movements around them.”

Mike nodded in understanding, trying to keep up— literally, since Lucas kept walking quickly, but also in terms of the explanation of Hawkins High’s social dynamics.

“You’ve got your basic stoners—”

A senior with long black hair and bloodshot eyes caught Mike’s attention.  “Hey, nice threads, man,” the stoner complimented with a smile, “Ocean Pacific?”

“And your surfers—”

Mike gawked at the muscular, tan guy with a blonde mullet and, for some reason, no shirt on.  “Does he walk around like that at school?” he wondered aloud, but Lucas didn’t notice.

“— even though the closest they’ve been to the ocean is when they drink Ocean Spray cranberry juice.”

As Lucas laughed at his own joke, they walked through the courtyard.  

“And this is our fearless Hawkins High basketball team!” Lucas explained, setting his hands on one of the player’s shoulders as they passed their lunch table.  “Go Tigers, huh?”

The players scowled at him as Lucas’ hand was shrugged off; he crossed his arms.

“Yesterday I was their up-and-coming star,” Lucas recalled with a roll of his eyes.

“What happened?” Mike asked.

“Patrick McKinney started a rumor that my Converse were fake,” Lucas explained with a sigh.  

“So they’re freezing you out?” Mike realized, offended on his behalf and concerned that everyone here was that superficial.

“I’ll get back in, don’t worry,” Lucas assured, but Mike wasn’t really worried about him so much as himself.

It was right then that Elle Hopper walked by, carrying with her the essence of youthful beauty and ingenue-ity.  Her busy patterned jumpsuit was every bit as colorful as her spirit; she laughed lightly with the redhead at her side, a few words of a conversation about a trip to the mall floating through the air.  

As time seemed to slow just for her, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, sending a wave of the scent of candy-sweet perfume right in Mike’s direction.

“Oh— wow,” Mike sighed like the wind had been knocked out of him.  “Who’s she?”

“She’s out of your league is who she is,” Lucas warned.

“And?”

“And she’s got this super scary dad— won’t let her or her sister date.  Ever,” Lucas announced firmly.

“How bad could he be, is he a hardened criminal or something?”

“Worse,” Lucas shook his head, “he’s the sheriff.”

“That’s worse?” Mike frowned.

“A criminal will just kill you.  The sheriff will actually get away with it.”

~

“So,” Ms. O’Donnell began, “what did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?”

Bethany Walters raised her hand instantly, and you rolled your eyes— because of course she would.  “I loved it,” she cooed when she was called on.  “I was soooo romantic!”

You grimaced, unable to stop yourself from commenting (a habit of yours).  “Romantic?  Hemingway?!  Please— he was an abusive alcoholic misogynist—”

The rest of the class was already groaning and rolling their eyes, a few mutters of not this again here and there, but you kept going.

“— who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.”

Yes, it was just like you to say something like that when Bethany was just trying to express a perfectly harmless opinion, but it was just like Jason to take it further.  “As opposed to an unlikeable, self-righteous loser with no friends?” he quipped.

You weren’t planning on saying anything, but thankfully Ms. O’Donnell stood up for you anyway.  “Quiet, Jason,” she scolded lightly— she was never that hard on him, because he was the star of the basketball team, but she also didn’t let him bully you that openly in class.

“I guess in this society, being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time,” you concluded, shooting Jason a look over your shoulder, who simply smirked back at you.

And if it was just like you to say something snarky and politically-charged, and just like Jason to use it to insult you, then it was just like Eddie to show up late as if it were no trouble at all.  “What did I miss?” he asked with a smile as he burst in.

You answered instantly, without looking back: “The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.”

“Great,” Eddie nodded, spinning on his heel and walking right back out again.

“W-wait!” Ms. O’Donnell called out, but Jason spoke again and took her attention away.

“How about we make a new rule— don’t come to class if you can’t handle your PMS,” he suggested jokingly.

“Jason!” she snapped.  “Watch your attitude.”

You smirked to yourself smugly, but that moment of righteous indignation didn’t last long.  

“And you,” she added, turning her attention to you, “go to the office.”

“What?  Why?!” you protested.

“Because— because you’re being disruptive!” she decided.

Sighing, you got up from your seat and slung your backpack over your shoulder.  As Jason snickered at you gleefully, you ‘accidentally’ let your textbook swing into his face, smacking that shit-eating look right off of him.

It was only a minute-or-so walk to the office, where you heard Ms. Kelley calling out to her assistant as you walked in. 

“What’s another word for engorged?” she asked her, stumping the receptionist.

“Tumescent?” you offered.

“Great!” she smiled, typing at her laptop; you had some inkling what she was using that word for, though you wish you were blissfully ignorant to her erotic exploits.  “So, were you terrorizing Ms. O’Donnell’s class again?”

You frowned.  “Terrorism is a pretty strong word for simply expressing my opinion.”

“How about the way you expressed your opinion to Billy Hargrove?  By the way, his testicle retrieval operation went quite well, if you were wondering.”

“In my defense,” you smirked, “I didn’t know he actually had balls when I kicked him.”

“The point is,” he sighed, less amused, “you tend to make a bad impression on others, and that’s not actually something to be proud of.  People see you as—”

“Opinionated?”

“The term used most often is ‘heinous bitch’,” she corrected.

The words themselves didn’t bother you too much— yes, they were sexist, but that was nothing new here— but the knowledge that people were actually saying this to Ms. Kelley gave you pause.  Were you really so traumatizing that they had to discuss you with the counselor?

“So, you might want to work on that,” she offered.  “Bye!”

You scoffed.  “As always,” you began as you stood, “thank you for your excellent guidance.  I’ll let you get back to writing about aching cores and quivering members.”

As you turned, quietly proud of yourself for standing up to her, you heard her ponder to herself, “huh… quivering member, I like that…”

~

In the parking lot, you and Robin were walking side-by-side to your car (since she’d gotten a ride from you today, and also every other day for the past year and a half) when you were nearly run over by Jason screeching up to the curb in his car; it was just like him: shiny and new, overvalued, a fabulous body with subpar machinery under the hood.

“Hey,” he nodded at you, flashing that taunting grin, “didn’t anyone ever tell you that you dress like a bog witch?”

“Aw, do you really mean that?” you beamed excitedly, and he frowned at his failed insult as he pulled his car up a little further.  If only he would’ve kept driving straight forward forever— he would’ve gone over the edge of the quarry eventually; but instead, he stopped… in front of your sister.

“Hi, ladies,” he greeted suavely, “care for a ride?”

You and Robin watched from beside your car— it was just like you, too: classic, older on the inside than it was on the outside, and debatably in need of a polish— in horror as Elle and Max hopped into the back of Jason’s convertible with all the girlish glee of two ingenues in over their head.

“Well, that’s a… charming new development,” Robin frowned.

“It’s disgusting,” you spat, hopping into the driver’s seat and turning the engine over.  As you pulled out of your spot, you nearly slammed into one of those varsity basketball dweebs speeding by on his bike.  “Hey!” you shouted at him, leaning out your window.  “Didn’t your mommy tell you to look both ways before riding that thing in the street?”

The kid cowered and biked away, and you shook your head as you pulled it back into the car.  

“I swear, these kids are getting dumber every year,” you sighed.  “I think there’s a little too much chlorine in the Hawkins gene pool.”

As Lucas pulled over by the curb by Mike, the new student stared at you and Robin driving away in the beat-up vintage.  “Are you okay?  She almost hit you,” Mike noticed.

“Oh, that’s nothing with your beloved’s older sister,” Lucas scoffed.  “I’m lucky I still have all my parts.”

“Wait, that’s Elle’s sister?!” Mike realized.

“Uh huh, in the legal sense,” Lucas agreed.  “Sheriff Hopper adopted them both when they were little— I assume he found his first daughter abandoned by a tribe of rampaging bitches or something.”

That was just one of many theories about how exactly your dad came to adopt you and your sister, though the real story was much less interesting; speaking of him, he usually got home from the station after you returned from school, with him working later in the afternoons and all.  When he returned home that particular day, he found you reading Jane Eyre on the sofa, and he smiled at you.  

“Hello, honey,” he greeted.  “Make anyone cry today?”

“Not yet,” you returned, “but it’s only four-thirty!”

He hummed and leaned in to kiss you on the forehead as you turned your page.  Right about then, Elle walked through the door— and you knew that she thought she would’ve just made it in time to beat Dad home by the cringe that crossed her face when she saw him.  “Hi Daddy!” she beamed, trying to play it cool.

“And where have you been?” you asked, getting a grimace from her for your shameless sell-out.

“Nowhere,” she dodged.

But Dad missed the exchange entirely, still going through the mail.  “What’s this?” he asked when he saw a massive white envelope.  “It says Sarah Lawrence?”

You hopped up off the couch at lightning speed, snatching the letter away and shredding it open like a kid on Christmas— but not you, some other generic kid, because even when you were little you liked to open presents carefully (it helped you temper your expectations).  “Oh my god!” you shrieked when you saw a massive congratulations.  “I got in!  I got in!!”

“Honey, that’s great,” your dad offered, “you can use that to negotiate better scholarships at Indiana State!”

You frowned.  “I know you want me to stay here—”

“We decided that you would stay here,” he countered.

“You decided.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna leave?” he realized with a saddened frown.

“We can dream,” Elle mumbled to herself— but not quite enough to herself, because you caught it and you raised your eyebrows in challenge.

“Why don’t you ask Elle who drove her home?”

“Don’t change the…” Dad trailed off, turning to Elle as he took the bait completely.  “Who drove you home?”

“N-now, don’t get upset, Daddy,” she pouted, “but… there’s this boy—”

“Who’s about as sharp as a marble,” you interjected.

“And I think he might ask me—” Elle continued, but this time your dad interrupted her.

“I think I know what he’s going to ask you.  And I think I know the answer: No!” he announced proudly.  “It’s always no!  You know the house rules: one, no dating until you graduate.  Two, no dating until you graduate!  Pretty simple stuff!”

“Daddyyyy,” Elle whined, making you roll your eyes at her.  “It’s so unfair!”

“You know what’s unfair?” he returned, looking at you too.  “Last week I had to drive a girl to the hospital, she went into labor alone in her car on the side of the road— and she’s fifteen.  You know what she said to me in between bouts of screaming in my backseat?”

“I’m a crackwhore who should have made my sleazy boyfriend wear a condom?” Elle assumed.

“No,” Dad frowned, “she said I should have listened to my father.”

“Oh, she did not,” Elle scoffed disbelievingly.

“Okay, no, she didn’t— but she was probably thinking it!” he insisted.

“Can we focus on me for a second please?” Elle pouted.  Like everything isn’t already focused on you, you thought to yourself.  “I’m the only girl in school who’s not dating.”

“No you’re not— your sister doesn’t date,” your dad reminded her.

You chimed in quickly: “And I don’t intend to.”

“And, why is that again?” he asked you with a pleased smile.

“Have you seen the unwashed champions of idiocracy that go to that school?!” you replied.

“God, where did you come from?  Planet Loser?” Elle spat.

“As opposed to Planet ‘Look at me! Look at me!’” you offered in your best passé, vapid voice with your eyes rolled back halfway.

“Okay, here’s a solution,” Dad decided suddenly, making you both perk up.  “Old rule’s stricken, new rule: Elle, you can date—”

She lit up immediately.

“When she does,” he finished, pointing at you.

“B-but, she’s a total freak!  What if she never dates?!” Elle whimpered.

“Then you’ll never date!  Oh, I like that,” he announced proudly.  “And I’ll get to sleep at night— the deep slumber of a father whose daughters aren’t out being impregnated.”

His police radio went off and he sighed.  

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he decided, directing his attention at you specifically for a moment: “We’ll talk about college later.”

Elle tried to get him to stay with a whine, but he was gone, and she was pissed at you once more.  “Can’t you find some loser sad enough to wanna go out with you so I can be normal?” she pouted.

“Sorry,” you shrugged, “guess you’ll miss out on some fabulously witty banter with Jason.”

“You suck!” she exclaimed as she stormed off.

“You suck!” you imitated her quietly before you went to your own room.

~

Mike’s patient, anxious waiting paid off when Elle sat down at the library table, setting down her books with a sigh.  

“Can we make this quick?” she asked, sounding a little exhausted already.  “Tammy Thompson and Tommy Hagan are having a horrendous, public break-up in the courtyard.  Again.”

“O-oh, yeah, okay,” Mike agreed, still a little stunned that he was sitting across from the object of his affection.  “I thought we’d start with pronunciation…”

“That’s the worst part,” Elle pouted, “I feel like I’m trying to cough up a loogie.”

“Well, then how about we start with cuisine?” he suggested, heart racing even though he’d practiced this a thousand times in the mirror at home.  “We could go to that French place on the square, maybe Saturday night?”

“You’re asking me out?” Elle realized, gentle shock lifting into a wide smile.  “That’s so cute!”

Mike’s eye twitched.

“What’s your name again?”

“Uh, it’s Mike,” he answered, “listen— I know your dad doesn’t let you date, but I thought if it was for French class—”

“Wait a minute, Mark,” she interrupted.

“Mike.”

“My dad just came up with a new rule!  He says I can date if my sister does,” she recalled.

“Really?” Mike perked up.  “Well, then let me ask you, do you like D&D?  ‘Cause we should totally do a oneshot together—”

“Uh, big problem, Mick,” Elle reminded him, “my sister is a perfect specimen of freakazoid.”

“Yeah, I noticed she’s… antisocial,” Mike offered sympathetically.  “Any idea why?”

“I don’t know,” Elle considered, glancing upward as she thought about it.  “She used to be, like, really popular, but it was like she got sick of it.  I’m pretty sure she’s just incapable of human interaction.  That or she has a brain tumor or something.  Either way, she’s a bitch.”

“Well, yeah,” Mike agreed half-heartedly, “but there’s plenty of guys who wouldn’t mind going out with a… difficult girl.  I mean, she’s not ugly; and people do crazier stuff all the time!  Jump out of airplanes, ski off cliffs, swim with sharks… it would be like extreme dating.”

Elle knitted her eyebrows together.  “You think you could find someone that extreme?”

“Why not?” Mike shrugged.

“And you’d do all that for me?” she pressed softly, reaching out to brush her hand over his arm.

Mike would do anything for her to touch his arm like that again.  “I-I mean, I could look into it…” he offered as his brain short-circuited.

And so he was determined. Which was why he and Lucas weren't actually paying any attention in science class that same day.

As they pretended to make progress on their frog dissection, Mike and his new friend were really scoping the room for local talent to potentially date Hawkins’ resident mega-bitch.  Their search so far had only turned up men like themselves: that being men afraid to get the Hargrove treatment and have their future generations compromised.  Turns out guys are generally pretty protective of their nuts.

“I told you it was impossible,” Lucas sighed, “no one will go out with her.”

Mike’s attention was taken by the partners two tables over— a massive, freckled kid with a leather jacket, and his buddy with a mess of rocker hair and a custom denim jacket; the latter was fooling around with butterfly knives, before using them to impale the frog carcass, because apparently the little pins provided just weren’t doing it for him.

“Hey, what about him?” Mike wondered, watching with a tilted head.    

“Woah, no, you don’t want to mess with that guy,” Lucas shook his head, “don’t even look at him.  He’s a criminal, he deals the harder stuff around school— you know, more than just pot.  I heard he lit a state trooper on fire.  He just did a year at Rikers.”

“Hey, well at least we know he’s horny,” Mike shrugged.

“I’m serious, he’s unhinged!” Lucas warned.  “He sold his own liver on the black market for a new set of speakers.”

Meanwhile, the metalhead had taken out a cigarette and was leaning down to light it on a Bunsen burner.  The display should’ve deterred anyone, but it made Mike smile optimistically.  “He’s our guy,” he insisted.

~

The basketball team was joking around at lunch as Chance shared an X-rated story from his date the night before, and Lucas took a deep breath as he waited for the perfect moment.

When all the guys laughed at something Chance had said, Lucas quickly slipped in and tried to blend in as he laughed along.

“Oh my— oh my god,” he got out breathlessly as he laughed, “wow, Chance, you’re hilarious.”

He wiped his eye, still laughing as the rest of the table’s reaction died down and they all glared at him.

“Are you lost?” Jason asked coldly.

Lucas sighed.  “No, I just… I thought maybe it was all water under the bridge by now.”

“It’s been less than forty-eight hours,” Andy noticed.

“Wow, nice counting, Andy— tomorrow we’ll work on shapes,” Lucas encouraged flatly.

Andy nearly jumped across the table, but Jason put a hand on his chest to hold him back.  

“Actually, truth is, I came here to… make a suggestion,” Lucas added, making Jason’s eyebrows raise.

“Go on…”

“You want Elle Hopper, right?  The sophomore?” Lucas continued.

“Yeah,” Jason shrugged, “she’s cute.”

“But she can’t date until her sister does,” Lucas went on.  “Your problem could be solved if you found someone to take her out.”

Jason laughed.  “Does anyone hate themselves that much?”

“Probably not, but people do like money…”

As Lucas bounced his eyebrows up and down, Jason seemed to put together what he was implying.  “You want me to pay someone off to date her?”

“I mean, I don’t want you to, but it’s an idea,” Lucas corrected.

“Do you know anyone that desperate for cash and unfazed by the prospect of emasculation?” Jason returned.

“Meet Eddie Munson,” Lucas beamed, motioning to the opposite end of the cafeteria where Eddie was ‘subtly’ trading a bag of pills for a twenty-dollar bill with another student.

“Munson?  The Freak?  I heard he ate a live duck once,” Jason grimaced.

“Everything but the beak and feet!  Clearly he’s a great investment,” Lucas beamed, but Jason remained suspicious.

“What’s in this for you?” he wondered.

“I think you know,” Lucas sighed, “I want back in— I know I’m still on the team, but I wanna be really on the team again.  I miss you guys!”

“You miss your chance to be popular,” Jason corrected.

“Also that!” Lucas agreed in a continued upbeat tone.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Jason agreed cautiously.  “Now, back to the loser table with you.”

As Jason shooed him away, Lucas moved across the way to the table where Mike was watching it all go down disapprovingly.  “Why do we need to get him involved again?” he wondered with a shudder.

“Calm down, he’s just our money man,” Lucas soothed.  “We let him think this is all his idea, meanwhile he’s busy dealing with Eddie and you have time with Elle.”

Mike sighed, concerned, but knowing he was out of other options.  Still, in a battle for ‘the girl’, he didn’t feel equipped to face a popular, handsome senior.

But when Eddie looked at Jason, he didn’t see a popular, handsome senior; none of that mattered to him.  He just saw: douche with a quaff.  So, while he was out taking a smoke break on the stands by the soccer field, he was surprised to see that very quaffed douche approaching him.

“Hey,” Jason offered Eddie with a nod— that very nod that made girls want him and guys want to be him, but it was powerless on Eddie, who just glared back at him while exhaling a cloud of smoke.  “How are you?”

Eddie blinked forward, barely aware of the Tiger-pride-green blur beside him.

Jason stammered as he tried again to break the ice.  “I, uh, had some great duck last night—”

“Do I know you?” Eddie wondered.  “Shit, are you buyin’?”  He didn’t seem the type, but hey— as long as he had cash, he was Eddie’s type, customer-wise.

“Uh, no,” Jason shook his head nervously.  “Well, actually, yes— but—”

“I don’t sell roofies, Romeo,” Eddie warned him.

“I’m not buying drugs!” Jason barked, a little too loud for something that’s supposed to be secret.  “I’m buying a date.”

Eddie’s eyes widened.  “Listen, Carver, you’re a good-looking guy, but—”

“No no!” Jason rushed out, face turning pink.  “Not for me!  For her!”

Jason pointed down the field to where you were running drills, sweating and determined, grunting as you kicked the ball across the grass.  “The Hopper chick?” Eddie noticed.

“Yeah!”

Eddie laughed sharply, and so did his friend beside him.  “Yeah, sure thing, champ— I’ll get right on that,” Eddie agreed sarcastically.

“Look, until someone goes out with her, I can’t bag her sister,” Jason explained with a sigh.

“What a shame,” Eddie stuck out his bottom lip, “how many years of therapy will you need to cope with this trauma?”

“I know you don’t care about me,” Jason crossed his arms, “but I’m thinking you care a bit about Andrew Jackson?”

“That racist son of a bitch?  He was a piece of—” Eddie began, but then Jason pulled the twenty out of his pocket and brandished it proudly, making Munson shut his mouth.

“Whaddaya say?” Jason prompted.  “For a crisp twenty, you could take out the lovely Miss Hopper—”

As they glanced down the field, the guys winced at the sight of you roughly body-checking another player, who fell to the ground with a cry.

“For a crisp thirty—” Jason began again, summoning a ten from his pocket.

“Well, now, let’s think about this,” Eddie pondered aloud.  “You’re paying me to take her out, but I’ve gotta actually take her somewhere: we’ll say the movies.  That’s fifteen bucks for two tickets.  We get popcorn, that’s… fifty.”

Jason scoffed.  He knew there was more than a little inflation going on in those numbers, but he also knew that the freak had him under his thumb in these negotiations.

“She’s gonna want Junior Mints, what do you know, we’re looking at seventy-five already,” Eddie smirked.

“What kind of gold-plated Junior Mints are you buying?” Jason rolled his eyes.

“What kind of girl is this chick’s little sister?” Eddie countered.  “Is she really worth it, or are you just blowing hot air?”

Jason was powerless to even such an obvious trap— he could never say no to a dare.  Eddie was really saying, are you chicken?  And Jason could probably be talked into fighting a bear while only armed with a butter knife if it was all to prove he was not, in fact, chicken.  “Fifty,” Jason spat, “final offer.”

A bill was produced from Carver’s designer wallet, and Eddie’s ring-covered fingers snatched it away and stuffed it into his pocket.  “Pleasure doing business with you,” Eddie offered with a sarcastically-saccharine smile, but Jason only rolled his eyes and wandered off.

Just then, Coach Hastings blew the whistle.  “Good hustle, girls, good hustle!” he offered to the team.  “Take a water break!”

Seeing the group of players disperse, Eddie waited until you were on your way to the cooler to snuff his cigarette and jog up beside you.  You shot him a look before he even said anything.  “Hey there, girlie,” Eddie greeted you, “how ya doin’?”

“Uh, sweating like a pig,” you answered, wiping your face on your uniform, “and yourself?”

“You sure know how to get a guy’s attention, huh?” he laughed nervously.

You seemed amused, but in more of an at way than a with way.  "My mission in life," you quipped.  "But, hey, clearly I captured your attention.  Lucky me."

He grinned as he watched you chug your water.  "So I'll pick you up Friday then?"

You choked, laughing as you nearly spit the water right onto him.  "Yeah," you agreed sarcastically as you wiped your chin, "sure, Friday."

"I'll take you places you've never been before," he promised lasciviously.

"Like where, the crackhouse on Miller Street?" you rolled your eyes.  "Do you even know my name, screwboy?"

"I know more than you think," he challenged.

"Well, for that to be true," you returned, "you'd have to know more than the average eighth-grade dropout."

You turned to leave, walking away with a shake of your head.  "Well that's easy!" he laughed as he called after you.  "I did eighth grade twice!"

From across the field, Mike and Lucas watched you ditch Eddie with cringes on their face.

"We're screwed," Mike sighed.

"Now wait a minute, where'd all your optimism go?  I wanna hear you upbeat!" Lucas beamed.

"We're screwed!" Mike repeated, a forced, cheesy smile glued to his face between two thumbs-up.

"That's better," Lucas approved, patting Mike on the back.

~

As you exited the local records store, empty handed due to the continued lack of good punk records available, you sighed at the sight of Eddie Munson leaning against your hood.

"Nice ride," he noticed.  "Vintage fenders?"

"Are you stalking me?" you asked instead, brushing past him to try to unlock your door, but he slid in front of you with crossed arms.

"I was in the laundromat," he assured, tilting his head to the washateria across the street, "I saw your car, that's all."

"Funny, you don't strike me as someone who washes their clothes," you mocked.

"Well, if you must know, I was there to make a sale," Eddie admitted.

"And what are you here for, blocking my door?" you wondered.

"To say hi!"

"Hi."

You tried to reach around him again to get the key in the lock but he put his hand over it.  "Not much of a talker, are you?"

"Not much of a listener, are you?  I'm not interested."

"Are you scared of me?" he asked— not a threat, not hopeful or disappointed, just a genuine question.

"Why would I be?"

"I dunno, most people are."

"Well, I'm not."

"Okay, you're not scared of me— but I bet you've thought about me naked," he purred, leaning in a little closer.

"Am I that transparent?" you gasped, faux worry dropping into deadpan disdain.  "I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby."

Just when he let you get into your car, finally, Jason Carver and his dick-compensation-mobile pulled up and screeched to a halt right behind you, blocking you in.

"The fuck?!  Is there some kind of creep convention going on at the record store?" you groaned, laying on your horn.  "Carver!" you barked as he hopped out and strolled by you.  "Move your gaudy-ass car!"

"No, thanks," he smiled at you as he walked along towards the storefront.

You felt helpless, until you got a dangerous idea— and fed up as you were, you couldn't resist it.  Flooring it in reverse, those vintage fenders of yours piercing right through the cherry-red paint and imported metal underneath.

Jason sure whipped his head around fast and gaped his mouth at the damage.  "You bitch!" he screeched.

Hearing Eddie's belly laugh, you looked at Jason and offered him only a flippant shrug and a "whoops!"

"WHOOPS?!" your dad repeated, pacing around the kitchen as you sat at the table.  "My insurance doesn't cover teen angst!"

You shrugged again.  "Then tell them it was a seizure or something."

"Are you punishing me?" he wondered.  "Because I don't want you to go to Sarah Lawrence?"

"Are you punishing me for standing up for myself?" you countered.

“No, but I’d prefer you didn’t do it in such an expensive way!”

You scoffed.  “I’d prefer that you stopped making my decisions for me.”

“Well—” he began, but he was cut off by his police radio sounding off.  

“Chief Hopper, come in— Chief Hopper, this is dispatch, we have a 10-54…” the nasal feminine voice came through.

You both sighed and he picked up the radio.  “Chief here, I’ll head there now.”  He turned to you with a pointed finger.  “We’ll discuss this later,” he promised, or threatened, depends on how you look at it.  As he left, Elle stormed in, fuming at you.

“Did you just maim Jason’s car?!” she yelped.

"Allegedly," you grinned.  "Looks like little miss princess is gonna have to ride the bus with the unwashed masses.”

~

As Eddie shut his locker, he was startled by Jason glowering on the other side.  “Shit,” Eddie blurted out.

“When I shell out fifty, I expect results,” Jason frowned.

“I’m working on it,” Eddie insisted, brushing Jason off as he grabbed his books and shut his locker.

“Standing by while she violated my car doesn’t count as a date,” Jason reminded him.  “I don’t get any if you don’t, so you better figure out how to charm this chick or—”

“I just upped my price,” Eddie decided suddenly.

Jason had just turned to walk away, but that made him look at Eddie again.  “Excuse me?”

“A hundred bucks a date, in advance,” Eddie announced.

“Forget it,” Jason dismissed.

“Then forget her sister,” Eddie shrugged.

Jason hesitated, wondering if Elle was really worth all the trouble.  Maybe she wasn’t, to him— but the street cred he’d get if he deflowered her was.  He groaned as he reached for his wallet, and Eddie grinned proudly.  “You’d better be as smooth as you think you are, Munson,” Jason warned as Eddie snatched up the bill.

The interaction still had Eddie in a particularly bad mood during shop class, making Mike even more hesitant to approach him;

“Wh-why can’t you talk to him?” he asked Lucas.

“I talked to Jason,” Lucas replied.

“Yeah, but you know Jason,” Mike reminded him, “and Jason isn’t… unstable.”

“Just go, chicken,” Lucas rolled his eyes, shoving Mike forward— and he stumbled, but made his way over to Eddie’s workstation.  

When he got a glare from under a curly fringe, Mike just blurted it out: “We know what you’re trying to do… with Hopper?”

“Yeah?  And what are you gonna do about it?” Eddie challenged.

“Uh— help you!  We wanna help you,” Mike explained quickly.

Eddie wrinkled his eyebrows together, standing up straighter and crossing his arms.  “Why, exactly?”

Lucas appeared behind Mike, resting his hands on his shoulders.  “You see, my friend here is… mildly obsessed with her sister, Elle.”

“What’s the deal with this girl, her tits shoot fireworks or something?” Eddie scoffed, and Mike nearly jumped on him for saying that— as if that fight wouldn’t be pitifully uneven.

“Mike’s love for her is… a little purer than that,” Lucas promised, “especially purer than Jason Carver’s.”

“Look,” Eddie leveled with the two of them, “I’m in this for the cash.  Carver can plow whoever he wants.”

“Okay, there will be no plowing!” Mike exclaimed, voice cracking.

“Listen, Eddie— uh, Ed,” Lucas smiled, “this whole thing— we set it all up!  We told Jason to pay you off, so Mike can get the girl.  Mr. Popular is just a pawn.”

Eddie seemed to like that; maybe even someone as detached from the popularity hierarchy could still enjoy a little humiliation for the star point guard.  “So, are you gonna help me tame the beast, then?” 

“Are you talking about Hopper, or your hair?” Lucas joked, though he dropped his smile when Eddie glared at him.  “O-okay, yeah, we’re gonna do some research, we can find out what she likes and stuff.  We’re your guys.”

“In a strictly non-prison-movie way,” Mike added anxiously.

~

Mike and Elle were walking around the old bridge— she promised to show him the prettiest place in Hawkins, he thought about turning it into a line but he resisted the urge, and he delicately broke the pleasant silence.  “So, have you heard about the party Steve Harrington is throwing at his parents’ lake house?”

“Yes,” Elle pouted, “and I really really wanna go, but I can’t.  Not unless my sister goes.”

“I’m working on that,” Mike promised, “but she’s not going for my guy.”  He paused before he continued, narrowing his eyes.  “She’s not a, uh…”

"A friend of Billie Jean?” Elle finished.

“No, I’m not asking if she’s a Michael Jackson fan,” Mike corrected, “I meant—”

“I know what you meant!” Elle rolled her eyes.  “Billie Jean King?  Tennis player, women’s rights advocate, giant flaming lesbian?”

“O-oh,” Mike stuttered, “I don’t really watch tennis…”

“Or the news, apparently,” Elle sighed.  “The point is, no, I don't think so.  I found a picture of Rob Lowe in her drawer once so she's at least got some interest in men.  Jury's still out on her bestie Robin Buckley, though…"

"But that's the kind of guys she likes?  Pretty guys?"

Elle shrugged.  "All I know is she said she'd never date a smoker."

“Okay, no smoking,” Mike nodded, “what else?”

“Listen, I try not to get too deep into my sister’s twisted psyche,” Elle sighed.

“But we need to know more!” Mike insisted.  “We need to go behind enemy lines…”

Even though it was his idea, Mike felt a little out of his depth watching Elle go through your room; it looked sort of how he imagined it might, except for missing a giant cork board with pins and red yarn outlining your plan to cause men as much suffering as possible.

“Okay, here we go!” Elle announced excitedly as she rifled through a drawer.  “Class schedule, reading list, concert tickets… ha!  Black panties!”

Mike cleared his throat as she held up the offending pair of lacy underthings.  “What does that tell us?”

“That she wants to have sex some day.”

“Couldn’t she just like the color?” Mike wondered, flustered.

“You don’t buy lingerie unless you want someone to see it,” Elle insisted.

“Oh,” Mike nodded, perking up slightly.  “So… can I see your room?”

Elle blinked quickly, getting a bit tender all of a sudden.  “No… a girl’s room is very personal…” she explained shyly.

“Right,” Mike agreed nervously.

~

Two sophomores didn’t exactly blend in at The Hideout— it was a dingy old hole-in-the-wall, with grimey old bikers getting drunk in every corner… and Eddie, shooting pool by himself in the back.  He straightened up when they approached him, nursing his beer with a raised eyebrow.

“We have information for you,” Mike explained.

“Don’t say it like that, it sounds weird,” Eddie frowned, “she’s just a girl, not a… spy or something.”

“Right,” Lucas agreed as Eddie took another sip from the brown bottle.

Mike narrowed his eyes.  “Should you be drinking alcohol when you don’t have a liver?”

“What?!” Eddie scrunched up his nose.

“Nothing,” Lucas shook his head.

“The first thing is she hates smokers,” Mike explained.

Eddie groaned.  “I’m gonna have to quit?  Fuck, this is getting more unpleasant by the minute—”

“Just for now!” Lucas bargained.  

"And there’s another problem: Elle said that her sister likes, uh, pretty guys,” Mike added.

There was a tense pause, until Eddie’s eyes widened.  “Are you saying I’m not a pretty guy?”

“H-he’s very pretty!” Lucas smacked Mike on the back.  “He’s gorgeous, look at him!”

“S-sorry, I wasn’t sure,” Mike mumbled awkwardly.

Eddie brushed off the insult quickly, taking a big puff off of his cigarette— maybe he appreciated it more, knowing he’d have to cut back for a while after this.  Meanwhile, Mike pulled out a folded up piece of heart-shaped mini-notebook paper (borrowed stationary from Elle, obviously) and read the list aloud.

“Okay, ‘likes: Thai food, feminist prose, and—’” he cleared his throat before he continued— “‘angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion.’  Here’s a list of CDs that she has in her room.”

Eddie looked at the list in disdain.  “So I’m supposed to, what, take her out for noodles and spoken word and sit around listening to chicks who can’t play their instruments?”

“Have you ever been to Club Nina?” Lucas wondered.

“Her favorite band is playing there tomorrow night,” Mike explained, and Eddie sighed as he pressed his lips together.

“I can’t be seen at Club Nina,” Eddie shook his head.  “First of all, that’s rival turf, second of all—”

“She’ll be there, she’s already got tickets for her and Robin,” Lucas pressed.  “Just… tolerate it, for a night.  And maybe don’t deal any drugs there.”

“Can I at least do some drugs there?” Eddie frowned.

“As long as you’re not too out of sorts to do some major seducing,” Mike offered.  “She has a pair of black underwear!  If that helps.”

“I mean, it couldn’t hurt, right?” Lucas elbowed Eddie playfully, who jerked away.

As stupid as it was, Eddie found himself still wondering about your alleged black panties as he walked into the club to look for you the next night. He found you horribly frustrating, sure, and the feeling was mutual, but picturing you in something like that was... not too terrible.

Eddie noticed the looks he was getting from the girls at Club Nina, and they weren’t exactly approving; a man invading their space was bad enough, but a metalhead in the land of the soft-rockers was turning heads.

He ignored it for the most part and sat down at the bar, ordering something light enough that he could keep his wits about him, but hard enough that he could tolerate this whole situation.  Believe it or not, he didn’t actually like getting repeatedly insulted and degraded by you— it wasn’t even the sexy kind of degrading, just your incessant hatefulness chipping away at his dignity.  But damn, he could feel the added weight of Carver’s money in his wallet, and he liked that.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for you to show up at the bar, ordering two waters like the lightweight you were.  He pretended not to see you, but you didn’t offer the same courtesy, making a groan of disgust at him.  “If you’re planning on asking me out again, just get it over with,” you pleaded distastefully.

He looked at you with an irritated frown, pointing at the band behind him.  “Keep it down, maybe?  I’m trying to listen.”

That seemed to throw you off, and he enjoyed your moment of bewilderment.  “Did you leave your cancer sticks behind?” you asked.

“Yeah, permanently,” he nodded.  “Turns out they’re bad for you.”

He shrugged, and you dropped the sarcasm for a split-second.  “You did?” you pressed, surprised.

“You know,” he changed the subject instead, “these guys are no Adolescents or Souixsie and the Banshees, but they’re alright.”

“You know Souixsie and the Banshees?” you repeated, flabbergasted.

“Why, don’t you?” he joked.  He got down another sip of watered-down liquor, before turning to face you directly.  “You know, I was watching you before,” he admitted, yelling to be heard over the crescendo of the song, “I’ve never seen you look so sexy!”

Of course, that was right about when the song ended, and Eddie looked around the club as he realized the entire swarm of alt chicks had heard him.  As they laughed at the scene, he smiled awkwardly and watched you get visibly embarrassed— good to know you had emotions other than rage, contempt, and boredom.

“Why don’t you come to Steve Harrington’s party with me?” he challenged, and the moment faded as the next song began.

“You never give up, do you?” you frowned, starting to walk away and back into the dancing crowd.

“Was that a yes?” he wondered.

“No!” you shouted back to him.

“Was it a no?” he added.

“No!” you said again, and he smiled.

“I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty, then!” he called to you, but you were lost to him again— for now.

~

Elle and Max, dolled up in their finest party gear, crept carefully across the foyer towards the front door.  Elle knew all the creaky floorboards to avoid, yet even in their silence they seemed to trigger Chief Hopper’s sixth sense.  “You should have used the window,” he announced as they deflated.

“H-hi Daddy,” she greeted as if all were normal.

“Hi,” he returned as he looked at them.  “Where are we going?”

“Um, just a small study group of friends,” Elle insisted, and Max nodded along.

“Otherwise known as an orgy?!” Dad barked.

“Mr. Hopper— Chief, sir— it’s just a party,” Max soothed.

“And Hell is just a sauna!” he returned.

As you came walking down the stairs into the middle of the argument, oblivious, your dad snagged your attention.  

“Are you aware of this party?” he asked.  You simply shrugged, on a mission for snacks.  

“People expect me to be there!” Elle complained.  “I have friends waiting for me!  Daaaddddyyy!!”

“If your sister’s not going, you’re not going,” he stood fast.

Of course, that turned her ire towards you.  “Why can’t you be normal?” she whined.

“Define ‘normal’,” you challenged as you crossed your arms.

“Going to Steve’s party is normal!”

You scoffed.  “Steve’s party is just a lame excuse for all the youthful morons of Hawkins High to drink beer and rub up against each other in hopes of distracting themselves the pathetic emptiness of their—”

Elle and Max interrupted to finish your rant: “meaningless, consumer-driven lives,” they groaned in unison.

You hadn’t realized you were so predictable, and your shock gave Elle an opportunity to make one more plea.

“Can you just, for one night, forget about your crusade against all things enjoyable and just be my sister?  please?  C’mon,” she begged, stepping up closer, “please, do this for me.”

It was more sincere than you were used to from her, and it reminded you of simpler times, of when she thought you were the coolest big sister ever and she was your favorite person— before she was spoiled by the world and you were soured by it.  Those memories were what convinced you to somberly nod.  “I’ll make an appearance,” you agreed, and she squealed as she hugged you joyfully.

“Oh god, it’s starting,” your dad mumbled to himself in a daze.

“It’s just a party,” Elle promised him, but he stiffened up suddenly.

“I want you to wear the belly,” he announced.

Elle whimpered out her “Daddy, no!” but it was too late, he’d already gone to fetch it from the closet, and you watched with schadenfreude as he pulled out the padded faux-pregnancy jacket.  

“Not all night,” he promised, “just around the living room for a minute while you contemplate the weight of your decisions.”

She held her arms out in defeat as he slipped it on over her dress, smiling proudly at his work.

“Every time you even think about kissing a boy,” Dad lectured, “just imagine wearing this all the time.”

“You’re such a space cadet,” she sighed.

“Okay, we’re going now,” you announced as you headed for the door, but he stopped you.

“Wait a minute: no drinking, no drugs, no kissing, no tattoos, no piercings, no getting in vans, no— no ritual animal slaughter!” he enumerated.  “Oh god, I’m giving them ideas…”

You startled when you opened the door and saw Eddie standing there, fist raised as he was about to knock.  “What are you doing here?” you asked him flatly.

“Nine-thirty, right?” he smiled, “I’m early.”

“Whatever, I’m driving,” you insisted.

He leaned to the side to look over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow.  “Who knocked up your sister?”

~

Lucas held on tight to his drink in a plastic cup as he attempted to keep Max Mayfield’s attention for at least a few minutes at a time.

“You know, I’m on the basketball team,” he reminded her with a grin.

“Right,” she mumbled, unimpressed, but he was a little too tipsy to notice that his lines weren’t working.

“Do you, uh, play any sports?” he asked.

“I skate, if that counts,” she shrugged.

“Oh, rollerblading is cool!” Lucas beamed, but Max rolled her eyes and walked away at his incorrect guess of what kind of skating she meant.  “Ever been to Rink-O-Mania?” he called after her, sighing when he realized he’d officially struck out.

You brushed past him, knocking into his shoulder as he pouted.  Eddie was still following you, for some reason, dodging dancing girls and kissing couples along the way.

Jason clicked his tongue at you as you passed by.  “Lookin’ fresh,” he cooed, in that way that was mostly mocking yet probably a real come-on if you went for it: Schrödinger’s pick-up line, if you will.

“Oh my god, did you feel that?” you looked around at the air.  “My pussy just dried up so fast it actually dropped the humidity in here!”

Jason seemed a little too interested in an update on your genitals, but you were already walking away, trying to lose him and Eddie now.  “Hey, is your sister here?” he asked you loudly.

“Stay away from my sister,” you warned.

“I will,” he promised, “but, you know, I can’t guarantee that she’ll stay away from me…”

You shook your head as you shoved your way into another room of the Harrington’s massive lodge, accidentally stumbling upon two jocks wrestling and throwing punches on the floor.  A crowd had gathered around the scene to cheer them on, and you sneered in disgust at the uncivil display.

“Hey, hey!” Steve himself appeared, trying to break it up.  “Take it outside!”

One jock pulled the other up by his shirt, and the two of them went tumbling back— right through the window.  They didn’t even stop swinging as they fell onto the grass, and Steve’s face went blank with numb shock.

“Th-thanks,” he mumbled to himself, and you gave him a pat on the shoulder as you passed by.

“At least we’re on the ground floor,” you offered him quickly, but a tap on your shoulder pulled your attention away.  

“Hey,” Jason smirked as he let you get a good look at him with his arm around your sister’s shoulders, “look who found me.”

You weren’t even angry— which was a nice break, really— you were just worried now.  “Elle, wait,” you called to her as they walked away.          

“Please don’t address me in public,” Elle requested with a roll of her eyes.

“I just wanna tell you something!” you pleaded.

“I’m being a normal teenager for a night— you should try it,” she suggested, and the two of them disappeared into the crowd again.

Just in time for your impending breakdown, some guy walked by holding a tray of shots.  “Shots, anyone?  Ladies?”

You grabbed one with each hand and tossed them back in rapid succession.  You reached for a third when Eddie reappeared, snagging it out of your hand.  “What are you doing?” he asked, concerned.

“I’m getting trashed, dude,” you offered in a fake party-boy voice.  “Isn’t that the point of all this?”

Eddie shrugged.  “Think the point is to just… be yourself.”

You snorted.  “You might be the only person who thinks I should be myself.”

At the same time that you were ditching Eddie again, Mike was finding Lucas.  “Have you seen her around anywhere?” he asked as he scanned the crowd.  For all his excitement to find her, he seemed to get overwhelmed when he saw Elle coming down the stairs with Max.

“Come on, man, relax,” Lucas assured as he patted his shoulders.  Mike took a deep breath.  “Just be yourself.”

Nodding, Mike summoned his courage and approached the girls.  “H-hey, Elle,” he greeted politely.

“Hey,” Elle returned, “Mike, um— do you know Max?”

Elle grabbed the redhead and shoved her towards Mike so she could try to break away.

“Oh, yeah,” Mike nodded, “we have Math together, right?”

Max hummed as she crossed her arms; “Great,” she offered unenthusiastically.

“You, uh, look really amazing tonight,” Mike offered Elle, and Max cringed as he failed to take the hint.

“Oh— um,” Elle stalled, and Jason descended the stairs to slip his arm around her.

“And we all know I look amazing,” he interjected, making the girls giggle and Mike roll his eyes.  “C’mon, Elle, let’s go— there are jell-o shots in the kitchen.”

He was already turning her around to guide her away, forcing her to look over her shoulder to wave at Mike: “See you around, okay?” 

Mike watched helplessly as Jason took his dream girl from right in front of him— the blonde even offered him a thumbs up on his way out, to add insult to injury.

Eddie found you again in the study, starting to work on another drink.  “Hey hey hey,” he interrupted as he gently lifted it away from you, watching you whine and make grabby hands for it.  “Why don’t you let me have this one, hm?”

“No!” you pouted, jumping for it, but he held it up higher— it forced you to push yourself up against him to try to get it, and he forced himself not to notice how it felt to be close to you.

Someone walked by with their own drink, just about to have a sip when you snatched it away instead, running off before Eddie could set down the cup and catch up.  “Shit,” he hissed to himself.

As he tried to navigate past other partygoers to get to the kitchen, he heard the blasting stereo change songs to something not actually awful (in his opinion): Def Leppard.  Unfortunately, you seemed to like Pour Some Sugar On Me, too— considering you hopped up on a table and started dancing there instead.

“How’d you get her to be normal?” Jason laughed as he appeared beside Eddie— and he couldn’t decide if he was more disgusted by Carver’s glee watching you, or Carver’s chumminess with him.

“Hey!” Eddie called to you, getting through the crowd of cheering guys as quickly as he could, but you couldn’t hear him through the overwhelming sound and the haze of drunkenness.  He watched you dance, a mix of concern, embarrassment, and arousal stirring in him as your moves became more and more suggestive.  “HEY!” 

When he shouted the second time, it didn’t quite get you to look at him but it did startle you, making you whack your head on the chandelier— which in turn made you stumble and fall.  When you came down dramatically, he held out his arms and managed to catch you, looking at your startled, panting face.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, but you looked angry at him again.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, trying to wiggle out of his embrace, but failing.

“You’re not fine,” he groaned, “c’mon…”

He didn’t exactly carry you, mostly because you wouldn’t let him, but he didn’t let you walk on your own when he saw how wobbly your legs were.

The sounds of the party faded into the distance as you walked in the grass, up to the shore of Lover’s Lake where the Harrington’s had some rustic old swings hanging from under a massive tree by the water.

“I-I just need to lie down somewhere,” you insisted, stumbling again as Eddie had to grab at your waist to keep you upright.

“No, you can’t lie down right now,” he sighed.  “If you lie down you’ll go to sleep.”

You pouted as he set you down on a swing.  “I like sleep,” you protested.

“Can’t sleep if you might have a concussion,” he explained, watching you slump against the rope beside you.

He was about to fuss over you a little more, try to keep you awake somehow, but he saw Mike storming down across the grass.  

“Hey,” Mike greeted as Eddie stepped past you slightly to meet him.  “We need to talk.”

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” Eddie informed him, gesturing towards you.

“Well— it’s over, okay?  All of this— the deal’s off,” Mike frowned.

“Huh?”

“She never wanted me,” he realized with a sigh.  “She wanted Jason the whole time.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.  “Listen— do you really like this girl?”

“Yeah!” Mike assured.

“And she’s worth going through all this trouble?” he pressed, stepping forward towards the new kid.

“I— I think so.”

“Either she is or she isn’t,” Eddie frowned, “and considering we made it this far, she must be— so you need to keep fighting for her!  You’re twice the man that Jason is, if she’s got two brain cells to rub together she’ll figure out she’s better off with you.  Capice?”

Mike puffed up his chest a bit.  “O-okay!” he decided.  “I’m gonna go for it!”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Eddie cheered, slapping Mike on the shoulder before he ran off back to the party.

Eddie was smiling as he turned to you, only to lose his grin and rush over as you started to fall forward out of the swing.

“Woah woah!” he yelped as he knelt down in front of you and held your face with both hands.  “Gotta stay awake, remember, sweetheart?”

You stuck your bottom lip out.  “You’re so patronizing.”

He smirked.  “Leave it to you to use your vocabulary words when you’re totally shitfaced.”

When you fluttered your eyes shut, he lightly smacked your cheek, the rings hitting a little extra hard on your jaw as you groaned.  “What are you hitting me for?”

“Because you might have a concussion,” he reminded you.  

“And you want to add to it?” you assumed, awake enough for him to let go of your face, which he did.

“If you go to sleep now, you might not wake up.”

“You don’t care if I never wake up,” you dismissed.

He smiled at you, a little too amused by such a morbid sentiment.  “Sure I do!”

“Why?” 

He almost let his smile falter.  “If you died, I might have to go out with a girl who actually likes me,” he answered.

“If you could find one,” you snorted, eyes still shut but face curling into a proud grin at your own joke.

“See?  Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?” he teased.

You sniffled and sat up a little straighter, so Eddie stepped back and sat down on the swing beside you.

“So, why’d you let him get to you?” he wondered, looking out across the lake sparkling under the glow of a half-moon.

“Who?”

“Jason.  You’re normally so unaffected.”

“He always drives me crazy,” you admitted, “but messing with my sister is crossing the line.”

“Well, you’ve chosen some creative revenge,” he laughed, “by drinking through the Harrington’s liquor cabinet.”

You laughed along with him, a rare moment where you two overlapped— and not even in a negative emotion!  “You know what they say,” you replied.

“What’s that?” he wondered.  But you didn’t continue.  He looked to the side and saw you falling down again.

“Shit,” he spat, leaning forward and catching you at your shoulders, tilting your face up to his.  “Wake up!  C’mon, look at me, sweetheart, listen to me— open your eyes…”

He was a little overwhelmed by the way you did exactly as he’d asked, fluttering your eyes open at him, something entirely new in them that he’d never seen on you before— or maybe anyone, at least this up close.  “Hey,” you smiled softly.  “Did you know your eyes are a little bit hazel?”

He smiled back at you, examining your face, wondering for a split second if he should go for it.

But before he could, you keeled over and wretched— right on his white Reeboks.  “Shit,” he said again.

~

Elle was waiting out in the cool night air, her thin cardigan not doing much for her as she watched Jason drive off with a slew of girls in tow; he’d tried to get her to go to another party, but along with her curfew coming up, it turned out that he was sort of a dud.  For all his alleged charisma as one of the most popular guys in school, he didn’t know how to talk about anything but basketball, plus his ‘boys’ and their misadventures— usually drunken ones.  She tried to cut him some slack since he was likely a little tipsy, but she still couldn’t justify the way he talked about his ex-girlfriend.  It was just tacky!

As she waited for you to hopefully reappear soon and drive her home, Mike brushed by.  “Have fun tonight?” he asked, somewhat sharply.

“Tons,” Elle sighed, expecting him to stop and getting a little more shy when he didn’t. “Hey, um, Mike?” 

He stopped and turned, and she gave him a pitiful look.

“Any chance you could give me a ride home?”

Eddie hadn’t driven a car as small as yours in a while— and it wasn’t even small, it just felt that way compared to his van.

You reached forward and turned up the stereo, a Patti Smith song getting louder as you did.  “I should do this,” you announced.

“What?” he wondered.

“This!” you said again, pointing to the radio.  “Make music, start a band!  Aren’t you in a band?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you knew that,” he admitted.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do, too,” you decided with firm defiance.  “My father would love that.”

“I didn’t think you were the type to worry about what your father thought,” Eddie noticed.

“Oh, so now you’ve got me all figured out?” you scoffed.

He shrugged.  “I’m getting there.”

You deflated slightly as you looked out the window.  “Nobody knows anything about me,” you admitted, “except that I’m ‘scary’ or whatever.”

He smirked slightly at your air quotes.  “I’m not known to be particularly enjoyable either.”

When you looked at him, he felt a little penetrated by your stare, so he looked back at the road ahead.

“Look at us, having a little talk about real stuff,” he blurted out, trying to break the tension.  “I mean, you’re usually so closed off and now I think you might spill your guts or something.  Oh, right— you already did…”

And you stiffened up again.  Right on cue.

Whereas your conversation with Eddie died a few minutes before you pulled up to your house, Elle and Mike’s only began when he put the car in park.  “You never wanted to hang out with me, did you?” he realized, irritation tinting his voice.

“I— I did!” Elle lied, trying to be nice.  But she was always trying to be nice, and that wasn’t enough; Mike scoffed in frustrated disbelief.

“You didn’t!”

Elle deflated.  “Yeah… okay.  Not really.”

“Well, then that’s all you had to say!  You could’ve just said you weren’t interested and none of this would’ve happened— but then you wouldn’t have gotten your night with Jason.  That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it?”

“But I—” she began, cut off by Mike’s rant.

“You know, you can’t just treat people however you want because you’re beautiful.  Lucas told me you were vapid, and I defended you!  I— I learned French for you!  And then you just—”

She cut him off with a kiss— a sweet kiss, not too short, but exactly the sort of kiss two sophomores should share in a car after a party.  When she pulled away, she smiled a little, and Mike blinked at her a couple times.

“Goodnight,” she offered softly, getting out of the car and walking up the steps to her front door.

Mike turned to face forward again, dumbfounded expression morphing slowly into a grin.  “And I’m back in the game!” he beamed, pumping his fist triumphantly.

~

As you walked into class, you tried to avoid the eyes on you— but you couldn’t, just like you couldn’t avoid throbbing in your head.

“Nice moves last night, señorita,” one of the stoners in class nodded approvingly as you came in.

“That was radical, dude,” a surfer boy offered with a ‘hang tight’ hand symbol.

And then there was Jason.  “What do you owe you for the table dance, babe?” he taunted.

Shuddering, you sat down as Ms. O’Donnell began.  “Settle down, please,” she begged the class.  “Whatever happened outside of school hours is not to be discussed now.  Wouldn’t you rather hear about your midterm assignment?”

The class groaned in unison.

“You’ll be writing a sonnet,” she explained, “in the style of William Shakespeare.”

When you raised your hand, you saw the look on her face, and you knew what she was expecting.  And you didn’t blame her.  You spoke when she pointed towards you.  “Should it be in iambic pentameter?”

She seemed suspicious of such a simple question.  “Um, no, it doesn’t have to be,” she replied.  “Why?”

“I just wanted to know…” you mumbled sheepishly.  “Is that so wrong?”

“Um, no,” she decided.  “That’s a good question, Miss Hopper… and it doesn’t.  Thank you for asking.”

She wasn’t the only one shocked by your sudden interest in her teaching, and you noticed the way the entire class was looking at you.  “What?” you scoffed, and you shook the moment off as Ms. O’Donnell began lecturing again.

~

Mike and Eddie sat beside each other as they watched your soccer practice from a safe distance.  “What’d you do to her?” Mike wondered.

“What?  I didn’t do anything— did you see how drunk she was?” Eddie shook his head.  “What made you think something happened, anyways?”

“The fact that the plan was working,” Mike answered.

“Why do you care?  I thought it was over.”

“It was,” Mike agreed, smiling, “until she kissed me.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Eddie congratulated, “I told you to go for it.”

Lucas, meanwhile, was running the track— and he stopped when he passed the two other boys.  “Alright, I talked to her,” he informed them, “I got the scoop.”

“What’d she say?” Mike wondered excitedly.

“Hates him with the fire of a thousand suns,” he announced with a sarcastic smile.  “That’s a direct quote.”

Eddie sighed, looking a little defeated.

“H-hey,” Mike tried to comfort him, “maybe she just needs a day to cool off?”

But the three of them had to lean away to dodge a soccer ball that came flying over, narrowly avoiding nailing Eddie in the head.  When they looked up together at the source, they caught your glare coming their way.

“...or two,” Eddie added.

~

You groaned as you sat with Robin on the bench, watching the prom committee hang up posters all over the courtyard for the wretched event.

“Can you imagine going to that brainless display of teenage vapidity?” you rolled your eyes.  

“Uh, I can,” Robin admitted, “if I had a date.”

“I thought things were going okay with Vickie,” you frowned at her.  

“Well, yeah, they’re okay, but it’s not like that, yet,” she explained.  

“You’re sparing yourself by not going,” you insisted, “the whole thing is a patriarchal sham anyways.”

“Even if you go with a girl?”

“Yes,” you groaned, “because you’re still supporting the institution.  It’s basically a mating ritual you have to dress up for!”

“Alright, we won’t go,” she promised.  “I didn’t have anything to wear, even if I knew how to ask Vickie…”

“You’re looking at this all backwards,” you sighed, “we’re not missing out— we’re making a statement!”

“Oh, great,” Robin beamed sarcastically, “something new and different for us!”

Across the courtyard, Elle was busy reviewing her Science homework at a table when Jason popped in beside her.  “Hey there, cutie,” he cooed.

“Hey…” she mumbled, focusing still on her textbook, in fact she hadn’t even looked up at him.

“Studying hard, huh?” he noticed, trying to prompt her again.         

“Can I help you?” she wondered flatly.

“Well, it would help me a lot if you say yes when I ask you to prom,” he quipped.

Elle only sighed, turning the page in her book.  “You know the deal, Jay— I can’t go if my sister doesn’t go.”

“Good thing she will.”

That got Elle to tear her eyes away from cell biology so she could look at the senior beside her.  “Since when?!” she gasped.

“Let’s just say,” Jason purred, scooting closer to her, “I’m taking care of it.”

~

Eddie chewed on the inside of his cheek as Jason rambled about the money he’d just handed him.  “That’ll cover flowers, limo, tux, the whole enchilada.  I don’t care what you do, just make sure she gets to the prom.”

Eddie suddenly handed the money back.  “You know what?  I’m sick of being a pawn in your little game, okay?”

Jason scoffed at the money.  “Then make it two hundred,” he decided, summing another bill to add onto the small pile in Eddie’s palm.

Hesitating, and then sneering, Eddie stuffed it into his pocket.  The money felt like it would burn a hole through the denim if he left it there too long— he went to the music store first, wondering if he should spent it; wondering if he should try to talk to you instead of just watching you play around on a bass you’d borrowed from the wall of instruments.

In a moment entirely out of character for him, Eddie just couldn’t muster up the courage to do it, to tap you on the shoulder and get your attention.  He could stand on tables in the cafeteria and make a fool of himself playing at the Hideout for whatever crowd of drunks accidentally stayed for Corroded Coffin’s show, but he couldn’t just… say hi to you.  You just looked so at peace sitting there on the amp, rocking your head between the big headphones that dwarfed your face; he was happier just watching you play for a few minutes, leaving before you opened your eyes and noticed him.

He watched you from between the stacks at the bookstore, too, swallowing as you flipped through Sylvia Plath.  What was it that was making him so nervous to approach you all of a sudden?  It’s not a crush, is it?  No…  no, it’s probably my natural aversion to pain.

Just when he was afraid you were about to leave and he would miss his chance, he jumped up from behind Adult Non-fiction and surprised you before you could head for the door.  “Excuse me,” he smiled, “have you seen The Feminine Mystique?  I lost track of mine.”

You looked appropriately disappointed and unamused, but he was used to that by now.  “What are you doing here?” you asked him flatly.

“I heard there was a poetry reading,” he replied, not even trying that hard to sound believable, since you’d never believe it.  You knitted your eyebrows together and opened your mouth, apparently searching for the exact words to cut him down.

“Y-you… you’re so…” you started a few times, and Eddie grinned as he realized he’d stumped you for the moment.

“Charming?” he finished for you.

And in a moment entirely out of character for you, you gave up, shaking your head and trying to step past him to walk away.  He side-stepped and planted himself in front of you.

“Irresistible,” he offered instead.

“Unavoidable,” you corrected.

“Inevitable,” he agreed with a wink.  “Love always is.”

“Love?!  Jesus Christ,” you spat, laughing sharply at how absurd it was.

“You do realize you’re not as mean as you think you are, right?” Eddie wondered, following you closely as you kept marching towards the door to leave.

You spun to look at him as you replied, “and you’re not as badass as you think you are.”

“Ooh,” he winced playfully, “someone still has their panties in a twist.”

“Don’t even for a minute worry that you have any effect whatsoever on my panties,” you snapped.

“Then what did I have an effect on?” he encouraged.

“Other than my gag reflex, not much,” you frowned.

“Gag reflex, huh?” he purred, and you grimaced as you rolled your eyes.

“God, you’re barbaric!” you announced as you shoved a book into his chest— The Feminine Mystique, of course— and utilized the moment he spent looking at it to exit the store.  He didn’t even really process that you were already gone until he heard the little bell on the door chime, and he sighed.

~

Eddie just wanted to get his lunch in peace, but those two pipsqueak sophomores flanked him as he moved through the line.  “What’s the word?” Mike asked.

“Well, you were right— she’s still pissed,” Eddie replied.

“Sweet love, renew thy force!” Lucas exclaimed, and Eddie made a face at him.

“Don’t say shit like that to me, people can hear you,” Eddie warned him.

“Look,” Mike interjected, “she’s embarrassed!  Sacrifice yourself on the altar of dignity and even the score.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie departed the lunch line early— he didn’t want green bean casserole anyways— and left Mike and Lucas to look at each other.  “Don’t say shit like that to him,” Lucas soberly instructed Mike, “people can hear you.”

They were right, though, and the next day, he acted on their advice.

You were out on the field with the team, running drills, clearing your head in the only way you knew how.  Of course, Eddie couldn’t stay out of your head for long— or out of your way.  

You didn’t notice the speakers turning on at first; you heard it, but you didn’t think much of the static buzz of silence.  It wasn’t silent for long, though, and everyone turned their heads when they heard an electric guitar begin playing.  You looked up in the bleachers, and widened your eyes at the sight of Eddie hopping up into view as he played, a long black cord trailing behind him.  The marching band had left some of their equipment up after practice, including the microphone intended for the national anthem singer, and Eddie leaned into it as he began to sing along with his own playing.

“I gotta tell you what I'm feeling inside, I could lie to myself, but it's true—”

“Oh my god, is that—?” you heard a teammate of yours whisper to another, and they were all looking at you suddenly— and so was he.

“There's no denying when I look in your eyes,” he continued to sing, “girl, I'm out of my head over you…”

You turned around when drums and bass began to play as well, from the other side, and you laughed at the sight of the other members of Corroded Coffin— the logo made in tape on the kick-drum was a good sign that that’s who they were.

“And I lived so long believing all love is blind,” Eddie continued, “but everything about you is telling me this time, it’s forever—”

You finally recognized the KISS song and laughed in some impossible combination of disbelief and unsurprise: because of course Eddie would pick a KISS song to serenade you, but oh my god, was he really serenading you right now?  In front of everyone?

“This time I know, and there’s no doubt in my mind,” he sang passionately as he played, “forever, until my life is through, girl I’ll be loving you forever…”

The other musicians were singing harmonizing vocals, and your team was staring at you in shock as Eddie pointed at you in a break from his guitar playing; they knew before then that he was singing to you, but apparently even further confirmation continued to blow their minds.  You couldn’t believe it either, because, you know… it was you, and this was some kind of modern-fairytale bullshit, and you realized that you only never wanted it because you never thought it could happen.  Romantic surprises, sudden music, kisses in the rain?  Maybe for other girls— girls like Elle— but never for you.

Except here it was happening to you.  “I never thought I’d lay my heart on the line,” Eddie sang into the microphone, “but everything about you is—”

It came to a literal screeching halt, and everyone covered their ears at the feedback from the speakers.  Vice Principal Owens apparently didn’t take too kindly to the noise and disruption, as he appeared on the side of the field to chew Eddie out.  “What is the meaning of this?!” he yelled, and the drummer bailed first, tossing his sticks and grabbing a hi-hat and tom and making a break for it.  As the soccer team cheered and clapped for the performance, Eddie unplugged his guitar and sprinted from the Vice Principal.  “That’s school property!  That’s school equipment you stole!”

You laughed as the chase began, and Eddie caught your gaze for a second to give you a shrug as he swung the Gremlin over his back and dove off the bleachers.

“I hope you enjoy detention, Munson!” Owens yelled his threatening promise as he shook his fist— obviously incapable of keeping up with a freak on the run.

~

Coach Hastings stalked the columns of uniform plastic seats-and-desks, eyeing his quarry of quivering detention-goers.  A split-second of eye contact with one of them, before the kid jolted and stared down into his lap, made the coach smile somewhat menacingly and approach his desk.

“You look nervous, son,” he noticed with a grin, and the boy hesitantly blinked up at him.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed.

“You’re sweating like a pig,” the coach continued.

“Y-yes, sir,” the student agreed again.

“Your eyes are red!  You’ve got pot, don’t you?”

Apparently too scared (and stoned) to deny it, the kid awkwardly pulled a baggy out of his pants pocket and let Hastings snatch it away.

“I’m confiscating this,” he announced as he took it, marching back down the row and snagging a snack bag of Cheetos on his way as well.

Eddie scoffed slightly to himself as he saw it; not exactly a subtle plan, especially to Eddie, whose occupation at the school’s main dealer gave him unique knowledge of the coach’s habit.

He was just preparing to space out for an afternoon of mind-numbing boredom when you came in through the door, and he sat up slightly in surprise.

“Um, sir?” you got the Coach’s attention, meeting him at his desk at the front.  “I… have some ideas for practice tomorrow.”

“Now’s not the best time, Miss Hopper,” he replied quickly.

As he turned his back to the class, you made quick eye contact with Eddie to motion to him, pointing towards the window.  He sat up further, but tilted his head.  “The window!” you mouthed.

When Hastings turned around to look at you again, you played it off with a forced laugh.  

“Y-you know, we have that really big game soon against the Paxville Poodles…” you began again, stalling poorly.  Eddie quietly got up from his seat, just as Hastings made a move to turn around, and you unthinkingly reached out and grabbed his arm, making him look at you suspiciously.  “Your bicep is huge!” you blurted out.  “Wow— and look—” you grabbed the other— “this one’s even bigger.  You don’t take steroids, do you?  Because I’ve heard steroids can cause some shrinking of the, uh, package.”

The other students murmured and snickered to each other as Eddie crept around the back of the room, towards the open window at the front; you repositioned yourself and Mr. Hastings to keep Eddie’s path exactly behind him.

“But I didn’t come here to talk about your package!” you added.

“God, I hope not,” the coach agreed.

Eddie’s next step made a bit of noise— that damn chain on his jeans wasn’t very quiet— but you stopped him from turning to look by talking more.  “The point is, they always beat us,” you continued, “and I’ve got this plan to help us win this year!”

“Which is?”

“That… thing you taught us!” you answered chipperly as Eddie kept creeping towards the open window.

“What thing?” Hastings wondered.

“Misdirection.”

He narrowed his eyes.  “I taught you that?”

“Yeah!  You, o-or, you know, Siegfried and Roy— anyway—”

When he tried to turn his head over his shoulder, you had to reach out and grab his chin to turn his bewildered face towards you.

“They look left, we go right!  Bang, we score, we win,” you tilted your head and smiled wide.  Panic was setting in because you really thought Eddie would’ve made it out by now— he was close, but not there, and the coach was clearly losing his patience.

“But, how do we make them look left?” he wondered.  Eddie was halfway out the window, no looking back now… literally, meaning he didn’t see what you were about to do.

“Uh— like this!”

A rush of adrenaline compelled you to do it— or maybe it came right after you did it, honestly it was all a blur— and you lifted the bottom of your shirt up to your chin.  The classroom gasped, the coach’s chin dropped, and you cringed internally as you realized how far you’d gone: but you didn’t regret it, yet.  Actually, it was pretty funny, if you thought about it… not that you had exactly thought this through.

Hastings stared at you, dumbstruck and more concerned than aroused, the thoughts of what the hell is wrong with this girl? and oh god, am I gonna lose my job? obvious on his face.  The detention attendees began to whoop and holler as you dropped your shirt and Eddie was long-since freed.  “Okay!” you said with a thin voice, clearing your throat.  “Well, now that you’ve seen… the plan… I’m gonna go… and show the plan to someone else.  Okay.”

He said nothing, watching you walk away, and the classroom applauded you on your way out.

~

“I can’t thank you enough for breaking me out,” Eddie smiled as he paddled the rickety canoe.

“Oh, I do that all the time,” you dismissed jokingly.  

“How’d you keep him from seeing me?” he wondered.

You snorted a bit.  “I, uh, dazzled him with my… wits.”

Eddie shrugged and looked out at the water on every side, pulling the oars in now that you were stuck in the smackdab middle of Lover’s Lake.  “So, what’s your excuse?” he asked suddenly.

“Hm?”

“For acting the way we do.”

You considered that for a second, glancing out over the lake.  “Maybe it’s, like, daddy issues— ‘cause I don’t know my biological parents or anything.  Elle’s write her letters and stuff but mine don’t want anything to do with me.”

“Okay, maybe it’s that,” he nodded, “or…”

You sighed.  “I don't like to do what people expect.  Why should I live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own?”

He smiled, clearly proud of himself for getting you to fess up.  “So you disappoint them from the start and then you're covered, right?” he suggested, and you shrugged.

“Something like that.”

“Then you fucked it up,” he laughed.

“Huh?” you frowned.

His eyes seemed to sparkle more right before he said it— did he have some way of voluntarily doing that?  “You never disappointed me.”

You smiled a bit, but hoped he wouldn’t see that stupid, girlish emotion on your face.  “What about you?” you countered quickly.  “What’s your damage?”

“Oh, gosh, where to start,” he began, tapping his chin as he looked up and to the right like he was picturing it all, and you laughed.  “Daddy’s in prison, mommy’s… god knows where— last I heard she was in Washington?”

“Wait, the state, or D.C.?” you asked.

“I don’t even know!” he chuckled..

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got no clue where my mom is, either,” you shrugged. 

“I know misery allegedly loves company but, no, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“There were a lot of rumors about what your parents were up to,” you admitted.  “Cult and traveling band were both popular.”

“Well, there are a lot of rumors about a lot of things,” he replied, “but they’re all bullshit.”

“So, the state trooper?” you challenged.

“Ridiculous,” he shot it down.  “You made out with a chick at a party?”

“Fantasy,” you rolled your eyes.  “Of theirs!  Not mine— I don’t wanna kiss anyone in public.  The duck?”

“Hearsay,” he smirked.  “Billy Hargrove’s balls?”

“Well, that one’s actually true,” you admitted, “but he deserved it!  He groped me in the lunch line.”

“Ah, don’t tell me that,” Eddie warned, “or I’ll go kick ‘em back up again myself.”  He clicked his tongue and tossed his fist as if to demonstrate.

“Why were you held back again?  I know the porn career’s a lie.”

“Do you?” he challenged.

You tried not to get too flushed imagining that.  You were strictly against porn, on feminist grounds, but… it was an interesting mental image.

He laughed first, then you followed suit.  “I missed a lot of classes, yeah, but I don’t have any good excuse.  I— to be honest, I have a lot of trouble with reading.  It takes me hours, gives me a headache… so I keep failing English.  And it’s not like I’m making ‘A’s in anything else…”

You tilted your head as you looked at him.  “Eddie, are you dyslexic?”

He raised an eyebrow.  “No, I’m bisexual,” he corrected.

“Dyslexia is a learning disorder, it causes difficulty in reading,” you explained.

“Not even gonna react to the bisexual thing, huh?” he pressed.

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” you encouraged.

“No cure for it,” he shook his head.

“For the dyslexia, dumbass!” you snapped, and he laughed.

“Okay, okay, I will,” he promised, “if you go see about getting that stick up your ass surgically removed.”

You rolled your eyes, but you still couldn’t stop a smile from filling your face.  “I thought you didn’t mind it.”

“I don’t,” he smiled.  “‘Cause I know you’re actually just a hopeless romantic under all that venom.”

You glanced down at the floor of the boat, at Eddie’s Reeboks across from your worn-out Converse.  You heard him whisper your name, so you looked up again, and he pulled you into a sudden kiss.

Kissing in a boat on Lover’s Lake— a little on-the-nose, maybe, and another one of those things you never expected to happen to you.  You never expected to like it so much, either, but you smiled into it and wrapped your arms around his neck.  Pulling you back with him, he fell into the front end of the canoe with you on top of him, kissing you harder.

Unfortunately, you both got a little carried away… and when he tried to roll you onto your back so he could lay above you, it knocked the small boat off-balance and sent you both tumbling into the lake.

You came up with a gasp, and a laugh, as Eddie came back facing the wrong way and yelling your name fearfully— like you’d drowned in the last three seconds.  Hearing your laugh, he spun around and put on a self-effacing smile before swimming a little closer and kissing you again.  You let him, even though that warm feeling in your chest was just getting hotter until you worried it would burn you up from the inside out; you brushed dripping, limp curls out of his face and grabbed him by the back of the neck to keep him close.

~

Half-dry from the journey home, Eddie walked beside you up to your front porch.  Not exactly wanting to bring in a lake-damp drug dealer, you guided him to sit next to you on the steps, and he seemed to look somewhat reverently out at the surrounding neighborhood.  “Beats the trailer park?” you assumed.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “but it’s not as bad as people think it is— I guess neither are we, though.”

“Okay, then tell me the truth,” you requested.

“The truth?  I’m afraid of the dark,” he grinned.

“No, something real,” you protested.

“Okay…” he agreed, lowering his voice and leaning in to kiss your neck.  “You’re sweet.”

You smiled, and he moved around to kiss the other side, giving you an eyeful of his fringe.

“And sexy,” he added.  “And completely hot for me.”

“You’re… very self-assured,” you giggled, “anybody ever told you that?”

“I tell myself every morning,” he agreed with a smile, “part of my daily affirmations.”

Your eyes drifted over his face— over his gentle eyes and soft lips and strong jaw— and you wondered how you never noticed how perfect he was before.

“Go to prom with me,” he said suddenly.

The moment left and you felt a little suspicious.  “Um, are you asking me, or telling me?” you wondered with a raised brow.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” he promised.

“No it won’t, it’ll be a circus of patriarchy and the hypersexualization of the American teenager,” you insisted.

“It’ll be fun if you come with me,” he clarified.  “I thought you liked doing what nobody expects?  The only one who expects you to go to prom is me.”

“Why do you even wanna go to the prom?!” you wondered.

“Maybe I’m more conventional than I look!” he defended.  “Maybe I only never went because I never had a beautiful girl to take.”

“I don’t buy it,” you scoffed.  “Why are you so insistent on this?  What’s in it for you?”

“Do I need to have a reason to want to be with you?”

“You tell me,” you challenged.

“You know something?  You need therapy,” he frowned.  “Maybe a shrink can help you unpack this inability to accept affection.  Were you not hugged as a child or something?”

“Right,” you snapped, “because all my problems are caused by being adopted— I forgot.”

“I didn’t— that’s not what I was saying,” he defended.

“So, what are you saying?  If I’m not madly in love with you, something must be wrong with me?”

“I think if you don’t trust me by now—!”

“By now?  One kiss and you’re totally trustworthy?” you tilted your head.

“We kissed twice,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, my mistake,” you scoffed, leaving the question of whether the number or the kisses were the mistake hanging in the air.  Shaking his head, Eddie pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his vest pocket.

“Damn it, they’re soaked,” he groaned as he opened it.

You snatched it away.  “I’ll throw them out for you,” you offered sharply as you stood up and stormed inside, slamming the door behind you.

~

Max Mayfield startled when she opened her locker, a flood of folded papers spilling out— origami stars.  She tilted her head as she knelt down, picking one up to unfold.  Because you’re funnier than people realize, it had written inside in somewhat poor, yet meticulous, handwriting.  Wrinkling her eyebrows together, she snagged another from on top of her textbooks.  Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in class, listening and thinking.  It was cheesy, but she bit her lip as she imagined who this… extravagant secret admirer might be.  About to unfold another, Lucas leaned beside her at the lockers.

“Huh,” he noticed, “wonder who did all this just to ask you to prom.”

As he crossed his arms in front of his chest, she noticed the band-aids around the ends of many of his fingers.  “Basketball injury?” she assumed.

“No,” he denied sheepishly, “just, uh, papercuts…”

She smiled as she raised an eyebrow at him.  “So, you think this… stalker guy is asking me to prom?” she noticed.

“I— um, I assume,” he shrugged.

“That’s presumptuous of you,” she laughed.

Across the hall, Vickie was emphatically agreeing to Robin’s more tree-friendly prom invite: no letter or origami or notes or anything, just the courage to finally ask, and that was all she had wanted anyways.

All across the school, plans were being made, except for Elle: she had more options than most for her date, yet was forced to choose none because you were still resisting Eddie with what little fight you had left in you. 

After catching her glare each time you passed in the hall at school, you decided to attempt a peace offering at home.

You hesitantly knocked on her bedroom door after dinner.  “Come in,” she called from the other side, but her annoyance was obvious.  Especially when you entered and found her sitting on the bed, reading a book, ignoring you completely.

“Listen,” you sighed, “I know…”

She didn’t shut her book or look up at you.  You sat down near her feet and carefully took the book away; she crossed her arms as she finally returned your gaze— though hers was much sharper.

“I know you hate having to sit around at home because I’m not, you know, popular or dating or anything,” you informed her.

“You don’t care,” she rolled her eyes.

“I do care!” you insisted.  “But I believe you should do things for your own reasons, not someone else’s.”

“I wish I had that luxury,” Elle snapped, “but I can’t do anything because you don’t want to!  You know I was the only sophomore asked to prom?  And I can’t go because you’re too uptight and feminist-y to just go out with that Eddie guy.”

You frowned.  “How do you know about Eddie?”

She rolled her eyes.  “I’m sixteen, I’m not stupid.  And everyone heard about him serenading you on the soccer field anyways.”

Your cheeks warmed at the memory.  “Well, that’s not the point.  I can go out with him if I want, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to prom.”

“Prom is actually gonna be fun you know, it’s not this horrible institution that you think it is,” Elle promised.  “And Jason asked me and—”

“He never told you we went out, did he?” you interrupted, and Elle’s jaw dropped.

“You’re joking, right?” she assumed; you shook your head.  “You and Jason?!”

“For a few months, freshman year.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he’s sooo cute,” you answered with a Valley-girl-voice, but it didn’t do as much to diffuse the tension as you’d hoped.

“You hate him!” Elle noticed.

“I do now.”

“What happened?” she wondered, and you looked away because you thought it might be easier to say it if you weren’t looking right at her.  Even if she hated you, you didn’t want your little sister to think of you in the way she might when you admitted it.

“Well…” you trailed off, but she beat you to it.

“No,” she sighed, “you didn’t— you did it?!”

“Once,” you interjected firmly, as if that made it any better.  “Just once, because, you know, everyone was doing it.  I wanted to be cool— I wanted to feel normal.  But afterwards, I told him I didn’t wanna do it anymore because I wasn’t ready.  Aaaaand he dumped me.”

Elle blinked at you in bewilderment.

“After that, I decided to never do anything else again just because everyone else was doing it.  I haven’t since!  Well, except, you know, going to Steve Harrington’s party and getting wasted.”

“How did I not know about this?” Elle wondered.  Apparently she confused being popular with being omniscient.

“I warned him that if he told anyone, all the cheerleaders would find out how small his dick is,” you snorted.  Elle didn’t seem as amused, though.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she wondered.

“I wanted you to make up your own mind about him,” you replied.

“Then why did you help Daddy keep me hostage here?!”

She got up off the bed and stood, frustration switching to anger, and you wrinkled your eyebrows as well.  “Because I wanted to protect you!” you replied.

“By not letting me experience anything?” she countered.

“Not everything is worth experiencing, Elle!” you snapped.  “Not everyone can be trusted!”

“I wouldn’t know!” she announced furiously.  “You were too busy worrying I’d make the same mistakes as you to let me make my own!”

She stormed out of her own room and left you alone in it with a slam of the door.  You sat on the bed for a minute, considering what she’d said.  Noticing the picture on her nightstand, you sighed at the shot your dad had taken of the two of you, years ago, in line at Disneyland.  She used to think you hung the moon back then… why couldn’t things still be that easy?

~

You glided down the stairs quickly, holding up the end of your dress, and passed Dad as he watched TV.  “Bye, I’m going to prom,” you offered him flippantly as you passed.

“Ha ha, very funny,” he returned flatly.  Of course, when he caught you and your outfit in the corner of his eye, he realized you were serious.

Before he could even ask what was going on, you were out the door.  He would’ve chased you in search of more information, but he was distracted by Elle marching by next in her sparkly, colorful gown.

“What’s that?” he asked when he saw the midriff-baring garment.

“A prom dress!” she answered joyfully.

“I seem to be hearing that word a lot lately,” he frowned.

The doorbell rang, and Elle scampered across the foyer to answer it.  On the other side, Mike was waiting in a suit with a corsage in hand ready to give her— but he stalled when he got a look at her all dolled up (even more than usual).  “Wow,” he beamed, “you look… bitchin’.”

She smiled and started to leave with only a wave to her dad, but he crossed his arms.  “Stop,” he insisted, and Elle sighed as she froze.  “Turn.” 

The young couple turned, Mike looking a bit anxious as Elle prepared for the usual.

“Explain,” Hopper demanded.

“Well, you know how you said I could date if my lovely, wonderful big sister dated?” she batted her eyelashes.  “Turns out she found this guy who’s sort of perfect for her, which is sort of perfect for me, because Mike invited me to the prom—” she squeezed her date’s hand for emphasis— “and I really wanna go and I’m technically allowed since she’s going, and I know you’re a man of your word so you’ll stick to the rule you made.  Right?”

There was a heavy pause; Mike extended his hand to the Chief politely.  “Nice to meet you,” he greeted.

Elle took his hand instead and guided him out the front door.  Powerless, Hopper stepped up to the open doorway and watched them run to the waiting limousine together.  “Back by eleven, you hear me?” he called out.  “One minute past and the entire police department will be looking for you!”

They got in the car and drove off as he watched with a sigh.

~

You’d sort of been expecting Eddie to wear a t-shirt with a tuxedo pattern printed on it… maybe that’s what everyone expected of him.  But he was wearing a real one, in a dark cranberry color that seemed to bring out that little bit of hazel in his deep brown eyes.

It was stupid how easily his one simple glance over your body could make you fight the urge to blush.  You knew you looked good, you actually felt good, but it was different to see Eddie acknowledge it.  “Wow,” he offered with a wide smile.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “uh, you too.”

He handed you a rose before you hooked your arm in his to walk inside to the decorated gymnasium.

“Where’d you get a tux?” you wondered.

“Wayne had one,” Eddie shrugged.

“Really?” you pressed, and Eddie laughed.

“Hell no, he couldn’t even help me with my tie!  I… had a friend help me get this,” Eddie admitted, internally disgusted with himself for referring to Jason Carver as a friend.  Then again, he was disgusted with himself for doing this for Jason’s benefit at all, but at least there was a real benefit for himself, too: the only girl he’d ever really fallen for walking arm-in-arm with him to prom.  “Where’d you get the dress?” he wondered.

“Oh, um,” you blinked quickly, “I guess I really was a hopeless romantic deep down after all… ‘cause I had a nice dress in the back of my closet, just in case someone ever wanted to see me in it.”

There was a little moment of pause as Eddie imagined you saving a dress like this for someone special, hardly believing it was him.

“Listen, I shouldn’t have questioned your motives for asking me out,” you blurted out suddenly.  “I was wrong.  I’m sorry.”

He’d never seen you so… humbled?  And it made his heart twist.  “Don’t sweat it,” he encouraged, “you’re here with me now— that’s all that matters.”

~

Jason was already wearing his tux— and a sparkling-white smile— as your father opened the door.  “Hello, Mr. Hopper,” he offered charmingly, even though anyone with half a brain knows to call him Chief Hopper.  “I’m here to pick up Elle for the prom?”

Saying nothing, the Chief shut the door as suddenly as he’d opened it.

~

As you walked in to the room, dancing and general merriment in every direction, you caught Elle and Mike dancing cheek-to-cheek not too far off— and your sister offered you a quick wave and a gentler smile than you’d seen on her (directed at you, at least) in years.

Robin and Vickie, as always, were dancing to the beat of their own song, ignorant and uncaring to the judgment of others; Lucas guided Max to the dance floor, and you were one of many who noticed how good the unlikely pair looked together.

You were so caught up in it that you almost didn’t notice the music changing to another song— your favorite song.  Eddie nudged you with his elbow and pointed at the stage, where the band from Club Nina joined the musicians already playing, and you gasped.  “Oh my god!” you choked.  “It’s—!”

“I had a friend help me with that, too,” Eddie grinned at you, drinking in your ecstatic excitement.  You looked like a kid in a candy store as the lead singer waved at you; first humbled, then unabashedly joyful… so many new emotions that Eddie wasn’t used to seeing you show, but he liked this one so far.  He liked how beautiful you were when you let yourself be openly happy— it reminded him of the way you looked dancing to this song at that club all those weeks ago.  He hadn’t just been putting on the moves, he really thought you looked sexy when you let go and enjoyed yourself.  And now you looked that way again, but you were dancing with him.  You looked, and felt, freer than ever.

~

Elle was on her way to freshen up in the girls’ room— because the last thing she needed now was a lifting false lash with everything else going so perfectly— when Andy and Patrick stopped her.  “Woah, hey,” Andy said as he grabbed her shoulder, “what’s going on?”

“What?” she wondered.

“Where’s Jason?” they pressed.

“I dunno, probably off somewhere picking his nose?” she replied sarcastically.

“Oh my god,” Patrick laughed.  “I knew he couldn’t do it!”

“Huh?” she asked.

“He was so sure he could pop your cherry tonight,” Andy explained, bemused, “but he was full of shit— as per usual.”

Elle stepped back.  “What a creep!” she spat, but they weren’t even paying attention anymore, just chuckling to each other about how they wouldn’t let their team captain live this one down for a while.

As for Jason, he wasn’t too far away after all— he was angrily storming through the dancing crowd towards you and Eddie.  “Hey, freak!” he yelped just before grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and pulling him aside, though not quite far enough away.  “What’s Elle doing here with that pipsqueak?!  I didn’t pay you to take out her sister just so some little weirdo could get with her instead.”

Eddie whipped his head around, praying to whatever deity would listen that you hadn’t heard, but it only took a split-second to see the look in your eyes.  And there was a third emotion he’d never seen on you before: real heartbreak.  No anger, no rage, just devastation.

“Wait,” he pleaded as you began to walk away.

“I can’t believe I was right about you,” you replied with a shake of your head, “the first time.”

Jason let Eddie go to unsuccessfully chase after you; he was disinterested in the Freak versus Bitch drama unfolding once again, much more focused on getting back at Mike Wheeler for screwing him over.

Lucas tried to intercept him, but he got shoved roughly to the ground on the way to Mike.  “You messed with the wrong guy,” Jason informed him with a sneer, “and now you’re so done.  You and that prissy bitch.”

“Watch what you say about her,” Mike warned angrily, but Jason wasn’t exactly intimidated— in fact, he almost looked amused right before his fist collided with the sophomore’s face.  Mike crumpled to the ground, not exactly a match for Jason’s strength… but then again, neither was Elle, and she was the one who swung back— right in the nose.

“That’s for making my boyfriend bleed!” she explained as he clutched his face.  “That’s for my sister,” she added as she kneed him in the gut, “and this… is for me.”

A swift kick to the crotch sent him to the ground, and Elle stepped over him to offer a hand to Mike.  He took it, looking up at her in awe as she helped him stand again.  “Uh, boyfriend?” he noticed.

It was the kind of move you would’ve been proud of, if you were there to see it; apparently ball-kicking ran in the Hopper family, and not just in the soccer sense.

“Please, let me explain,” Eddie begged as he chased you out of the gym.

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory!” you returned sharply.  “It was all a set-up, by fucking Jason!  I should’ve known it was too…”

Too good to be true.  You couldn’t admit that, you’d already given away so much.  “It wasn’t— that was just how it started!” Eddie promised.  “But I really fell for you.”

“Yeah?  Funny what money can do to a person.”

“I never cared about the money!” he insisted, and when you spun around to challenge that, he grabbed your shoulders.  “I only cared about you.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” you sneered, and he did want to show you— he wanted to wipe that all-too-familiar look off your face and go back to how things were.  He kissed you, hard and forceful, but you pushed him off with a whine.  “I hate you!” you spat as you managed to fight him off— not that he was trying that hard to force you to stay, he knew that was wrong… though he wished he could.  He wished he could hug you tight enough to keep you here until you would listen, but you were too stubborn for it to work anyways.  It was that stubbornness that made him resent you in the beginning, then it was one of the things he fell for— and now it was the reason you were walking away, and he was just watching you go, unwilling to hurt you anymore.

~

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come?” Elle asked again, pityingly, as Mike held her hand.  You shook your head.  “Okay, well, we’ll miss you.”

It was sweet, but it was a lie; a young couple didn’t want you chaperoning their movie date.  Lies can be so sweet that way, the best ones usually are.  You watched them walk together down the sidewalk, knowing it wouldn’t cheer you up to go with them.  “Is she gonna be okay?” Mike whispered to his girlfriend, though not quietly enough.

“I hope so,” Elle replied softly.

As they left, your dad appeared and sat next to you on the steps, groaning as his older joints made it a bit more of a task.  “Where’s she going?” he wondered.

“To meet a bunch of bikers,” you offered quickly.  “Big ones… full of sperm.”

“Not funny,” Hopper frowned.  You gave him a look, and he smiled slightly.  “A little funny.”

It still wasn’t enough to make you smile back, and you looked forward at the houses across the street again.  

“So… the dance,” he remembered, “was it groovy?”

Even that couldn’t make you crack a smirk, though you wanted to.  “Some parts…”

“Which parts?” he wondered.

“The part where Elle beat the crap out of some loser,” you recalled— the stories around school were already glorious.  You were pretty sure the rumor that she pulled some Karate Kid moves and spin-kicked him in the face was just a rumor, but you liked picturing it anyways.

“Elle did what?” he gasped.

“What, are you afraid she’s taking after me?” you challenged.

“No,” he answered quickly, “I’m impressed.”

You looked at him again, soaking in that all-too-rare approval.  It’s not that he wasn’t affectionate… well, he wasn’t, but it was only because he had trouble expressing himself.  It made his eloquence going forward even more unexpected.

“You know, fathers don’t like to admit when their daughters become capable of running their own lives,” he explained.  “It means we’re obsolete… we’re spectators.  Elle still lets me play a few innings— you’ve had me on the bench for years— and when you go to Sarah Lawrence, I won’t even be able to watch the game.”

You were about to complain about the baseball metaphor until you realized what he was really saying.  “When I go?” you repeated excitedly.

“Don’t tell me you changed your mind now!  I already sent them a check,” he answered with a slightly mischievous smile.  Exclaiming in joy, you threw yourself on him for a tight hug.

~

“I assume you’ve all prepared your sonnets for today?” Ms. O’Donnell looked over the room.  She frowned when she saw Jason sinking into his chair.  “Mr. Carver?”

“Uh… I, uh, have a doctor’s note,” he explained.

“Oh— well, regardless, sunglasses are not permitted indoors,” she reminded him.

Sighing, he took the aviators off, and the class snickered at the sight of two black eyes on either side of his bandaged nose.

“Would anyone else like to read theirs for us?” she encouraged, and you waited a second before raising your hand.

That seemed to surprise everyone— most of all Eddie, who lifted his head from where it had been resting on his desk.  Some of your classmates assumed the worst— here we go and time for a feminist lecture that rhymes and all that— but some seemed to sense what was really coming.  Ms. O’Donnell, pleasantly surprised, stepped aside to let you come stand at the front.

You opened your notebook and did your best not to look at everyone looking at you.

Clearing your throat, you began.  “I hate the way you talk to me,” you read aloud, “and the way you cut your hair.  I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare.”

Your reading was particularly flat and unemotional, just hoping to get this over with, yet at the same time, so many emotions were flooding you inside.

“I hate your stupid white Reeboks, and the way you read my mind— I hate you so much it make me sick, it even makes me rhyme.”

You spared one half-second glance up, and even just in your peripheral you saw Eddie’s face, and you had to fight getting choked up.

“I hate… I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie,” you whimpered, voice breaking, “I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when— when you make me cry.”

As a hot tear crossed your cheek, you fought the instinct to defiantly wipe it away— for once, you wanted to feel this, and you wanted to be seen even at your most vulnerable.

“I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call,” you continued, approaching the end.  “But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you; not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

The way Eddie was looking at you was just too much; the way everyone was looking at you was just too much.  You stormed out of the class, leaving them in stunned silence, crying harder as you ran down the hall.

~

Your face was dry by the time you got to your car; maybe you’d let Eddie play with your heart and invade your mind and cry way too much, but you decided that was over now— no more tears over boys.  Especially dumbass, annoying, sexy, horrible, gorgeous boys who play you for a fool and have the audacity to fall for you in the process.

You were about you open your driver’s side door when you saw the sparkling white resin in the front seat, and you bent down, greeted by the Fender Stratocaster you’d been eying resting in your seat.

Reaching in through the open window, you pulled it out delicately and inspected it like it was magic— because maybe it was.

“Nice, huh?”

Eddie’s voice behind you made you jump and spin, and he smiled at you expectantly as he shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted back on his heels for a second.  “A Fender Strat?” you noticed.  “Is this— is this mine?”

“I figured you could use it,” he shrugged, “when you start your band.  Or join mine.”

You smiled slowly as you looked at it again, and then back at him.

“Besides, I had some extra cash,” he explained.  “Some jerk paid me to take out this amazing girl…”

“Yeah?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but, uh, I kinda fucked it up.  ‘Cause I totally fell for her.”

You loved the way he looked with a flush tinting his cheeks.  “Really?” you pressed.

“Of course,” he grinned.  “Very rare to find a girl who’ll flash someone to break you out of detention.”

It was your turn to feel your face warm, then, wondering how long ago he found out about that.  Dropping your forehead into one of your hands in embarrassment, you laughed shamefully at the memory, hardly believing you’d done something so impulsive.  As risky as it was, you actually kind of liked the person you were when you were with Eddie.

With a gentle grip on your wrist he moved your hand away from your face, the other tilting up your chin so he could kiss you.  You let him, for a moment, but before you could properly melt into him you carefully pushed him back by his shoulders.  

“You know you can’t just buy me a guitar whenever you screw up, right?” you asked.

“I know,” he agreed, “but hey!  There’s always drums, bass, tambourine… triangle…”

You snorted your laugh and he kissed you again.  You pushed him away again.  “And don’t just think you can—”

He kissed you again, a little harder, and you gave in to it willingly.

Yeah, all that cheesy romance stuff? Sappy poems, public serenading, making out in front of everyone as the bell rang and the day ended? Turns out it really can happen for a girl like you. It can happen for a guy like Eddie, too; neither of you expected it to, but it did. And as you spent the rest of your senior year getting to know him better, you found a lot more things about Eddie Munson that you would've hated if you learned them before— but they only made you love him more instead.

[buckyownsmylife]

fuckboy - chapter xvii

The one where Chris only wanted to fuck you and you were alright with that.

Chris never promised anything more than what he had to offer: a release - and a good one at that. Recently widowed and new to Hollywood, you're eager to learn how to live the single life with the help of such a talented teacher. What happens when Chris is the one to start expecting more from the relationship than you are prepared to offer?

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N for this chapter: Happy holidays for those who celebrate! Here’s my gift to all of you: a look into what quarantine has been like between Chris and reader! For those wondering, yes this was inspired by the dynamic I wrote in follow you. I just wanted more of roommate!Chris, I guess. I hope you all enjoy it, and please, let me know if you did!

Chris’s P.O.V.

Whatever I thought about living with a significant other would be, living with her was as far removed from that as one could possibly conceive.

If I had known it could be like this - If I had known it wouldn’t all be fights and routines and cleaning up each other messes and stresses… If I had stopped to consider all of the good parts about it: all of the laughs and late-night conversations, all of the comfort of having someone right by my side whenever I needed, all of the sex…

God. It was safe to say I wouldn’t have run away from relationships so quickly if I knew it was anything close to this.

But I had a feeling it wouldn’t have been this way with anyone else before. This was all her. And to some degree, me. The person I was today. Someone who was ready to take this next step - surprisingly, even to myself.

We didn’t talk about Orlando. I guess she could see I was already anxious enough as it was. Adding guilt into the mix would only mess things further, and it’s not like we’d be able to go our separate ways if something went wrong in that conversation.

“What are you up to?” She asked me as she joined me on the living room, throwing herself on the couch as her eyes remained cautiously on the blunt between my lips. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Shrugging, I offered her the blunt only to see her eyes widen, quickly shaking her head in denial. “I try not to make it a habit,” I admitted. “But this is pot. It helps with my anxiety. I don’t use it as much as I used to but considering…”

I didn’t need to finish it. She knew what I was talking about. The air in the room wasn’t heavy. I didn’t feel judged as I watched her watch me blow the smoke up in the air, but I did feel my cock grow hard at the sight of her nibbling on that bottom lip I wish was in between my teeth.

“Can I try?” The question surprised me, but I was excited about the prospect. Sitting up straighter on the couch, I patted the spot next to me, silently asking her to move closer, which she did, exactly as I expected her to - legs thrown over my lap, torso resting in my arms.

“How do I do this?” She asked when I placed the blunt in her fingers, eyes avoiding mine as she kept playing with it. God, she was adorable.

“Just inhale the smoke and wait.” I watched her hesitate, looking up at me from under her eyelashes before her lips wrapped around the joint and she did as I said. I chuckled lightly at how she coughed a little bit, taken by surprise, but overall, for a first time, it wasn’t bad at all.

“How do you feel?” I asked, running my hands up and down her legs, enjoying the warmth, the softness of her flesh. She tilted her head, taking in the situation and trying to see if there was any difference from how she was a few seconds before.

“Pretty much the same.” She shrugged, making me laugh.

“That’s where the waiting part comes from, honey. Give it time.” And she did. We passed the blunt around again and again, and she did as I said until she didn’t hesitate about it anymore.

I was surprised with myself. Even knowing how hard she made me, I hadn’t anticipated to find this entire experience so fucking erotic. I think it was the fact that I was introducing her to something, and seeing her relishing in it just got to me, somehow.

It got to me so much, in fact, that at some point, all I could focus on was how good it felt to have her weight over my body, her skin at the palm of my hands… I moved them up, up, up, until they were under the skirt of her sundress, and when she smiled lazily at me, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I grabbed her by the neck and pulled her to meet my lips.

It was a kiss fueled by a different kind of fire, one I wasn’t used to experiencing before. It only made me that much excited, my cock throbbing in my sweatpants as she climbed on my lap to rest one knee on each side of my body.

I never wanted to stop kissing her. “Fuck, I love your lips,” I sighed against her mouth, forehead connected to hers as I struggled to make sense of the intensity of our connection. I’d fucked while high before. In fact, I’d preferred to fuck while high if I was doing it with someone I didn’t care for.

It had never felt this way before.

“Chris, I’m so fucking wet…” She was grasping at my shirt as her hips rolled over mine and I couldn’t remember anything better than this, couldn’t conceive of anyone more beautiful than the girl over me.

“Then put it in, baby,” I brushed her cheekbones, watching her eyes fall shut at the gentle gesture. “You can see I’m ready for you. Use me for your pleasure. Make yourself cum, c’mon.”

She didn’t need more encouragement, but once she settled on my dick, I couldn’t stop the stream of praises falling from my lips. “Good girl,” was my favorite one, mostly because of how it got to her, making her gasp and clench around me with just two simple words that never meant much before I met her. “You take my cock so well, darling. So fucking tight for me, doesn’t matter how much I fuck you, huh? You still stretch around this dick.”

“Chris!” She moaned, throwing her head back in frustration as I held onto her thighs. I knew what she wanted. I could feel it in the tension of her muscles, but I wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“Hmm… I think I want to hear you begging for it, sweetheart. C’mon.” I spanked her ass, making sure to keep my grip on it to bounce her a little bit as I insisted, “Beg me to make you cum."

She whined, but didn’t hesitate for long before she was pleading, “Please, Chris! Please! I need you to make me cum, fuck!”

What kind of man would be able to resist her? Certainly, not the type I was. “Shit.” Relenting, I finally took over her movements, fucking up against her to take us both to that blissful release.

Once I was finally able to relax against the couch, a sigh was the first thing to fall from my lips. “You’re too fucking perfect, Jesus fucking Christ” I whispered, cradling her cheek just to see her lean her head on my palm, eyes fluttering open until they were connected with mine and I swore I felt my heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, daddy.” The teasing was clear in her tone, but it didn’t stop me from groaning as I felt my cock try to harden despite the spectacular orgasm I had just experienced only seconds prior.

“You’re welcome, angel,” I chuckled, loving that I’d be able to experience this all over again in the morning. I was so thankful that she had come to stay with me at the announcement of the horrors we’d have to live through. I couldn’t even begin to figure out how to thank her for caring so much about me that she was able to ignore what happened between us in Orlando.

“Stay here,” I asked when she moved to leave my lap, my cock still inside her warmth. “Stay right here.” I pulled her to rest her head against my chest, breathing deeply the smell of her shampoo as I felt her relax and I let my eyes fall shut.

This was heaven on Earth, right here.

[another-stark-sub]

“Are you in love with him?” - Tony Stark Imagine

Notes: I wrote and editted this in two hours instead of going over my notes. Was gonna be spicy fluffy but it just turned into fluffy, and one of the lines/paragraphs (smth like that i dont remember how long that segment was) is based on/inspired by a fanfic on ao3 I bookmarked. I think it’s debt-free, but I could be wrong.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I’m so sorry im not on here more oftennnnn

- - -

“Of course I am. He’s Tony Stark.” You sighed, a weight finally lifted off your chest. “Who isn’t in love with him?”

Bruce blinked a few times, the confusion evident on his face. “Then, why don’t you tell him?”

You scoffed. These geniuses think they know everything, but they couldn’t see what was glaringly obvious to you. “He’s Tony Stark.”

The perplexed expression didn’t disappear from your friend’s expression. So, you explained further, “It’s already a privilege, beyond that really, to be talking to you, to any Avenger. To work with any of you is an honor, and to be friends with you” -you laughed- “it shouldn’t even be possible for someone like me.”

“Don’t say that. You’re amazing, too.” 

You tried to find any tick, any clue that he was lying. But Bruce seemed to really believe this. “I know I’m amazing.” You shrugged. “I’m great. I love and I care deeply, and I have a stable job. I have a place for myself, and I take care of myself.” You clicked your tongue. “However, you all, all  you Avengers… Forget out of my league, more like off planet.

“And Tony? He said it himself. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Add superhero, figurehead, public figure, ex-CEO, and savior of the universe. Bruce, I have confidence in myself, but Tony is something else entirely. No one is worthy of him or his affections unless they’re a god or another Avenger.”

It was hard to keep up with the statistical analysis you were trying to run. The literal one on your hologram and the one keeping your view of Tony in check. So, defeated, you sighed and leaned back in your chair. 

Bruce closed his own work and stood across the lab bench. “Weirdly enough, I’m sure none of us Avengers think that way.” After a few taps of his pen against his palm, he added, “Aren’t there fans making posts about you, too? Tony showed me the, uh, Instagram videos.”

You laughed. “Fan edits don’t make an Avenger. Saving the world does.”

He shrugged. “You help us save the world.”

“From inside Avengers Tower on a computer.” You took a deep breath. “Look, Bruce, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But, I’m not telling him.” You shrugged and brought your statistical analysis back up.

You knew your own worth. You were worthy of an amazing partner and person. Tony Stark, though, was easy beyond that. You had accepted it soon after you realized your own feelings, and while they haven’t dwindled, you knew it was for the best. 

~ - ~

Tony had never resorted to this before. It was never a question of his ability to code. In the past, it was because he didn’t need a program or an AI to do it for him. He could always tell if someone was into him. He knew when Pepper was into him. The moment Rhodey gazed at him back in their MIT days. Every single reporter and heiress and model he slept with, he knew when their thoughts turned sexual or romantic. 

You, though. With you, he couldn’t fucking tell, and he knew it was because of his own feelings. Tony felt intensely for people before. Pepper, Rhodey, that one reporter all those years ago. However, with you, it wasn’t just that fluttery feeling in his gut or the immediate smile he can’t seem to stop when he sees you. It was the comfort he felt when he heard your voice or the softness he could feel in his heart when he saw a picture of you. 

It was like his entire life was full of panic, never resting, never stopping. But when you entered his life with a gentle smile and a quick wit, it felt like he could finally breathe. 

It was addicting. 

“Sir, I have the calculations.”

“Hit me.”

“Speech diagnostics of you and of Ms. (Y/l/n) are similar. Whenever you speak of her, 79.4% is positive and 18.8% is neutral. Ms. (Y/l/n) has  78.9% positive and 17.2% neutral dialogue regarding you. When she speaks of you, her heartrate increases by 4.6%, and similarly, yours increases by 4.1%. When speaking to each other, heartrate initially increases by 7%.”

Tony nodded. “How does this compare to other Avengers? I gush about Banner like a teenager.”

“Well, sir, while you and Ms. (Y/l/n) have high positive dialogue about other Avengers, all of them have at least a 10% decrease compared to each other. And heartrate varies depending on the topic of conversation.”

Tony snapped his fingers. “Am I excluding all non-super friends? Include any agents, co-workers. Pep isn’t an Avenger after all.”

Friday took two seconds and responded. “You and Ms. (Y/l/n) have a significant difference in speech diagnostics when talking about or to each other compared to any other Avenger, co-worker, and friend.”

When Tony remained quiet, Friday added, “Do you want me to repeat the results?”

“You don’t need to, Friday.”

“But you’re not doing anything with the new information. Would you like me to save these findings?”

“Friday,” Tony warned. 

There was silence as the love-wrecked scientist pressed his fist between his brows. Data and cold hard facts said yes, but was it right?

“Sir?”

“Yes, Fri?”

“Would you like me to play examples for you?”

He blinked. “Examples?”

“Yes. Of you and her talking about each other positively.”

It was an invasion of privacy. Tony shouldn’t. 

“Play examples.”

Before his rational mind could tell Friday no. 

“Are you in love with him?”

Tony’s eyes widened. This was too private. It might not even be about him.”Friday-”

“Of course I am.”

“-stop playback.”

“He’s Tony Sta-”

“Playback stopped.”

Tony scrambled. “What? No, wait, go back. Play it.” Screw rational. You knew he was a narcissist. You wouldn’t expect him to hear that and stop. 

“He’s Tony Stark. Who isn’t in love with him?”

“Then, why don’t you tell him?”

“... He’s Tony Stark.”

Tony started to fiddle with something on his desk. “What does that mean?”

Friday answered, “Dr. Banner asked her if she loved you, and she said yes. This means that she’s in love with you.”

Why did he program Friday like this? “I know that. I mean, those two lines. Why does me being Tony Stark stop her from saying something?” Was it the attention? Did you want some sort of normal life away from cameras and international gossip? Maybe it was the Avenging. Having a partner who was always out risking death wasn’t ideal. 

Sure, you could be in love with him. But you couldn’t be with him. 

“Maybe you should ask her.”

There were celebrities who were able to live normal lives. Some paid to have prosthetics for going outside of moved to a remote country to get out of the spotlight. He thrived off attention, but he could give that up. Avenging, he couldn’t give that up, but maybe he could cut back. Take a mission a month instead of one a week. Or maybe take more digital missions. He wasn’t just Iron Man after all. He was a genius, could hack into the Pentagon if he really wanted to. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I could talk to her.”

~ - ~

The moment you put your bag down on your lab table, Tony said, “You’re gonna be mad.”

You narrowed your brows. “What did you do?” You pressed your palm to your chest. “Oh my god, Peter overwrote my data, didn’t he? Ugh, I know he said he’s great at managing holograms, but really, Tone, you should’ve given him a tutorial before giving him access.” You brought up your holograms to check your data and analysis. 

“That’s not it.” Tony stood next to you as you looked through your files. “I did something that invaded your privacy.”

You tilted your head. Closing the holograms, you took a deep breath and slowly asked, “How?”

Tony flashed an embarrassed grin before sighing. “You’re gonna be shocked, too, so prepare yourself.”

You did not know where this was going at all. What horrible thing could Tony have done? Steeling yourself, you took a deep breath and nodded at him to continue. 

Tony cleared his throat. “Usually, I can tell when someone has feelings for me. People are obvious about it, but you? You aren’t. So, I had Friday do some analysis on our speech patterns. Me, being in love with you, was one of my controls. You and your dialogue regarding me was the main variable. 

“Long story short, I accessed some audio of you and Bruce talking, and you said that you loved me but could never tell me.” He glanced at you. “So that’s why I need to apologize.” 

Your expression didn’t change. No, that wasn’t it. You, at first, looked confused. Now, there was just nothing. No expression. No wrinkled brow in anger of flushed cheeks in embarrassment. Nothing. 

Tony blinked. “You can shout at me now. If you were confused about when to shout at me.”

You licked your lips before taking a deep breath. “Ok, that was a lot.” You pursed your lips then opened it. But, you couldn’t really think of anything to say. You didn’t even know how to feel. “So you know that I” -you pointed at yourself and then at him- “and that I didn’t wanna tell you.” You shook your head. “Wait, do you know why I didn’t want to tell you?”

A broken scoff left Tony’s lips. “Yeah. I’m a mess.”

It was your turn to scoff. “Wait, you’re a mess? That’s why you think I don’t want to tell you?”

“Among other reasons?”

Other reasons? 

You crossed your arms. “Ok, what other reasons?”

Tony looked offended. Still, he listed, “I’m surrounded by cameras, and everyone wants some privacy. Can’t get it if you’re with me. Then, there’s the Iron Man of it all. I went into a wormhole with a nuke. That was also all over the news. Then, there’s the whole daddy issues thing. I’m working on it, but it takes a while-”

He rambled on and on, listing reason after reason, and with each one, you felt tears well up in your eyes. It was a weird mix of heartbreaking, confusing, and enraging. The emotions built up slowly with each word that left his mouth, overwhelming you to the point that you couldn’t even say how it happened. 

But, as Tony paced and talked so horribly about himself, you somehow ended up in front of him with your hands on his cheeks. 

You only realized it when Tony stopped talking and when his breath touched your lips. “What?” he asked. 

You didn’t answer. You kissed him instead. 

It was a hard press of  your lips against his. It was short, and it wasn’t much. 

But by the way Tony gripped the back of your neck and pulled you back for another kiss, you’d think it was his first kiss. You knew it wasn’t. Not just because you knew he had kissed all sorts of people before you, but because he somehow knew how to make you gasp and melt into him. 

While one hand kept you steady, the other trailed down your back and pulled you closer to him. His lips moved fluidly against yours, pushing and pulling, and everytime he moved back, you chased his lips to continue the kiss, because the softness, the passion, the fact it was finally happening, was all too good. You didn’t want it to stop.

Your hands started to move. For someone so rich, his t-shirt was rough when you twisted it between your fingers and pulled it to you. Slowly, you trailed your fingers along the side of his neck. You rubbed your thumb along his pulse point, a reminder that this was indeed real. You were kissing Tony Stark, and- He was pulling away again.

Desperate, you leaned forward, reached around to hold onto his shoulder, and kissed the side of his neck. 

He let out a breathy laugh, and before you could suck on his skin, his stubble scratched your cheek. 

You looked up at him and giggled when his nose bumped into yours. When your giggles turned into a smile, he kissed you again, a soft and short kiss, before leaning his forehead against yours. 

His thumbs rubbed circles into your waist as you lightly scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t say anything. In fact, he seemed busy gazing at you.

“Speechless, Stark?” you teased. 

He laughed. For a few seconds, he just gazed at you, seeming to prove your point. Tony’s hand began to wander, from stroking your cheek to pushing back your hair. “More confused.”

Remembering why you interrupted him, you brought your hands to his cheeks again and held him there so he couldn’t look away from you. “You are amazing, Tony. That’s the reason I didn’t want to tell you.” You shrugged. “You’re too good for me.”

His fidgeting stopped. “Well, that’s not true.”

“Tony, you’re an Avenger.”

“Technically, you are also an Avenger.”

“You’re a genius.”

“Who can’t cook scrambled eggs.”

“You literally saved the universe.”

“After producing weapons of mass destruction for decades.”

You glared at him. 

He glared back. Then, he fought back. “I don’t plan on retiring.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

“I have severe PTSD, anxiety, maybe ADHD, all mixed with trauma galore.”

“And I will learn to help you.”

“I couldn’t give you a normal life.”

“I’d rather have you anyway.”

He opened his mouth, but you instead told him, “I’d rather have you than anything. As long as, well, for as long as  you’ll have me.”

He raised his eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

Tony shook his head with a smile. “Cause, I’d rather have you for, well, how does til you get tired of me sound?”

You laughed. “Won’t happen. But, sure.” You kissed him again.You would’ve kept going, but there was something to settle first.  “By the way, Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Friday recording right now?”

“Friday records everything. It’s in the contract.”

Friday added, “I record everything that happens in the tower.”

“Ok.” You could work with that. “I’ll forgive you for the invasion of privacy.”

Tony beamed, and you couldn’t help your own smile when he did. Still, you continued, “On one condition.” Your own smile turned devious. “I want evidence that Star Spangled Banner took my ice cream.”

Tony burst out laughing. He kissed you again, a deep kiss, and when he was done, he mumbled, “God, I love you,” against your lips.

[sunfish-studies]

Period Lecture

✄・・・ Crisp Leaves [Aoba Johsai Manager Series]

➜ Pairing: Aoba Johsai x Manager! Reader

➜ Warning: period, mentions of bleeding, mentions of cramps

➜ Notes: Manager in this story will be portrayed as a girl. She will be tall, around 170.5 cm.

↷ SUMMARY ↶

You’re kind of grateful and proud all of them for taking this… rather seriously?

As a manager, re-stocking the team’s needs is one of your duties–which means, when the school’s monthly allowance come it’s time for you to go on a short trip to the supermarket and sport’s supplies shop while bringing a grocery list.

This is also a way to unwind from the suffocating gym–slightly refreshing relief rather than just being cooped up in one place. Usually, there were you and another member tag along in case the groceries piled up and it was impossible being carried alone. Sometimes, Coach Irihata let the whole team tag along just so they didn’t get too bored.

Shopping trips were also a great moment for you to buy anything you need with your own allowance, of course. It’s like killing two birds with one stone.

“This is kind of the place men usually avoid as much as possible,” you commented, before snorting in amusement. “I’m surprised you tailed me here without hesitation.

All you said was true–your boys did follow you even until you stood in front of a high shelve filled with womanly needs. Yes, you’re talking about sanitary pads for monthly period routine.

“We kind of want to know somethings,” Matsukawa didn’t even pull out his punches. “And if we know maybe we can help you in some way.”

“True, true!” Oikawa agreed, pulling out a sanitary package of 12–eyeing it nervously. “Still, I didn’t know the brands are this many…”

“I thought you’re used to this from your previous girlfriends,” Iwaizumi deadpanned.

“Well, I’ll try to explain as easy as possible, so ask away,” you remarked, reaching out for your usual brand and dumping it into the grocery cart. Since the stock at home was already diminishing, you need to piled it up again, so you bought quite a many.

“Uhm, why are there wings and non-wings…?” Hanamaki frowned, staring at the packaging with bold letters ‘with wings’ on it. “What’s the difference?”

“The ‘wings’ means extra material right here,” you answered, pointing out to the sheets on the sides of the pad. “It will fold over the edges so the pad will stay securely in place. Extra prevention for possible leaks.”

“And the s-size are so many…” Kindaichi stuttered. It was true, though. A few packages were in 29 cm, and gradually the size increased from 35 cm even to 42 cm.

“We have heavy duty days,” you explained. “So, instead of wearing the short-regular ones, we opted for the long ones so we don’t to worry too much about leaking. Usually, the ones that extremely long are the night-pads.”

And there went you explaining many things to them in the end–about it would be better to wear pads which has no scent as precautions to allergies, about the ‘day’ and ‘night’ types, and possibly anything they had their curiosity on.

It’s kind of endearing on how they were eager to learn, good for their future significant other–they care enough to prepare for the future and not embarrassed themselves in some way from the lack of knowledge.

There were even girls and older women whispering about how precious your boys are for wanting to know. It made you proud in having such responsible people around.

“Do you have cramps at around the time of the month, senpai?” Kunimi questioned–once you got everything you need, he volunteered to help you in carrying the heavy plastic bags. Now, all of you were on your way back to school.

“I do,” you answered, sighing when you remembered the natural pain that always accompanying your period. “Remember when I don’t show up for at least a day or two every month? It’s because of cramps. It’s torturing, you literally had your insides being smushed together.”

Yahaba went pale in just a matter of seconds. “Just thinking about it already makes my stomach hurts…”

“How do you handle it, senpai?” Watari asked, which made you hummed in wonder.

“Most important will be having a nice hot compress.” You remarked. “It can either be anything as long as it’s warm. It lessened the pain, and if you couldn’t handle the pain even with hot compress you can drink pain relief medicine.”

“Tylenol, Paracetamol, Mefinal,” to your surprise, Kyotani was the one listing the pain relief medicine.

“You know a lot, Kyotani-kun!” you praised the blonde-haired boy. “I’m impressed!”

“My sister always kicked me out to buy one of those.” He replied gruffly.

“Does food really help?” Oikawa piped up. “My previous girlfriends always asked for snacks or drinks.”

“Sometimes, depending on the person,” you said, laughing nervously. “I’m not too eager to eat especially when I have cramps, but sometimes I craved chocolates, sweets, or even savory things just to indulge my hormone fluctuations.”

And that’s how your lecture went, and what surprised you the most was how it definitely being branded onto their mind. 

Amazingly, Iwaizumi had the period tracker app in his phone and even asked the date so he could prepare (this man is just truly impressive-). 

Oikawa would stop by in your class to drop small chocolate snacks or sweets just for you during your week of bleeding–wanting you to be comfortable as possible.

Your friend from another class almost went head over heels for Matsukawa because he had pads in his school bag when she’s desperately searching for one. Matsukawa mentioned that he wanted to be prepared because of their manager. 

Hanamaki didn’t even hesitate to do errands for you if you asked him–he’s just a call away he said, and wouldn’t shy away if you nervously asked if he could buy you your brand of pads in the supermarket.

Kyotani had his medicine ready anytime, if your cramps acted up he immediately shoved them to your hand along with warm lemon tea he fetched from the vending machine. 

Kindaichi and Kunimi constantly checked if you’re feeling well or not during practice, urging you to drink often and even pushing some sweets so you wouldn’t be too sluggish. 

Yahaba offered to bring you your bag or even taking over the duty of filling water bottles just so you could sit down and not moving too much. 

Meanwhile, Watari made sure to had at least one hot pack in his bag–if he noticed you wincing from pain, he instantly went to your side and gave you the hot pack to relief the pain.

When you’re out of duty because of intense cramps, the team stopped by at your house after practice–bringing along all of your favorite food, scented candles, or even anything that could lift your mood up.

Oh, you truly love your boys down to the very core.