#and it's way more complicated than it seems at first

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you. 

Part 6 of 12

Synopsis: Surfing lessons and more confessions (shocker)

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

—--

Y/N glanced at her phone with a sigh, wondering if it was just another reminder of her complicated feelings. But instead, her screen lit up with a name she hadn’t expected. Rafe Cameron

She frowned at first, thinking it was some weird mistake. Rafe? Why would he be texting her this late? Her finger hovered over the screen, hesitant, before she swiped to open the message. 

Rafe: Midnight drive?

Her brows furrowed. Midnight? Was he serious? Y/N looked at the clock—she wasn’t really tired, but the last thing she expected tonight was an invitation from him. 

Y/N: How did you get my number?

She typed quickly, half-joking, half-curious, but honestly, more interested than she’d like to admit. She almost deleted it, but the words were out before she could stop herself. 

The reply came almost instantly, and she couldn’t help but laugh at his reply.

Rafe: Don’t worry about it.

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. The guy was insufferable, but also oddly charming in a way that caught her off guard. She sat back in her chair, contemplating for a moment. What could it hurt? She was used to hanging out with the Pogues at all hours of the night anyway. This wouldn’t be any different. 

Still, she had to tease him a little.

Y/N: You logged on to the country club’s computer, didn’t you?

She waited, half-expecting him to respond with something smug and condescending. Instead, the reply was simpler. A smiley face emoji with a single word: 

Rafe: Maybe.

Y/N let out a breath, part exasperated, part amused. The fact that he was so cryptic made her want to know more, but she wasn’t about to let him get under her skin so easily. She typed back quickly, deciding to go with it.

Y/N: You’re lucky I’m bored. I’ll meet you out front in 10.

Without waiting for a response, she tossed her phone on her bed and stood up, running her fingers through her hair. She grabbed her jacket from the back of the door and slipped into something comfortable enough to hang out, but still warm enough for a late-night drive.

---

A few minutes later, Y/N was standing outside, the cool night air ruffling her hair. Her heart raced a little—not from nervousness, but from the odd excitement she felt at the thought of going out with Rafe. Maybe it was because she never really got the chance to talk to him in the way she wanted to. Or maybe it was just the spontaneity of it all. 

The headlights of his car cut through the dark before she heard the engine, and Rafe’s sleek black car rolled up to the curb. He leaned over from the driver’s side and rolled down the window, looking effortlessly cool as usual.

“Hop in, princess. You ready for an adventure?” His grin was playful, and Y/N couldn’t help but shake her head in disbelief at his arrogance.

“You really think I’m going to get in that car after you—” Y/N started, but Rafe cut her off with a raised eyebrow.

“I promise I won’t bite,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Unless you want me to.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. She slid into the passenger seat, rolling her eyes as she buckled up. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s why you like me.” He winked, his grin still wide. “But seriously, you up for a drive around the island?”

She shrugged, trying to seem casual, though she felt a bit of a flutter in her stomach. “Sure. Why not? What else is there to do around here?”

Rafe nodded approvingly as he shifted the car into gear, and they were off, the soft hum of the engine the only sound for a while.

The drive was slow at first, the cool breeze from the windows mixing with the music playing softly in the background. Y/N looked out the window at the familiar sights of the Outer Banks—everything she’d grown up with, but somehow different tonight. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Y/N asked, trying to ease the silence. “You just wanted to drive around and look at the stars?”

“Nah.” Rafe chuckled, his eyes glinting as he focused on the road. “I thought maybe you could use a little excitement. Besides, I thought you might want to take a break from the whole Pogue routine for a change.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying the Pogues are boring?”

“Not boring,” he said, his voice turning mock serious. “Just predictable. Plus, it’s nice to hang out with someone who doesn’t have the same baggage as the rest of them.”

Y/N considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “Fair point. But we all have our baggage, don’t we?”

Rafe glanced at her, a flicker of something in his eyes. “True,” he agreed quietly. “But I think you’re a little more... chill about it than the others.”

“Maybe.” She let out a soft laugh, feeling the tension between them lighten just a bit. “I’m just used to it by now. Besides, everyone’s got their own mess to deal with.”

Rafe nodded, his gaze on the road as they sped through the dark, but Y/N could sense that he was thinking about something deeper, something personal. The moment was quiet, comfortable in its own way, until he spoke again, his tone a little more vulnerable this time.

“Do you ever think about what happens after we graduate? What’s next?”

Y/N turned toward him, surprised by the question. It was a conversation she wasn’t prepared to have, but it felt oddly important.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I think about it all the time. Like, what’s out there beyond this island? But then I remember that I don’t really know if I’m ready to leave.”

Rafe’s lips quirked into a soft smile, but his eyes were faraway, distant. “I get that. For me, though, it’s... it’s more about living up to what my family expects. You know?”

Y/N nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she understood completely. But she could sense the pressure in his words, the weight of his own struggles. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I can imagine that.”

The car fell into silence for a while as Rafe focused on the road, and Y/N sat back, thinking about everything he’d just said. For a moment, the world felt smaller, simpler—just the two of them driving through the night, talking about things they didn’t normally share.

The car pulled into a secluded spot near the beach, the wheels crunching softly against the gravel as Rafe parked. For a moment, the only sounds were the hum of the engine winding down and the waves crashing against the shore.

Y/N looked out the window, feeling the familiar pull of the ocean, but also the strange quietness that accompanied being out here at this hour. She wasn’t sure what Rafe had in mind, but she wasn’t complaining. The night felt open, full of possibilities.

“Come on.” Rafe slid out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him, and walked over to the trunk, pulling out two surfboards.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What are you, some kind of surfing guru now?” she called out, a teasing smile spreading across her face. 

Rafe turned to face her with a grin, his eyes glinting mischievously in the moonlight. “I’ve been doing this for years. Figured I’d teach you a thing or two.” He tossed one of the boards toward her, and she caught it easily, though the weight of it surprised her a little.

She shot him a skeptical look, but as usual, Rafe wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. 

“JJ tried to teach me when I was younger,” she said, stepping out of the car and slinging the surfboard over her shoulder. “Let’s just say it didn’t go well.”

Rafe’s smirk widened. “What happened? He let you fall off on purpose?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but laugh. “Something like that. He never really took it seriously.”

“Well, I’m serious,” Rafe said, his tone suddenly more intense, though his smile remained. “And maybe you’ll have a better chance with me. Who knows?”

Y/N laughed softly, her thoughts momentarily drifting to JJ and the way things had shifted between them recently. After she left his home the night of Luke’s outburst things went back to normal quickly and that night was never brought up again. The pogues never changed, with Pope worrying about his summer reading and John B disappearing for hours citing a mystery that needs solving as a reason. JJ’s tour guide business was booming and he went back to eyeing Kie at group hangouts. This combination left Y/N wanting to see the group less and less. She shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside for now. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Y/N asked, setting her board down on the sand. “We just gonna swim out and start paddling like a couple of idiots?”

Rafe snorted. “Pretty much. But you’ve gotta get the basics down first, and then we’ll take it from there.”

She turned to face him, eyeing the water in front of them. It looked calm enough, but she knew how deceptive the ocean could be. Still, the thought of being out there with Rafe, even with the awkwardness she sometimes felt around him, was strangely comforting.

They waded into the water, the cold ocean waves crashing around their ankles, and Y/N tried to keep her balance as she adjusted the surfboard beneath her feet. 

“You remember the basics?” Rafe asked, his voice quieter now, as though he was assessing her readiness.

Y/N nodded, though she didn’t feel particularly confident. “I remember enough to fall flat on my face.”

Rafe chuckled, stepping up beside her. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you if you fall.”

There was something in his voice that made her look at him, really look at him, for the first time in a while. His demeanor wasn’t just cocky—it was calm, almost protective. And for a moment, Y/N felt the weight of the night and the change in their relationship.

“I’m not a total beginner, you know,” she said, trying to hide the sudden feeling of vulnerability. “I’ll probably wipe out once or twice, but I’ll figure it out.”

Rafe shot her a sidelong glance. “I’m not worried. You’ve got a good attitude. You’ll get it.”

He stood beside her, both of them paddling out toward the deeper water. The quiet was nice, just the sound of their boards slicing through the water and the rhythmic rush of the ocean around them. 

As they reached the spot where the waves began to form, Rafe turned to her, his expression serious. “Okay, Y/N. I’m gonna have you paddle and pop up at the same time. It’s all about timing.” 

Y/N nodded, already feeling a little nervous. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she trusted Rafe, even if she didn’t fully understand why. She had a feeling he was trying to teach her more than just surfing. But she wasn’t going to think too hard about that right now.

“Ready?” Rafe asked, his gaze meeting hers. There was something reassuring in his eyes, though it was quickly masked by his usual cocky grin. 

“Yeah,” she said, nodding again. “Let’s do it.”

He paddled toward the first incoming wave, signaling her to follow suit. The water seemed to move with a kind of rhythm, and for a moment, Y/N felt herself getting caught up in it, the tension in her body releasing as she focused on the task at hand. The world outside of them—the drama, the confusion with JJ, everything—seemed to blur. All that mattered was the wave in front of her.

“Don’t forget the pop-up!” Rafe’s voice cut through the night, just as she felt the first wave start to pull her forward. She barely managed to push herself up onto the board, her body feeling stiff as she tried to find her balance. 

For a second, she was standing, and she thought maybe this was going to work. But just as quickly, she lost her balance and crashed down into the water with a loud splash.

She resurfaced, laughing at herself. “Well, that didn’t work.”

Rafe was already paddling back toward her, grinning. “Don’t worry, that’s the first try. You’re getting the hang of it.”

Y/N wiped water from her eyes, giving him an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “If you say so. You should’ve seen the way JJ taught me. At least I’m not face planting into the sand.”

Rafe laughed, his voice warmer than she expected. “Hey, you’re doing better than I thought you would.”

Y/N smiled, feeling more at ease than she had in a while. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t caught up in her head about JJ or the others. She was just... here, with Rafe. 

They tried again, and though Y/N wiped out once more, the sense of accomplishment from even attempting it felt good. Rafe stayed close, offering tips and words of encouragement that felt different from what she’d gotten in the past.

“Want to try again?” he asked, his voice softer this time, more serious than before. There was something in the way he looked at her, something almost protective, like he wanted her to succeed, not just because of surfing, but because he genuinely cared.

Y/N nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They spent the next hour on the water, laughing, talking, and occasionally falling, but each time, she felt herself getting a little better, a little more comfortable. Rafe didn’t push too hard, but he kept her focused, making sure she understood the mechanics of it.

By the time they made their way back to the beach, Y/N felt like she’d learned something more than just surfing. Maybe it was the way Rafe had opened up, or maybe it was the shared experience of being out there at night, away from everything. Either way, she knew that things were changing between them.

And though she didn’t realize it yet, Rafe was beginning to feel something too. But that was a thought he wasn’t ready to confront—at least not tonight.

---

Y/N flopped down onto the sand, stretching out her legs and feeling the coolness of the sand seep through her damp clothes. She let out a contented sigh, her heart still racing from the thrill of the waves. Rafe dropped down beside her with a light thud, wiping his wet hair out of his eyes.

“Okay, not gonna lie, I was expecting a lot more flailing,” Rafe teased, leaning back on his elbows and looking over at her. “I’m impressed. You only wiped out... what, three times?”

Y/N shot him a playful glare. “Excuse me? It was four. I’m counting the time I almost stayed on, but then I hit that stupid wave and face-planted.”

Rafe chuckled, his usual confident grin slipping into something more genuine. “Well, in that case, you deserve an award for ‘Most Improved.’ From barely standing to almost staying on? That’s basically a pro.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “Oh, sure. ‘Most Improved.’ What’s next? ‘Most Likely to Get Pushed into the Water by Rafe?’”

“Now that would be an award you’d win,” Rafe quipped, his grin widening. “But you have to admit, you’ve come a long way from your first wave.”

Y/N groaned at the memory. “Ugh, don’t remind me. JJ was a terrible teacher. It was just ‘don’t fall,’ ‘good luck,’ and ‘try not to drown.’ He might as well have handed me a board and told me to figure it out myself.”

Rafe let out a soft laugh, but his eyes softened a little. “Well, you didn’t drown. That’s something. You might’ve had a few wipeouts, but hey, that’s surfing.”

Y/N gave him a sidelong glance. “You say that like you didn’t totally bail on that last wave too.”

He raised his hands in mock defense. “Hey, that was just an elaborate move to give you more space to shine. Didn’t want to make it too obvious I was carrying you through the session.”

Y/N snorted. “Oh, so now I’m ‘shining,’ huh? I thought I was the one struggling to stay upright.”

Rafe’s grin was playful, teasing her. “Well, you were struggling. But I like to think I was a good influence on your, uh, form. You should be thanking me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N said with a roll of her eyes, though her voice was warm. “I’ll put it on my ‘thank you’ list. Right after thanking JJ for almost making me break my neck out there.”

“See? If you’d just let me teach you from the start, you wouldn’t have needed to almost break anything,” Rafe shot back with a raised eyebrow, a little spark of humor in his eyes. “We could’ve avoided all the drama.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Sure, next time I’ll take you up on that offer. But for now, let’s just pretend you didn’t totally bail in front of me.”

“Only because I didn’t want to make you feel bad about your wipeouts,” Rafe said with a smirk, nudging her with his shoulder. “You know, being a good friend and all.”

Y/N scoffed, nudging him back. “Uh-huh. Sure, let’s stick with that story. So, what else do you teach, besides making excuses for bad surfing?”

Rafe’s eyes flickered with amusement, but then, for a moment, his expression softened. He leaned back, staring out at the water, his tone shifting slightly.

“Honestly, I didn’t expect to be out here tonight. It feels good, though... getting away from everything.”

Y/N noticed the change in his voice but didn’t push it. Instead, she gave him a teasing grin. “What, the great expectations of your perfect life getting to you?”

He shot her a quick glance, a mix of amusement and something else she couldn’t quite place. “Something like that. It’s just... a lot. You know, with grade 12 and all that comes with it. I can’t even think straight sometimes. University stuff, family, the whole ‘do everything perfectly’ thing.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I thought you had it all figured out. You’re the guy everyone looks up to, right?”

Rafe scoffed lightly. “Yeah, right. I’m just really good at pretending I have it together.”

“Seems to be working for you,” Y/N said with a grin, nudging him again. “You’ve got that ‘I’m a cool, chill guy who doesn’t care about anything’ vibe down.”

He laughed at that, but it was quieter, less confident than usual. “Guess I’m really good at that too. But... the truth is, I don’t feel that way a lot. Like, I feel like everyone’s counting on me to know what comes next, and I don’t.”

Y/N paused, her playful grin faltering for a moment. “You mean... your family’s putting pressure on you?”

Rafe’s gaze flickered to the horizon, his expression distant for a moment. “Yeah. They have their whole life planned out for me. The best schools, the right job, the perfect future. It’s like... I’m supposed to fit into this box they’ve already decided for me, and I’m not even sure it’s the one I want.”

Y/N shifted, sitting up straighter as she looked at him, her teasing smile fading into something more thoughtful. “That’s... a lot to deal with,” she said quietly, her voice softening. “I mean, I get it. Parents want the best for you, but they don’t always get to decide what’s best for you, you know?”

Rafe gave her a dry laugh, glancing sideways at her. “Yeah, that’s the problem. I don’t know what I want. It’s like, the more I think about it, the more it feels like I’m just... following a script. I don’t even know who I am outside of what they expect from me.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing in thought before she gave him a gentle, almost teasing smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t know what I want either. I think the whole world’s just kind of... winging it, you know? Maybe that’s the point. Not everything needs to be figured out right now.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, surprised by her response. “You don’t know either?”

She shrugged, a little smile playing on her lips. “I’m not pretending to have it all together. Who does? I’m just... trying to figure it out day by day. And honestly, I think you’ll get there. I mean, yeah, your family’s expectations suck, but they don’t have to define what you’re capable of. If you want to follow your own path, you can.”

He looked at her with a slightly skeptical look, then shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

Y/N leaned back on her elbows, looking out at the waves, her voice more serious now. “No, it’s not. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. You’re not stuck with whatever they decide for you. You’re still young, you still have time to figure out who you are and what you want. It might take a while, and that’s okay.”

Rafe absorbed her words, his gaze still distant but a little less guarded now. “Yeah... I guess you're right. It's just hard to shake that feeling, like I'm already behind, you know? Like everyone else has it figured out.”

Y/N gave him a wry smile, nudging him with her foot. “You’re not behind. You’re just... not living in anyone else’s idea of what your life should be. That’s actually pretty damn impressive.”

Rafe snorted, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in a half-smile. “Impressive, huh?”

“Yeah. Seriously. Not everyone can walk away from a path that’s already paved for them. Takes guts,” she said with a grin. “And maybe the fact that you’re thinking about it at all means you’re already ahead of the game. Everyone else is just... stuck in their little boxes.”

Rafe let out a long breath, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re way more insightful than I give you credit for.”

Y/N shrugged, still smirking. “It’s what I do. But, seriously, Rafe... don’t let anyone else decide for you. If you need to figure it out on your own, take the time. You’re allowed to take the time.”

He looked at her for a moment, clearly processing her words. “Thanks, Y/N. I needed to hear that.”

Y/N smiled back, her voice softening again. “Anytime. You’re not alone in this, okay?”

Rafe nodded, his shoulders relaxing a little. “I appreciate it. More than you know.”

She leaned back, turning her attention back to the ocean. “Well, if you’re ever in doubt, just remember: I’m always around to tell you how awesome you are... even if you do try to bail on waves every now and then.”

Rafe laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, now we’re back to you being a smartass. Much better.”

Y/N grinned, glad to see him lightening up again. “Hey, someone’s got to keep you in check.”

—-

A few days later, y/n found herself in the usual chaos of the Pogues. They gathered in the backyard of the Chateau, the soft hum of late-night music mixing with the sound of laughter and bickering for the first time since the bonfire. Everyone seemed to be in their element—JJ and Pope were in the middle of some heated debate about which local spot had the best surf conditions, Kie was perched on the porch railing, her legs swinging as she poked fun at them, and John B was sprawled across a lounge chair, half asleep, a grin on his face.

It was the same scene as any other night.

Except, for Y/N, it felt different tonight. She felt a strange detachment, like she was watching from the outside, looking in. Sure, she was there with them, part of the group, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong. The conversations felt more distant, the jokes falling flat in her mind. She realized, with a sharp pang in her chest, how much things had shifted.

There was a time when she could dive into the banter, effortlessly teasing JJ or playfully arguing with Pope about anything. But now? She felt like an intruder. She couldn’t even remember the last time JJ had cracked a joke at her expense or dragged her into one of his pointless arguments. Instead, he was laughing with Kie, his attention entirely elsewhere.

The emptiness she felt was palpable. She hadn’t been able to talk to him properly in weeks, not since everything had gotten so complicated between them. And now, when they were together, it felt as though they were both just pretending. Pretending to be okay, pretending to be friends, pretending that things weren’t hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

The warmth of the fire pit did little to ease her discomfort as she scanned the group. They all seemed so... effortless. So natural with each other. She used to feel like she was part of that flow. But now, more than ever, Y/N felt like a ghost in the background.

She found herself looking for a way out, a way to get some space from the group, but before she could move, JJ caught her eye. He was laughing about something Pope had said, his gaze meeting hers briefly before his expression faltered. He didn’t smile at her, didn’t make a sarcastic remark like he usually would. He just... looked away.

That was it. That small action sent a wave of frustration crashing over Y/N. He hadn’t even tried to make her feel like she was still there, still part of their tight-knit group. He’d been avoiding her, sure, but now it felt like he wasn’t even trying anymore.

“Everything okay?” Kie asked softly from beside her, breaking her train of thought. She had a way of reading Y/N, always able to tell when something was off.

Y/N forced a smile, but it felt weak. “Yeah, just... tired,” she said, but Kie wasn’t fooled.

“You sure?” she pressed, eyes narrowing with concern.

“I’m fine,” Y/N replied quickly, but her voice lacked the conviction she had hoped it would carry. She just didn’t know how to explain it, not without diving into a conversation that she wasn’t sure she was ready to have yet.

Kie, still watching her with a skeptical look, didn’t press further, but Y/N could feel the unspoken question between them. Was it about JJ? Was it about the way he’d been pulling away from her? Or was it about something deeper that even she didn’t want to admit to herself?

The moment stretched too long, and Y/N, desperate to break the silence, stood up abruptly, brushing the dirt off her jeans. “I’m gonna go get some fresh air,” she muttered, before walking away without waiting for a response.

The air by the dock was cooler, a sharp contrast to the heat of the fire pit. She walked aimlessly around the yard, her thoughts spinning in a whirlwind. It felt like everything was unraveling, and she had no control over any of it.

Before she knew it, JJ was behind her, his footsteps quick and urgent as he caught up. “Hey,” he said softly, the warmth of his voice a stark contrast to the tension she felt. “You good?”

Y/N turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. She wanted to tell him everything, to scream and throw all her emotions at him, but instead, she held back. She didn’t want to be the one to make the first move, not anymore.

“I’m fine,” she said again, but this time, her words felt hollow.

JJ didn’t buy it. “You’re not fine, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Y/N wanted to ignore him, to walk away, but the words had already started spilling out before she could stop them. “What’s going on? Really, JJ? You’ve barely spoken to me in weeks. You’ve been so distant. I feel like I don’t even exist to you anymore.”

He flinched at her words, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about? We’ve been hanging out. We’re all good, right?”

“Are we?” Y/N shot back, the hurt bleeding into her voice. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way. We went from spending every minute together to barely seeing each other. You don’t even try to talk to me anymore, and when you do, it’s like you’re doing it out of obligation.”

JJ’s expression flickered, his jaw tightening as he stepped closer to her. He had a way of getting in her space, of making her feel like his presence was a force she couldn’t escape, even when she wanted to.

“You think I’m doing this on purpose? You think I want things to be like this?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a mix of frustration and guilt.

Y/N shook her head, her chest tightening with every word she spoke. “I don’t know, JJ. I don’t know what you want from me anymore. You’ve got this whole life that’s just... different from mine, and you’re pushing me out. You don’t get it.”

For a moment, JJ just stood there, his eyes scanning her face, as if trying to figure out what she meant. “So, what? You’re mad at me because I’ve been focused on other things?”

Y/N’s frustration boiled over. “I’m not mad, JJ. I’m just... tired. Tired of trying to hold onto something that isn’t there anymore.”

The silence stretched out between them. JJ opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Y/N blurted out the words she’d been holding back for far too long.

“I love you, okay? I love you, and it’s breaking me that you can’t see me anymore. I used to be your best friend, JJ. But now? I’m just someone you pass by when it’s convenient.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and raw. For a moment, JJ didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stared at her, his face a mixture of surprise and something else—something she couldn’t name.

And then, without a word, he stepped forward, his hand reaching out, fingers brushing against her arm, pulling her gently toward him. She could feel his breath against her skin, his body close enough that it should have felt comforting, but instead, it felt like an intrusion.

His lips hovered near hers, but there was no fire in his touch. No spark of longing. Just... guilt. Obligation.

Y/N pulled away quickly, her heart racing. “Don’t,” she whispered fiercely, her voice trembling. “Don’t do that. Don’t kiss me because you feel sorry for me.”

JJ’s eyes hardened, his jaw clenching as he stepped back. “You think I’m just pitying you?” he spat, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “You think I’m that much of an asshole?”

“I don’t know what you are anymore,” Y/N said, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m done trying to make sense of this. You don’t get to just kiss me when you feel like it and then ignore me when it’s convenient. I deserve more than that, JJ.”

He took a step back, his face dark with fury. “You’re unbelievable, Y/N. I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m done with this.”

Y/N stood there, chest heaving, as JJ stormed off, his steps heavy against the grass. The door slammed behind him, leaving Y/N standing alone, her words still echoing in the silence.

She had said it. She had finally said it. And now, there was nothing left to do but walk away.

---

Next up: the scene that inspired this fic

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Taglist:

@hockeybabe87 , @idiotussupremus , @certifiedhaters , @oatmealisweird, @sluggmuffin

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A/N: I wrote this chapter last night at 2 then woke up and read through it with the shocked pikachu face

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Random opinions about how aging works for elves, half-elves, and hobbits:

For hobbits, I stand by my belief that hobbits do not age to maturity any slower than humans, they just have a more “millennial” (speaking as a millennial) attitude to adulthood, and then get old slower than humans do. If you have more time in “middle age” and old age than the humans do, then socially ending up with an extended period of youth and irresponsibility, relative to humans, seems like something that makes sense. I don’t think Pippin (age 28 during LOTR) is actually the hobbit equivalent of a teenager; I don’t think they would let him go on the quest if he was.

Also, Merry is born in 2982, making him age 19 when he’s helping Frodo out in the aftermath of Bilbo’s 111th birthday-party and surprise departure; that’s a reasonable human age for him to be doing that, whereas assuming a notable difference for hobbits means Frodo has recruited a preteen to fend off Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, which, while funny, is not what I think the narrative is going for.

Frodo had retired for a while and left his friend Merry Brandybuck to keep an eye on things. When Otho loudly demanded to see Frodo, Merry bowed politely.

“He is indisposed,” he said. “He is resting.”

In terms of elves, I think comparisons to human aging are complicated because elves age to mental or social maturity faster than they do to physical maturity in a way that is not the case for humans. LaCE says:

Not until their fiftieth year did the Eldar attain the stature and shape in which their lives would afterward endure, and for some a hundred years would pass before they were full-grown.

…The Eldar wedded for the most part in their youth and soon after their fiftieth year…at whatever age they married their children were born within a short space of years [as the Eldar reckoned time; in mortal count there was often a lomg interval between the wedding and the first child-birth, and even longer between child and child] after their wedding.

I personally would regard a 50-year-old elf as equivalent to a human in their early 20s, in terms of maturity; with the exception that, unlike a human, it might still be some time after that that they reached the peak of their physical strength.

This is relevant to the fact that Maeglin chooses to leave Nan Elmoth and go to Gondolin when he is approximately 70 years old. He’s not a child or even a teenager; he’s probably roughly equivalent to his mid-20s.

In terms of peredhel (half-elves), I am convinced that they age to maturity at a human rate, with the difference that they stay at their peak of health and strength for far longer after that (and, if they choose to be counted as Elves, retain that appearance basically permanently). This is because of the few dates that we have, in History of Middle-earth, for Dior, Eärendil, and Elwing. Granted, these are Tolkien’s draft notes, and he edited them continuously; but one version has Dior’s twin sons being born when he is 30, while a family tree has them born when he is 22. There’s a timeline where Elrond and Elros are born when Eärendil and Elwing are both in their late 20s to early 30s. We can choose to conclude either that marriage and having children is happening at a terribly early age to people who are basically teenagers, or that that half-elves age like humans and they are doing these things at normal times. I choose to conclude the latter – and given that Dior marries and has children before Thingol’s death, when he is living peacefully in Ossiriand (Elwing is named for a waterfall near his home in Ossiriand) and there is no especial urgency, I think the conclusion that they age to maturity like humans and choose to get married and have children at human-similar times is the one that makes the most sense.

[nateconnolly]

I don't think that's it. Sometimes academics use really complicated weird words because they're trying to seem smart, or because they're doing the professor equivalent of clickbait.

But a lot of times it's genuinely helpful. There simply is not another term you can use instead of "reify" when you're talking about philosophy or cultural criticism. Reification is an extremely weird idea, so there isn't really any reason English would develop a synonym for it. I suppose you could write out "treat an abstract concept or idea as if it is completely real" every time, but that's gonna be a mouthful if you do it more than once, so it's more convenient just to resort to the verb "reify".

Using just a single word actually makes the sentence simpler, and that makes it easier to read.

You could also just write a glossary (list of definitions at the back of a text) for every academic piece of writing, but the thing is, not everyone is responsible for writing an introduction. You shouldn't be upset if the twentieth story set in a fantasy world doesn't explain for you what a binglepopper is. You should go back to the first story because the writing is designed for you to do that. In the same way, if you don't understand an academic article says, you should go back to the beginning.

I recognize that the beginning is usually paywalled, but, and I cannot stress this enough, that is not a problem with writing style, that is a problem with class warfare.

[famoussharkhairdoknight]

Interruptions and Complicity- Jude Bellingham

Wearning: slight smut, english is not my first language

You were sitting on Jude’s horse, your hands intertwining in his hair as you kissed him passionately. The world seemed to disappear around you, all concentrated in that perfect moment between you two. His warm breath caressed your face, the heartbeat that accelerated every time your lips touched each other and he moaned as you rubbed on his cock.

Then, without warning, the door opened with a swift blow. It was Jobe, Jude’s brother, who appeared on the threshold, a funny smile spreading over his face. "Hey, guys, do you mind if I interrupt?" he said in a defiance, putting his hands on his hips and looking at you with an air of superiority.

Jude looked up, a frustrated expression betraying his irritation. "Jobe, I don’t see why you have to be such a dick," he unbuttoned, the tone of his voice leaving no room for misunderstanding. "Get out."

You, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back a laugh, it all seemed too much fun. "Poor Jobe, he interrupted you at the best moment," you whispered with a mischievous smile, watching Jude trying to keep calm.

Jobe came to the door, laughing sarcastically. "Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to spoil your little romantic session." Then he paused for a moment, looking at you both. He noticed the tension that had turned into something more relaxed between you two.

Finally, a smile spread across his face. "You know, I never approve of the girls that I choose, Jude, but you... You are different," he said, with a sincere but still ironic smile. "So maybe I won’t interrupt... for today."

Jude looked at you with a puzzled expression, but something in his eyes changed. A small, melancholy smile came out. "You don’t know how much this is driving me crazy," he said to you, a little bit exasperated but also amused, before turning to Jobe. "And you, show yourself a little less, okay?"

Jobe raised his hands in surrender, but before he went out, he turned back again. "Right, no problem, 'big brother,' but remember I approved it, so don’t get rid of my blessing too quickly," he said, nodding as he left the room.

You and Jude were alone, but this time with a new complicity that somehow made everything even more special. The tension was dissolved between laughter, caresses and small glances that said more than a thousand words. "Your brother has his own way of doing things," you whispered, still smiling.

Jude pressed you closer to him, his face close to yours. "And you have your own way of driving me crazy," he replied with a mocking smile, stroking your cheek as another laugh slipped from your lips.

[gabessquishytum]

It’s been like. Five whole minutes since I’ve turned fun sex things into hurt/comfort. So. :)

human au, when Dream and Hob get together Hob thinks Dream has a run-of-the-mill oral fixation. He always seems to want to suck Hob’s cock, warm his cock In his mouth for ages, when they have sex he insists he wears some kind of gag.

The truth is though… it’s not that Dream doesn’t like those things, but that’s not why he does it. He’s just very insecure about any noise that could come out of his mouth.

People always tell him how awkward he is and that he can barely hold a normal conversation (he has no idea how he landed people-person, charismatic Hob) so he’s certain he’d fail at dirty talk. And his laugh is so ugly, surely any moans or noises he makes during sex would be equally awful. And of course, his worst nightmare is getting caught up in the moment and letting an “I love you” slip FAR too early in the relationship than is acceptable. There is simply no way anything good could come from his mouth (ever, but especially during sex) so he deals with it by keeping his mouth occupied.

I can’t decide how Hob figures it out- if he puts all the pieces together during sex or foreplay, or if it somehow comes out during a more domestic moment. Either way, he insists on ravishing Dream with his mouth free and uncovered so he can hear every lovely sound he makes (and prove that he loves his silly boyfriend no matter what).

-🦇

We love the hurt/comfort smut here!!!! Hell yeah!!!!

I have a certain idea about how Hob finds out about Dream’s whole complicated relationship with his own vocality. It all comes out when Dream, quite suddenly loses his voice altogether. He gets a little bout of laryngitis during flu season, and while he's not super sick, he also can't speak. He's reduced to texting and writing little notes while Hob fusses over him and makes him plenty of nice cups of tea.

During his illness, Dream is visited by his sibling Desire. Hob has never met them before, but honestly he's more focused on Dream than anything else. He has a vague notion that the two siblings don't exactly get on, however, and this becomes apparent when Desire makes a series of quips about what a relief it is to have Dream silenced. If only he would be quiet all the time! He's so much more bearable when he's not making any noise.

Hob clocks Dream’s face during this series of bad jokes and all he sees is... resignation. He realises that Dream believes Desire's cruel words. Everything starts to make sense.

After the laryngitis passes and bedroom activities are back on the menu, Hob cautiously broaches the fact that he really doesn't want Dream to be gagged this time. He doesn't want him to muffle his face in the pillow, either. He'd quite like to have some very boring and tender missionary sex, and he'd like to hear Dream’s voice and his noises the whole time.

Unfortunately for Dream he's in love, and he can't deny Hob anything, let alone something so sweet and pure. He's sure that Hob will be disgusted by his noises, but he agrees anyway. Maybe Hob will forgive him for being so loud, if he behaves himself well in other ways...

In reality Hob is the one making the most noise because he absolutely sobs his way through the sex. Hearing his sweet Dream's pleasure for the first time is so overwhelming and almost spiritual, he can't help but cry. There's a long way to go, but Hob is determined: he's going to make sure that Dream is never silenced again. Hob wants to hear everything that comes from his beloved's mouth - especially if its an "I love you!"

[lured-into-wonderland]

Being there. Chatting with them. It all gave Nunnally such a family-like vibes; the feeling of the family she had never had, but always wanted to have. One that laughed together and chatted together in the lazy mornings in the kitchen. Even when she thought her father was just a trustworthy businessman, Nunnally had always felt she was missing something. And after it all had happened, she started to miss it more and more, and denying these needs more and more as well.

“I used to sleep long when…when I was younger.” – she commented – “Now I am up quite early.” – and although that was an honest statement, Nunnally didn’t feel like adding that she also went to bed late. Slumber and dreams, as much as they were her escape, they weren’t something that brought her peace. Not nightmares as well. Nightmares were rare. So, it needed to be something in between. Though it still made her tired in the morning.

She chuckled when Roberto mentioned that Ravein was up as soon as the fresh scent of coffee was filling the air of this house: --

“I thought you were not a coffee person…” – Nunnally remarked jokingly. Now her eyes were not clouded anymore, and were showing much more internal happiness. As much as Nunnally tried (and often succeeded?) in changing her way of thinking to better accommodate Ravein’s needs (and the consequences of his past), this time she didn’t link it with his awareness of the changing environment. It was more like she liked coffee herself, and would assume she could be woken up in the same way. 

“Yes, Ravein…” – she smiled to the ex-assassin – “Let me prefer some tea for you…” – she walked to the counter that Roberto pointed to her, opened the can, and smelled the blend that Ravein seemed to like. It was a nice combination, and despite being first and foremost a coffee person, Nunnally did not enjoy some good tea – “It seems that there is some chamomile in it?” – she asked looking first at Roberto, and then turning her head to face Ravein.

“Oh, I am a boring person when it comes to coffee…” – she attempted to joke again – “Black. No milk nor sugar. I just like…good blend I suppose.”

“Tough I can prepare more than that…” – she started but that ‘ding’ interrupted her thought and a sentence; Roberto went away to attend to the customer, and Nunnally was left with Ravein alone.

“Well, then. Let’s prepare something more complicated for Roberto then. Something with cardamom…” – she looked at Ravein to provide some guidance to her – “Or perhaps I should be more adventurous…” – she was asking, trying to find out where Roberto might have kept his spices – “Do you think star anise would be to his liking? But then we would need to have dark roast coffee beans…and a grinder…”

“Does he like more sweet things or rather bitter?” – she asked. Making coffee was fun. She had always liked it – “Do you have a favourite tea cup…or mug, Rav?” – she asked – “Is there his somewhere…”

Surprisingly for herself, Nunnally felt pretty comfortable in this kitchen. Like opening and closing the drawers and cabinets came quite naturally for her. As if she was not only a l l o w e d to do it, but also e x p e c t e d to act like that. Suddenly, she stopped with an unexpected thought: --

“Perhaps I should get myself a very special mug for here…” – she laughed happily; it was a nice foolish thought, but Nunnally liked it. She wasn’t sure why, but she did.

“Thank you,” Roberto politely responds, quite happy with her compliment. It was a kitchen that he was proud of, and it brought him joy that he could have a job that allowed him to interact with people on his own terms. Sure, there were times where the customers weren’t the most pleasant to deal with, but for the most part, they were kind people. Being self-employed had it’s perks of allowing him to do as he pleased.

It may not be the most lucrative job, but it was very fulfilling to make use of his hobby to bring some joy to his customers. It was convenient too, that the customers were rather calm, so it was a nice environment for Ravein to observe people slowly. He had considered changing from a café to a bar, but when Ravein came into his life, he decided keeping the café would be the safer bet.

Maybe, whenever he decides to retire, Ravein can take over and continue the legacy.

“You’re not wrong, I get to enjoy the first batch of coffee for the day. It’s a good thing that I’ve always been a morning person, so I don’t struggle with waking early in the morning to cater to the morning rush crowd.” Roberto explains, looking at Ravein. “This one here wakes up the moment the smell of coffee fills the air.” The ex-assassin was quite sensitive to changes to his surroundings, and smells were very important informational queues one couldn’t ignore when on a mission. It was something akin to an occupational hazard that made him wake up when his nose picked up a new smell, or if he heard a sudden noise nearby.

A ‘light sleeper’, is how most people would term it.

Her offer to prepare a drink for them was a surprise, but not in a bad way. If she wanted to do so and get a feel for the kitchen before officially settling on this place as the location for their lessons—that was fine by Roberto. “A cup of coffee would be splendid, thank you Miss Nunnally.” Roberto glances at Ravein who was thinking about what kind of beverage he’d want. “Maybe you’d like some tea, Rav? There is a special blend of herbal tea in the one cannister labeled ‘Ravein’ on the counter over there.” Roberto pointed out the one counter space that had cannisters of teas.

Ravein preferred to drink things that weren’t caffeinated, and calming teas worked wonders on his nerves, so Roberto had gone and blended a mix of herbs for him. “As for myself, I enjoy most ways of enjoying coffee. If you also enjoy coffee, perhaps you could share with me the way you enjoy your cup of coffee?” There was something about sharing interests and preferences with others that made it all the easier to grow closer or accustomed to another person. They knew that she liked a sweetened milk beverage, and Ravein enjoyed hot chocolate. Roberto loved coffee, but he also enjoyed a variety of alcohol (the reason why he considered opening a bar).

There was a ‘ding!’ sound that could be heard, and that was the sign that someone was at the counter, waiting for Roberto to come back out from the kitchen. “I’ll be back shortly. If you need help finding anything, Ravein can help you.” Roberto excused himself to check back with the front of the store, leaving the two young adults in the kitchen alone.  

[indieyuugure]

Hi Indie !

First of all, I truly love your version of TMNT. Your dialogues are so good and the designs are great. In terms of writing it kind of reminds me of the Webtoon comic: Batman, Wayne Family Adventures in the way that it’s a brilliant take on a famous franchise.

Also, I kind of had a question and a request.

I noticed a change of style with the color scheme you have now compare to your previous sketches. Like before, Mickey’s stickers were colored and blood was red when those elements are now in black and white. My question is why the change ? Not that it’s a bad choice or it doesn’t fit in you aesthetic, I was just genuinely wondering😁.

As for my request, well I’m French and I really enjoy doing translation either from French to English or from English to French. Therefore I was wondering if you were okay with me doing a French version of your comics ? If you’re not, I totally understand so no worry😁

I can’t wait for the next chapter !!! I wish all the best !

Aw thank you so much! I’m so glad you love the art and the writing! I’ve never read that webcomic, but I’ve heard about it before! I’ll take it as a compliment! ^v^

That is an excellent question! Basically I wanted to reduce the colors on the pages to just the colors of one of the characters items.

I’ve actually been cutting down on color usage since TMS (April’s hair and Casey’s under shirt were colored red and mauve respectively in ROTP but not in TMS) since I felt that it made for some very odd color things, like it felt like too much color be stylistic, but too little to be fully colored? Idk I just didn’t like it, so in TMS every character was allotted two colors: one eye color and one outfit color. That made it a lot simpler and drastically decreased the feeling I had about the colors.

That reason is also why I cut Mikey’s sticker colors. I did think about it, but I decided against it because it felt odd to give Mikey three colors and everyone else one. He’s not the MC, so like, it just seemed like an odd design choice to continue with.

The removal of using red for blood is a bit more complicated. I actually considered making it red in Indie TMNT, but I ended up not because of a few reasons.

1: Red is Raph’s color, it should be used as such (every character only got one color anyway, reusing the color makes it feel less special that it’s there)

2: flushing, whether because of love or illness or embarrassment or whatever, was also being shaded with red because it’s caused by blood, and I just didn’t really like the way it looked? I dunno probably a personal thing? I won’t say why cause I don’t wanna put the thought in your heads, but specifically with Donnie’s face being red from his fever in TMS, I just didn’t like it.

3: I found that the color red makes wounds more graphic. Not sure why? I found with TMS I was having to censor Leo’s wounds more than I anticipated. They were originally so much more disgusting when the red was added that I had to add a lot more black to be comfortable with the drawing. I’m satisfied with my results, I think I struck a good balance, but it did kind get me thinking since I plan to make Indie TMNT just as gory.

Its original purpose for being added was because wounds were key plot points in both ROTP and TMS and I wanted you to pay attention to them and remember them. Now, that’s not to say they’re not important in Indie Tmnt, but I found with the increased violence I was adding (because murder is okay in this comic) it felt unnecessary. Almost every fight scene has splatters of blood that aren’t really that plot related, so it’s not the same as TMS which follows 2012’s no blood or injuries in fights rule until it’s shattered. So in addition to all the other reasons listed, I felt it was fine to get rid of the usage of red for blood and other injuries in this comic.

TLDR: I want each character’s color to be special and they only get one cause I’m lazy and I think it looks cooler. Red blood makes people squeamish but black blood doesn’t 🤷‍♀️ also less important in this comic

As for your request: YES!! I’m totally okay with it, you absolutely may! I would love that! However you decide to do it, just be sure you credit me as the original author of the comic and send me a link when your done so I can post it on the comic masterpost for anyone who wants the translation to read!

Good questions! :]

[deiastormborn]

Gale of Waterdeep; A much needed look beneath the surface 

Hey all. This is a script for the video I made in defense of Gale. I never had a place to put the text version of it anywhere else, but... if Tumblr isn't a good place for it, then what is?

Warning: Long Read!

________________________

Hi, my name is Stormborn. I’ve been playing Baldur’s Gate for some time, enjoyed it quite a bit. As much as I can appreciate every companion that the game has introduced, Gale of Waterdeep, a charming lil’ wizard, has caught my attention the most. At glance, he is this sarcastic happy-to-go man, always joking around, trying to do the right thing. But, the more you get to know him, the more you slowly uncover his trauma, as much as he, himself, is trying to deny it.

Honestly, I thought that Gale would be liked by many people, I genuinely expected him to be one of the most chosen companions, and one of the most romanced ones. But, to my surprise, I’ve been seeing him getting more hate than I anticipated. Some people call his way of speaking way too annoying and complicated, some people call him clingy and creepy, mostly due to the glitch that would skyrocket his approval of you, probing him to romance you. Genuinely, it is okay to dislike some companion in favor of the other one. But I could not get rid of the feeling that people just despise his guts unjustifiably. 

One of the main reasons, besides the ones I covered earlier, is that people hate his ‘obsession’ with Mystra, the goddess of magic he happened to romance. I saw people complain that he just cannot stop talking about her, even while you romance him, and I can’t help but wonder if people were paying attention to his story at all. And I cannot blame them, as Gale always portrays his romance with Mystra as something so special, so unique, and as something to be proud of. But, let me explain to why you should be able to judge his story for yourself, rather than simply listen to what he is saying.

Gale is a talented wizard, so talented that he got attention from Mystra herself for his talent of channeling the weave. The story says that he is so powerful, that he could potentially destroy a whole village by basically sneezing in its direction. However, we all need to remember that he got attention from Mystra at the very, very young age. If I am not mistaken, the first time Mystra clawed onto him was when he turned 16. Ever since then, Mystra was feeding him all kinds of praise, prompting him to seek power, ensuring him that he can become Mystra’s chosen, and, mind you, *started romancing him ever since*. It is not a secret that Gale was not the first, however, if you really think of it, such revelation can seriously mess with a mind of a teenager. Not only it might boost the self-esteem, but also make him think that he is better than anyone else. And, I assure you, it is exactly what Mystra wanted. By giving him some form of attention, minimum affection, she had Gale on the hook. And Gale, as a boy obsessed with magic, who has been worshiping Mystra before he even met her, didn’t require much effort in getting hooked. But here comes the problem: as much as it is uplifting to get a praise from a literal Goddess of all magic, it is also as equally devastating to get any kind of critique or a cold shoulder.

Mystra was messing with his mind, making him feel like, no matter how well he does, he can always do better, as he has so much potential. With such authority, Gale would believe her. And it would make him always chase something more to impress her, rather than settle and appreciate what he has. It is also a reason to why the whole mess with the Orb began in the first place. People seem to call Gale power hungry, which, as any companion in the game, it is possible for him to go down that route. But they seem to forget one important detail: Gale thought that the Orb was a missing relic of Mystra’s magic, and he wanted to, yet again, impress her by bringing it back. Please remember that Gale was still a young adult, if not a teenager, when this happened. And it would all be resolved if Mystra would not shatter his self-esteem as much as she did. So, he made a mistake, and the Orb became his burden. And yet again, rather than explain this to her ‘chosen one’, she basically banished him, and left him with no answers for many years to come.

Gale isolated himself to keep people around him safe, with nothing but the books and the cat for the company. I think I do not need to mention on how that can play with your mind, too. But, in spite of all, Gale’s blind loyalty and obsession with Mystra kept him wanting for more attention, more answers, so he kept seeking more power, and more ways to get Mystra’s approval. At the day you first meet him, this is the first time he has been amongst people. Yet he still kept his jolly appearance, messing around with Tav, and appreciating everything that surrounds him.

I do not know if this is obvious just yet, but Mystra has basically groomed the kid. If we look at the very definition of grooming, Grooming is when someone builds a relationship, trust and emotional connection with a child or young person so they can manipulate, exploit and abuse them. And it is most prominent when it comes from the place of higher authority. I think I do not need to explain that, in the fantasy setting, there is no higher authority than the God or a Goddess. Yet, for one reason or another, this seems to not be taken serious. And I think I have an explanation as to why.

When you talk to Gale about Mystra, or when you let him talk about her first, he is still full of admiration, obsession, and the unending pride. There is still some bitterness lingering somewhere in him, yet it Is not as powerful as any other feeling he has towards her. I’ve noticed people basically hating him for saying something like ‘Yeah, I banged Mystra, that’s pretty cool, right?’. But think of it this way: wouldn’t Mystra *want* him to think that it’s ‘pretty cool’? And who are we to say that it was the real Mystra he had an intimate moment with? For all we know, she might have conjured an illusion, to satisfy him and feed into his ego. If the romance between them was as real as Gale thinks it was, do you really think Mystra would just abandon him with no answers for a mistake such as this? After all, Gale was young, and had barely any experience. All he had was wizards, such as him, or more powerful than him, and her. If she truly cared about putting him to a right path, rather than using him for her needs, the outcome would be ever so different. 

I would also like to address that people do not think of it as a simple coping mechanism. Even if you look at the society these days, most of the time, when a man comes with a confession of, say, a woman taking advantage of him, it is often met with ‘wow dude, you got lucky’, rather than with a serious concern. Who are we to say that Gale, rather than simply try to reflect and recognize his relationship with Mystra as an illusion, didn’t just decide to get along with it and be proud instead? Even then, when you romance him further, he is slowly realizing that it was not as real as he once thought. In Gale’s own words: ‘there is no love between us. I was not the first, and I certainly won’t be the last’. Gale finally, ever so slowly, starts to understand that he was simply used by Mystra for his talent. Being a deity means that you are only powered by the followers you still have. It is in the god’s interests to keep people interested in them, or they will loose power. Using Gale, knowing he was an extremely skillful wizard, was in Mystra’s interests. She does not give him answers, but keeps him interested in her enough to keep him in her claws, spreading more words of her, attracting more people to follow her godhood. There was no real romance, she was interested in his power more than himself. And you can help him realize that.

But, with such dynamic comes a price, which also becomes more prominent when you play the game further: Gale never feels good enough. With the first chance he can sacrifice himself for a greater good, he takes it. He has no real appreciation of his life, he does not take it as something valuable. He is deeply depressed and traumatized. When a person moves away from the environment that scarred them, it can become extremely overbearing, difficult, and overwhelming. People also seem to act as if it is weird that, with any kind of hurt, Gale’s first reaction is to ‘blow himself up’. It doesn’t take much to know that he won’t do it if it were to mean that someone can get hurt, but he is saying that because, maybe, partially, he *wanted* to die. He has finally found appreciation amongst other people, who are not wizards like him, people who do not know him well, and people who do not want him to constantly be the best version of himself. He falls in love with Tav, because Tav is showing him kindness, and proving to him that he does not have to be someone that he is not to be loved. In that very vulnerable state, any kind of hurt or rejection hits you more. Not to mention that, the only time he ever says it, was after the night he spent with you. After he opened up, shared his fears, more of his past, even said out loud that, in truth, he does not want to die. He let himself be vulnerable, the most vulnerable he has probably been in years, so it is not a question of his ego being hurt: it is a situation where a man, who always kept to himself, has finally let someone in, and got hurt. I am sure one of us, at one point in life, said something like ‘well guess I go die’ as a joke. This is the only way Gale knows how to respond: joking about his pain. He does not mean it, but says it anyway, because it is the first thing that came to his mind. He has been a very reserved companion through the whole time, always seemed to know what to say, and he acted on an emotion after a very emotional night. 

It is also a fact that, even while he is slowly realizing that Mystra used him, he does not mind dying because she asked him to do so. That does not only prove a point that Mystra does not have any real regards to him other than a tool, but also that she was using him for her own sake. With The Absolute getting more followers, her power also weakens. The Absolute is a threat, not only because of the infection and danger to mere humans, but also to her godhood. And who better to deal with it than the man she has so methodically conditioned to do as she wishes? You would think that, a goddess as powerful as Mystra, could try to take care of things on her own. And yet again, the only time Mystra ever gives him any answers, is when she needs him to be used. That is, yet again, a definition of the grooming.

Gale will do anything for a little bit of appreciation, anything to be noticed, and we cannot blame him. This is why you, a player, as a Tav, have a power in you to make him realize that he, as he is now, is valid. It is almost as if Gale forgot that he is such a talented wizard after all the stuff with Mystra. You, as a player, have it in you to remind him. And once you do, Gale slowly separated himself from Mystra as her ex-lover, and only answers to her as his deity. After all, she is a goddess of all magic, it will be hard to reject her entirely.

Victims of grooming or any kind of abuse often can’t let go of the person who harmed them. They will talk about them, they will mention them, they might even try to grasp onto good things, or make it seem like bad things that happened weren’t really all that bad. Combine that with a constant feeling of never being good enough, and not knowing a genuine kindness outside of his very small circle, and you have Gale. A charming, sarcastic, jolly Wizard, who is also as ever troubled. 

Moving on to other topic that people seem to judge Gale for, is that, once a chance arrives, he starts grasping onto Godhood, wishing to become a God himself. It is also in that situation where he starts to say that he would have the power to completely overthrow Mystra. People seem to criticize him for his hunger for power, and also, altogether, call him ungrateful. I would like to add another opinion on that: while Gale is slowly realizing that he was being used, he went through all 5 stages of grief. But here comes the other one, that is mentioned much less: revenge. He wants to show Mystra that she was wrong about him. He wants to prove to her that, after all this time, he *was* good, if not better than her. On top of that, he is still trying to fix his never-ending self-esteem issues. While he is seeking godhood, he still thinks that, him, as he is now, will never be enough, and only by becoming God he can truly become worthy… of anything. If you romance him, he later apologizes to you, but also asks to let him explain to why the Godhood would be good for him, and you, as a couple. Gale wants to give you everything. The entire world. He wants to be the very best version of himself, for you, his lover. He thinks that he can only achieve that by becoming a God. He doesn’t realize that, maybe, without it, he can still be a valuable partner. He even talks to you about it, openly, saying that you deserve better. It is, yet again, in your power to remind him that you do not need him to be anything more than he is now. And, rather than with anger, he answers to you with a surprise. He truly, genuinely, can’t believe that you would take him as he is now. This is how deeply his trauma runs in his mind. And, once he finally believes you, this is where he finally calms down. This is finally when he accepts himself, and lets it all go. He is not repaired, but he is on his path towards healing. All because you, a player, convinced him, and reminded him of his value.

I think Gale’s approach towards things have deeply changed the perception of the players. Because he is in so much denial, people seem to just go along with what he says. He is proud of sleeping with Mystra - so people take it for what it is. Gale might not be your type, or even the most interesting companion to you compared to others, but I truly, genuinely think, that the hate he has received has been a little too much. Every companion has a burden, everyone expresses it differently, on their own pace. Gale has chosen the approach that makes the most sense in his situation. He is just a guy who was thrown into a mess made by the Goddess he worshiped at the young age. He is just someone who is trying to do good. And I hope that a small essay such as this helped and shed some light on his story. 

Men can be groomed, they can be taken advantage of. I think it is our duty to also recognize it, and show a little patience. After all, Gale is not the first example of such abuse. And, sadly, won’t be the last.

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAnZHJtYkcg

[whosscruffylooking]

Open Arms Chapter One

steve harrington x fem!reader word count : 6k Rewrite/Character Insert of Stranger Things ~1984~ This chapter takes place during Season 2 Episodes 1-5

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh—my bad,” you say, stepping aside.

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

Who does he remind you of?

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

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

Then it hits you.

“I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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*Flashback*

1 year ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you agree, “sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Screw you.” 

Jonathan follows her quickly into the bathroom. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

You freeze. “I’m sorry—what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

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

Until Billy casually drops your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He reluctantly resigns himself.

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

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

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

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

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

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

[po3tbbygirl]

Something happened last night…

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

CW: mentions of alcohol and slightly suggestive

A/N: I don’t know

Y/n sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, leaning in close as she whispered the story to her friends. She glanced around the Great Hall, spotting students laughing, sipping pumpkin juice, or just waking up for the day. A few teachers wandered nearby, keeping an eye on the noisy room.

Her stomach twisted with embarrassment.

Last night, Gryffindor had thrown its annual Halloween party, inviting students from all houses to the Room of Requirement. Costumes were required, of course. Y/n had grabbed hers at the last minute in Hogsmeade, thinking it didn’t matter much. But when she showed up, she realized the worst: she had accidentally matched with her academic rival, Remus Lupin.

Remus Lupin—her so-called "enemy" in the classroom, the one who always challenged her in every subject. They’d been competing for ages, though Y/n usually managed to stay one step ahead. And now, here they were, in matching costumes, with everyone around them laughing and making jokes. Their friends didn’t waste a second teasing them, giving knowing looks and nudges.

She had tried to avoid him all night, but in the end, the crowd had pushed them together, cheering for "Best Couple Costumes." Y/n looked up at him, frustrated and embarrassed, as she muttered, "I’m going to burn this costume."

Remus smirked, eyes bright with amusement. "No, you won’t. You love me, really. You’ll probably keep it to show your grandkids."

Y/n scoffed, trying to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. "In your dreams." They bickered back and forth until, somehow, she let him pour her a drink. Then another. Before she knew it, they were laughing together. It felt different—like, for once, they weren’t rivals at all.

“YOU WHAT?!"

"Shh!" Y/n hissed, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear. "It was just a hook-up. It’s nothing."

Her friend stared at her, wide-eyed. "Wait…weren’t you a virgin?"

Y/n’s face flushed again as memories of last night flashed through her mind. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t planned it. But something about the party—the way he looked at her, or how his laugh sounded that night—had pushed her to do something she’d never thought she would.

“It’s…complicated,” she mumbled, trying to play it off. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe it meant more than she wanted to admit.

The Room of Requirement was filled with laughter and lights, shadows flickering as the party buzzed around them. Y/n found herself tucked into a quiet corner with Remus, away from the crowd. They hadn’t stopped talking since their “Best Couple” award, and somehow, the drinks made everything seem easier, lighter. She didn’t feel like she was talking to the boy who usually made Charms class imposible at all.

He leaned in close, his gaze locking with hers, warm and intense. Y/n felt her heart hammer, a mix of nerves and excitement she couldn’t ignore.

Remus reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her and her damn messy hair, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

She swallowed, barely whispering, “You’re close. Really close…”

He grinned, a little shy, but not backing away. “Am I?”

Their faces were just inches apart. Without thinking, she tilted her head, and his mouth met hers, soft and hesitant at first. But the kiss deepened, and she felt a thrill run through her, pushing all other thoughts out of her mind. Their rivalry, the teasing, the arguing—it all fell away.

They pulled back just enough to catch their breath, staring at each other in the dim light. He brushed his hand along her cheek, his voice low. “Are you sure?”

Y/n’s cheeks burned, but she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Yes.”

They found themselves tangled together, feeling the warmth of each other, everything about the moment suddenly crystal clear yet dreamlike. For that night, there was no rivalry—just the two of them, forgetting everything but the connection they’d been denying for so long.

“Y/n.”

She looked up, heart dropping as she saw Remus standing just a few feet away. He looked a bit nervous, his usual confident smirk replaced with something softer, more uncertain.

“Can we, uh… can we talk?” he asked, eyes flicking to her friend, who took the hint and nudged Y/n with a grin before slipping away.

Y/n took a shaky breath and nodded, following him out of the Great Hall to a quieter spot near the staircase. They stood there for a moment in silence, both unsure of how to begin. Finally, he scratched the back of his neck, glancing at her.

“About last night,” he started, his voice softer than usual. “I didn’t… I didn’t expect that to happen. But, uh… I don’t regret it.”

Y/n felt her heart race. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say.

Remus shifted closer, his voice barely a whisper. “I know we’re usually at each other’s throats, but… maybe we don’t have to be. Maybe we can try something different.”

Y/n looked into his eyes, and for once, she didn’t see her rival. She saw Remus, the boy who’d made her laugh, who’d kissed her like it meant something.

“Maybe,” she replied, her voice just as soft, a small smile breaking through.

He smiled.

[skateordiebitch]

BALCONY BLUES || D.F. x reader

summary: you and dominic are neighbors. you like to read books on your balcony, he likes to smoke cigarettes. you like quiet nights in, he likes to throw parties. but, as they say... opposites attract.

there's a little more than just neighborly affection brewing.

word count: 4.6k (damn)

me when i sit on my balcony and daydream....... that's how this story was born. and honestly i love it it's so cute. oh, to have a dominic fike stare at me from his balcony. anyways, enjoy! i only have like two more requests to do, so pls feel free to send moreeee <3

When you moved to California, you were looking forward to the quiet. Your apartment was modest, tucked into a complex that overlooked the ocean, with a small balcony you’d already claimed as your reading spot. 

You’d imagined peaceful weekends spent with a book and the distant crash of waves. 

It was exactly what you’d hoped for—except for one small complication: your neighbor, Dominic.

He was the opposite of what you were aiming for with your calm, coastal move. He had this habit of throwing loud parties every weekend, the music thumping through the walls and spilling out onto his balcony, the place he seemed to live when he was home. 

You noticed him on your first day, leaned back against the railing, a cigarette in hand, looking every bit like he owned the place.

And while you were trying your best to ignore him, you couldn’t quite deny the strange spark of interest you felt every time he looked your way. 

The two of you didn’t speak at first, not beyond the nods and the polite “hey” when you’d cross paths. Still, you felt his presence, especially in the evenings when you’d be on your balcony, tucked into a chair with your latest book, and he’d be out there too, leaning over the railing and occasionally glancing over.

He didn’t try to hide it either. 

Dominic looked at you openly, sometimes with the faintest hint of a smirk, like he was waiting for you to call him out. But you never did. 

You just kept reading, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

One night, when his usual party music pulsed into your living room, you sighed and headed out to your balcony, hoping for a quiet escape. 

But of course, there he was, leaning against the railing, cigarette dangling from his fingers, his eyes catching yours the moment you stepped outside.

"Well, hello, new neighbor," he said, flashing a grin. "What brings you to our quiet little paradise?"

You looked around, taking in the party remnants still strewn across his balcony—a few empty bottles, a speaker, a crumpled shirt tossed over a chair. The place screamed not quiet. You quirked a brow, a little smirk forming. 

"Quiet, huh?"

He laughed, unbothered by the observation. "What, you don’t like a little excitement?"

"Excitement’s fine. But I’m more of a ‘book and movie’ person than a ‘dancing til' midnight’ one," you replied, holding up the novel you’d brought out with you.

He leaned on the railing, flicking ash from his cigarette, clearly intrigued. "Let me guess, you’re one of those mysterious types, huh? All books, all quiet moments." He nodded toward your book, lips twisting into a teasing smile. "How romantic."

You rolled your eyes. "And you’re what? The loud, overconfident neighbor I have to put up with?"

He held his hands up, feigning innocence. "Hey, don’t judge me yet. I’ve been known to read, too, you know. Once or twice."

“Oh really?” you shot back, holding back a laugh. “What’s the last book you read?”

He laughed again, a little sheepish. “Alright, maybe it’s been a while. But if you’re up for sharing, maybe I could get into reading again.”

You scoffed. “I’d bet you’d fall asleep halfway through.”

“That a challenge?” His eyebrows lifted playfully. “Because I don’t back down from those. Trust me, new neighbor.”

—

From that night on, you fell into a routine. 

Most evenings, you’d come out with a book, and like clockwork, Dominic would make his way onto his balcony too. Sometimes he’d chat with you, other times he’d just sit there, stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking. 

And little by little, you found yourself looking forward to those evenings—the way his voice drifted over, soft in the night air, and the way his laughter made your pulse quicken just a bit.

His weekend parties became something you learned to live with, even if they did get under your skin sometimes. 

But every now and then, in the middle of a particularly loud song or a burst of laughter from his friends, you’d catch him looking at you across the balcony, like he was daring you to join in.

—

Then one afternoon, you were lost in a book on your balcony when you heard a knock at your door. Surprised, you opened it to find Dominic standing there, hands in his pockets, an easy smile on his face.

“I noticed you’re not at your usual spot,” he said, nodding toward his own balcony. “Figured you might be taking a break from the whole… ‘reading alone’ thing.”

“Maybe,” you replied, crossing your arms. “And you decided to do what? Invite me to a party?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Actually, no. I was thinking of taking a walk down by the beach. Thought you might want to come along.”

You hesitated. He could be loud and a little obnoxious, and part of you still wanted that peaceful, book-filled weekend. But there was another part of you—a part that was curious, intrigued by the casual confidence with which he invited you out.

“Alright,” you said, trying not to smile too widely. “A walk. But if you bring out the speakers, I’m going back inside.”

He grinned, a spark of surprise in his eyes as he stepped back to let you grab your jacket. The walk to the beach was quiet, the two of you falling into a rhythm as the sun dipped lower in the sky. 

The silence was nice, comfortable in a way that you hadn’t expected, and by the time you reached the water, you found yourself relaxing around him.

“This is your spot, isn’t it?” he said, nodding toward the waves.

You glanced at him, surprised. “What makes you think that?”

“I’ve seen you down here a few times,” he admitted, his gaze steady, his tone quieter than usual. “You look… at home here.”

“Guess I do,” you said, shrugging. “I moved here for the quiet. Thought California would be, I don’t know… peaceful.”

He laughed. “… And then you got me as a neighbor. Must feel like a curse sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” you teased, though your smile softened as he looked at you. “But… maybe not all the time.”

The moment stretched out, your heart fluttering as his gaze held yours. 

He was different in this quiet, sunset-lit setting, his usual confidence tempered by something softer, more thoughtful. And for the first time, you felt like you were seeing him—really seeing him—beyond the parties and the noise.

From that day on, the dynamic between you shifted. 

He’d come out onto his balcony when you were reading, asking about your latest book or bringing you coffee on lazy Sunday mornings. Sometimes you’d go for another walk along the shore, talking about everything and nothing as the sun set around you.

The weeks slipped by, and soon enough, you were finding reasons to spend more and more time with him. 

He’d come over for impromptu dinners, always bringing some wild story or teasing comment. Sometimes, you’d even venture onto his balcony, sitting with him in the aftermath of his parties, listening to him ramble about his friends or music or whatever he was passionate about that night.

—

Dominic had a way of showing up unannounced, and you never minded. 

His knock on the door was always followed by that grin of his—half apologetic, half mischievous—like he’d just had an idea to make the night more interesting. 

And every time, you’d find yourself saying yes to whatever spontaneous plan he had, even if it was just an impromptu dinner.

He was leaning against your doorframe when you opened it one evening, a takeout bag in hand, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Hey, I brought Chinese. And I have a crazy story about Reed at the bar last night, and I swear he’s convinced he’s been haunted by a ghost for three days. It’s a mess."

You laughed, stepping aside to let him in. "You’re really the only person I know who could make a simple dinner into an event."

"That’s because I’m here for the drama," he said with a wink, strolling into your apartment as if it was his second home, which, at this point, it practically was.

Dinner was a laid-back affair, the two of you perched on the couch, tossing back takeout containers and halfheartedly watching a movie you weren’t really paying attention to. 

Most of the time, it was like that with Dominic—more about the company than the activity. 

You barely noticed when the food ran out or the movie ended. You were too caught up in his stories, his hands gesturing wildly as he described whatever outrageous thing had happened to him that day. 

At one point, you had to pause him mid-story. "Wait," you interrupted, smirking. "You’re telling me Reed thinks a ghost followed him home from a Halloween party last year?"

He nodded, eyes wide with mock seriousness. "He was practically in tears. I swear, he won’t leave his apartment alone now. I had to convince him the ghost probably has better things to do than haunt a guy who wears socks with sandals."

You burst into laughter, and Dominic joined in, his carefree chuckle filling the room like it always did. 

The next few minutes passed in comfortable silence, with only the sound of music softly playing from the speakers. 

You leaned back on the couch, your feet tucked underneath you, and found yourself staring at Dominic. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d noticed how effortlessly attractive he was, but tonight, it hit you in a different way. His scruffy hair was falling into his eyes, and his lips—those damn lips—had a playful smirk that made you wonder how you hadn’t kissed him yet. 

But you couldn't quite figure out why you hadn’t. It was complicated, like everything with Dominic always seemed to be.

You cleared your throat, brushing away the thought. 

"You know," you said, pulling your legs up onto the couch, "I didn’t expect you to be one for spontaneous dinners. I thought you were more of the ‘grab a burger on the way home’ kind of guy."

Dominic grinned, stretching his arm along the back of the couch casually. "I am," he said, "but sometimes it's nice to get out of my own head. And when I can’t convince my friends to have dinner with me, I come to you." His gaze softened for a moment, and his voice dropped slightly. "You’re the only person who doesn’t look at me like I’m the chaos walking through the door."

Your heart did a little flip at his words. "I like the chaos," you replied, your voice quieter than before.

Dominic tilted his head, studying you with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something he didn’t usually let slip in front of others. 

But before either of you could say anything more, he pushed up from the couch, grabbing his jacket and the empty food containers. 

"I think I’m gonna head to my balcony," he said casually, giving you a sideways glance. "Wanna join? It's not exactly a party, but... it's the best view in the building."

You nodded, feeling an involuntary smile tug at your lips. "Yeah, sure. I’ll be out in a second."

The balcony was quieter than usual tonight—no party chaos, no loud music or chattering voices. Just the sound of distant cars and the occasional crash of waves from the beach below. 

Dominic leaned against the railing, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he stared out at the city lights. You stood beside him, your arms crossed over your chest, just watching him, feeling that familiar tension settle between you.

"You know," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence, "I love this view. But I think I might like it more when you're out here with me." 

His words were soft, genuine, and for a moment, he wasn’t Dominic, the wild party host. He was just a guy, caught in the same quiet moment you were.

You raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was joking or serious, but the look in his eyes was so sincere it made your chest tighten. "You’re full of surprises, you know that?"

He laughed, exhaling a puff of smoke and brushing it aside. "I try to be. Life’s better when you’re unpredictable."

"Yeah, but," you added with a teasing smile, "you’re the only one who doesn’t have a filter. Makes things interesting."

He turned to face you, his posture relaxed but his expression more serious now, as if he was carefully choosing his words. "It’s easy with you. You don’t try to make sense of everything I do. You just let me be... me."

You felt your heart race a little faster, his words hitting somewhere deeper than you expected. You nodded, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of his gaze. "I think that's what I like most about you."

The silence stretched between you, but this time it didn’t feel awkward. It felt... right.

Dominic took one last drag from his cigarette and dropped it into the ashtray. Then he took a step closer to you, his eyes searching yours. "I don’t say it much, but I’m glad you’re here," he said softly.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle in your chest. "Me too."

The night stretched on in a haze of quiet conversation and stolen glances. 

And as you sat together on his balcony, you knew this wasn’t just another casual hangout—it was something more. Something you weren’t quite ready to label, but couldn’t deny was happening between the two of you. 

Slowly, but surely.

—

And then on one Friday, you’d just settled into a new novel when Dominic leaned over, his elbows resting on the railing. "So, big plans for the weekend?" he asked, flashing that familiar smile.

You shrugged. "Same as always. Just me, my book, and TV.”

He feigned shock. "No wild plans? No... secret parties in there?" He nodded toward your apartment, his voice teasing.

"Some of us enjoy a peaceful life," you shot back. "Not everyone throws ragers every Friday night."

"Ouch. You wound me," he said, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "But, hey, just for the record, tonight’s party’s invitation-only. But I could make an exception."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Sorry to disappoint. I don’t think I’d fit in with your crowd."

"Oh, I don’t know," he said, a twinkle in his eye. "You might surprise yourself."

“I haven’t been to a party in ages, Dom,” You say, watching him spark with even more excitement.

“Perfect! Then you’re coming to mine.”

—

You had no intention of actually attending Dominic's party. 

But somehow, your friends that were invited had convinced you to tag along, and now you were here, tucked against a wall in his dimly lit apartment.

Watching the lively crowd fill every corner of his place, music pulsed through the walls, echoing off the high ceilings, and the familiar scent of Dominic’s cologne mingled with the laughter and voices all around.

You were handed three shots of tequila, back to back, and now permanently glued to the corner, away from the chaos. 

You hadn’t even expected Dominic to notice you were here, but just as you were starting to wonder where he was, you felt a hand gently press against the small of your back. 

You turned, and there he was—his grin wide, his eyes lighting up the moment they met yours.

"Well, look who finally made it to one of my parties," he said, leaning close so you could hear him over the music. His voice was low, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. "And here I thought you were all talk about being ‘too quiet’ for nights like this."

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "I’m just here to make sure your guests don’t destroy the building!”

"Oh, so you’re keeping an eye on me, huh?" His hand lingered on your back, his fingers tracing small circles there. His touch was warm, grounding in a way that felt electric and impossible to ignore. "You’re cute when you’re pretending not to have fun."

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Who says I’m pretending?"

He hands you another shot as he pours himself another one; And from the looks of it, he’s had way more than you. 

“Cheers! To… whatever we got going on here,” He says, as you raise the shot glass.

“To whatever we got going on,” The two of you laugh as you feel that god-awful stinging sensation travel down your throat.

“This is the most I’ve drank in a long time!” You giggle, “I forgot how fun this is!”

“Mhm, so maybe you should come to these more often, then.”

“Maybe…” You say as you watch him stare into your eyes and then looking at you, up and down, “Stop staring at me!” You laugh.

He chuckled, slipping his other hand around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “It’s so hard to not stare you when you look this good.”

Your face flushed under his gaze, the teasing glint in his eye sending a shiver through you. 

“I thought you wouldn’t even notice my existence at these things,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant even as your pulse quickened.

“Oh, trust me. I always notice you,” he murmured, his voice lower now, meant just for you. His eyes were intense, his gaze tracing your face, lingering on your lips before he met your eyes again. “And tonight? You’re making it really hard not to.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the minimal space between you and Dominic. 

It was thrilling, that tension lingering in the air, as if the two of you were the only people in the room. And then he leaned closer, his voice a soft murmur near your ear.

"Can I get you another drink? Or would that just give me another excuse to stay by your side?"

You smiled, tilting your head to look at him. "Maybe that’s what I was hoping for."

A look of surprise flickered across his face, and then his lips pulled into a smirk, clearly delighted by your response. 

He didn’t move away as his hand slid down to rest at your waist, his thumb brushing against your hip. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ll show you a good time.”

Your eyes met his, daring him. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Something shifted in his expression then, a flicker of heat, of something more. 

His hand on your waist tightened slightly, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel his warmth seeping into you. 

The room, the crowd, everything else seemed to fade into the background as he looked down at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile that was equal parts flirtatious and dangerous.

He dipped his head, brushing his lips close to your ear. “You know, I was starting to think you’d never come to one of these,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “But now that you’re here… I don’t think I’ll let you out of my sight.”

You let out a breathy laugh, trying to keep your cool despite the way he was looking at you. “I thought you had a hundred guests to entertain.”

“Oh, I do.” He flashed you a grin, leaning in closer. “But none of them are you.”

His hands slipped around your waist, guiding you into the flow of the party. 

He kept you close, weaving through the crowd with a protective edge, and you couldn’t help but notice the way other people glanced over, curiosity and maybe even a little envy in their eyes. 

Dominic, however, didn’t seem to care about anyone else—he only had eyes for you.

He led you out to the balcony, where the cool night air hit your skin and gave you both a moment to breathe. He leaned against the railing, his gaze never leaving you as you looked out at the city lights. 

You turned to face him, realizing how close you still were. He didn’t back up, didn’t pull away. 

His hand brushed your cheek, and there was something softer in his eyes, something that made your heart skip a beat. 

"You truly are full of surprises, you know that?" he murmured, his thumb tracing lightly over your cheekbone.

"I could say— have said— the same about you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, caught between a smile and something more. The playful banter was gone now, replaced by a feeling that felt so much heavier, more real.

He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips, and then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and soft, yet brimming with restrained intensity. 

His hand slipped around to the back of your neck, holding you close, and you melted into him, your fingers curling into his shirt as he deepened the kiss, each moment igniting something new between you.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, his hand still tangled in your hair. 

"I knew this would be bad for me,” he murmured, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed softly, brushing your fingers over his chest. "Then why did you invite me?"

"Because I like you too much to watch you from a distance,” he whispered, his voice warm with laughter as he brought you close again, kissing you with a hunger that felt like the beginning of something neither of you could deny anymore.

The kiss lingered between you, each soft press of his lips against yours a reminder of how close you had become, how suddenly everything seemed to shift. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, the noise of the party still thumping faintly in the distance, but here, in this quiet moment on the balcony, it was as though time had stopped. 

Dominic pulled back slightly, his breath warm on your lips as he whispered, "I didn’t expect this to happen tonight… but I’m not complaining."

You blinked up at him, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "Neither am I," you murmured, your voice almost a breathless laugh.

He ran his thumb gently over your lower lip, his eyes studying you with that mix of curiosity and desire that made your pulse race again. "You know, I think I’ve been waiting for this longer than I realized."

You tilted your head, searching his gaze for any sign of hesitation, but there was none. Just raw, unfiltered honesty. "For me?" you asked, not fully believing it.

His smile was small but undeniably sincere. "Yeah. You’ve always had a way of keeping me on my toes," he admitted. His hand slid down to yours, intertwining your fingers with his. "I’ve wanted to see what would happen if we were ever this close."

And there it was—he hadn’t been hiding anything, hadn’t been pretending. There was no act, no facade; it was just the two of you, standing on a balcony, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air.

"I didn’t think you’d want to be this close," you replied quietly, your thumb tracing the lines of his hand. 

"Why’s that?" His brow furrowed slightly, and there was a hint of playful challenge in his tone.

You shrugged, feeling the vulnerability of the moment. "You’re Dominic. You’re cool and you throw these annoying parties. You don’t seem like the type to chase something… real."

He gave a soft laugh, pulling you just a little closer, his body brushing against yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. "And what does that mean? You think I’m just some guy who doesn’t know what he wants?"

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the teasing disappeared, replaced by something more earnest. "No. I just think you’re used to people coming onto you, not the other way around."

Dominic’s gaze softened, and he let out a quiet sigh. "Maybe I’m not as good at playing it cool as I want everyone to think."

You raised an eyebrow at that. "So what does that make me? Your secret weakness?"

He grinned, the playful edge returning to his voice. "Maybe. But if I’m being honest, I think it’s more than that."

The way he said it, with so much confidence, made your chest tighten. 

There was something about him tonight, something different from the confident, aloof Dominic everyone else saw. In this moment, he was just a guy, a guy who wanted something from you, something more than just the usual game he played.

"Do you want to go back inside?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You didn’t know why, but the thought of being back in the crowded apartment suddenly felt less appealing, the contrast between the chaotic party and the quiet intimacy of the moment stark.

Dominic’s lips quirked into a half-smile, the heat in his gaze never leaving you. "I think I’d rather stay out here… unless you want to change your mind."

"No," you said quickly, shaking your head. "I’m more than fine out here."

He leaned in again, pressing his forehead against yours, and for a moment, the only sound was the quiet rustle of the night air and the distant murmur of the party. 

"Good," he said softly. "Because I’m not done with you yet."

You felt your heart skip a beat, not from fear, but from something that was beginning to feel like anticipation, something that held more weight than just the chemistry between you. 

Maybe it wasn’t just the kiss or the way his touch made you feel, but the realization that something was beginning to take root here, between you and him.

Dominic's hand still rested against your waist, his thumb lightly grazing your skin as he studied you. "You know, I’m not usually this... honest. But with you, I can’t help it." 

You looked up at him, your gaze softening. "Maybe I’m starting to feel the same way."

He smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips. "I’m glad. Because I think we’ve both been pretending long enough."

You laughed lightly, unable to hide the way your heart was racing. "Pretending, huh? Well, now that we’ve admitted it, what do we do next?"

Dominic’s eyes darkened slightly, a shift in his demeanor as he tilted his head, his gaze lingering on your lips again. "Next? We stop pretending."

And with that, he kissed you again, deeper this time, with none of the hesitations or uncertainties that had been there before.

The world outside the balcony faded completely, and all you could feel was the heat of his kiss, the press of his body against yours, and the undeniable pull between you two.

It was clear now—there was no turning back. 

The night, the party, the teasing, the banter… it was all just a prelude to this. To the moment when everything shifted and you both let go of the distance you’d been keeping between you.

Dominic pulled away just enough to look at you, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. "You’re trouble," he murmured.

"Right back at you," you replied, your voice breathless, your heart still racing.

He laughed softly, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t just a playful sound—it was full of something real, something meaningful.

The rest of the world could wait.

[fanfics4all]

What Best Friends Are For

Request: Yes / No

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 1332

Warnings: Mentions of someone dead and being caught up in shady shit

Y/N: Your Name 

Prompt(s): I did this based on this post!

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

I stood in front of Spencer’s door, my heart pounding harder than it ever had. I could feel the cold creeping through my bones, but nothing compared to the chill of fear gripping me inside. I wasn’t sure he’d even recognize me after all this time, sure we talked all the time, but it’s still been so long since we’ve seen each other. But I had nowhere else to go. Nowhere safe, nowhere I trusted. Just Spencer. 

When the door opened and I saw him standing there, I couldn’t help but see a rush of relief wash over me. His face softened and his familiar, warm eyes widened as he looked me over. I saw concern flicker there almost immediately, but he just stepped aside and invited me in. 

The warmth of his apartment was a stark contrast to the icy night outside, but it couldn’t chase away the dread that had settled deep in my chest. I felt his presence at my side as he followed me to the couch. It took everything in me to not break down right then and there. Instead, I forced a small smile and sat, clasping my hand tightly in my lap. 

“Do you remember when we were little, and I asked you if we’d always be friends?” I asked, looking up at him. Spencer smiled that gentle smile that I remembered so well. My heart ached as I waited for his response. 

“I said you could murder someone, and I’d still be your friend.” The warmth of the memory was fleeting. 

“How well has that aged?” I asked, trying to hide the shake in my voice, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a broken whisper. His smile disappeared and his eyes filled with concern as he searched my face. 

“What happened?” I looked down at my hands, trying to gather the corsage to say it. It was the whole reason I came here, wasn’t it? To tell him. To ask for help. I just didn’t know if he’d still look at me the same way again. 

“I… I didn’t know where else to go.” I managed, barely about to keep my voice steady. 

“Something happened, Spence, something bad. And I’m… I’m scared.” His hand covered mine, his touch grounding me like it always had. 

“You can tell me anything, Y/N.” He said and I felt his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. I forced myself to look up at him and I could feel my throat tightening with the words I was about to say. 

“It’s just… things got complicated. I made some bad choices, got mixed up with the wrong people…” I felt a tear slip down my cheek and I looked away, ashamed. 

“And now… now someone’s dead because of me.” 

The silence that followed felt like a thousand pounds on my shoulders. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I couldn’t bear to see disappointment or horror in his beautiful eyes. But instead, I felt his hand squeeze mine, pulling me out of my thoughts. 

“Tell me everything, Y/N.” He whispered, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. 

“We’ll figure this out, together.” I felt another tear escape and this time, I didn’t hold back. I turned my hand under his, squeezing it. The tears came harder, all the fear and guilt I’d been holding back finally surfacing. But Spencer didn’t let go. He just kept his hand in mine. I took a shaky breath, trying to piece together where to even start. 

“It was supposed to be simple…” My voice was barely above a whisper. 

“A couple of new friends and I got caught up in this scheme, Spence. At first, it seemed harmless, a quick way to make some money. But things spiraled so fast…” I looked down ashamed. 

“I didn’t know what they were really planning and by the time I realized… someone was already dead.” Spencer’s grip on my hand tightened. His gaze was fixed on me, his face still calm, but I could see the concern in his eyes deepening. 

“Who are these people? Are you in danger?” I nodded, feeling my stomach twist. 

“They know I want out now. I think they suspected I might talk, and I was scared to go to the police. I thought… maybe I could just come here. You’re the only person I trust.” 

He took a deep breath and I could see him processing everything, analyzing every word I said. Spencer was a genius, that I knew. He’s probably already pieced together more than I could even say. Yet, he didn’t rush me. He let me speak at my own pace, his steady gaze holding me in place. 

“You were right to come here.” He said softly. 

“We’ll handle this. We can go to the police together and I’ll make sure they know you’re not involved the way they’ll think you are. You’re safe here, okay?” The certainty in his words made my heart ache differently. All I’d done was run to him, and yet, he was willing to risk everything just to help me. 

“Thank you, Spence. I-I don’t deserve this kindness.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N.” His tone was gentle, but firm. 

“I’d do anything for you, I always have.” He brushed a strand of hair from my face. I noticed just how close he’d gotten. The world outside, the danger, faded away. It was just us, like when were were kids, the two of us finding safety and understanding in each other. I loved him then, in a way I didn’t fully understand, but now there was no denying what it was. 

“Spencer…” I started, not knowing where to go with the words, but he seemed to understand, like always. He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. 

“We can figure the rest out tomorrow, but tonight, just know I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” I closed the space between us, pressing my forehead against his, feeling his warm breath fan my face. 

“I love you…” I whispered, and before he could say anything, I pressed my lips against his. He didn’t hesitate to kiss me back. 

“I love you too, Y/N…” He said when we pulled away. 

“But, if you needed money, why didn’t you come to me?” He asked, his voice gentle but I could hear a bit of hurt. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out at first. Shame and guilt clawed at me, knowing I’d chosen the riskier, more dangerous path instead of just talking to him. 

“Spencer…” I whispered, looking down. My fingers were fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve. 

“I…I didn’t want you to think less of me. I didn’t want you to see me like this… Desperate, needing help. I was afraid you’d think I was weak.” He shook his head, squeezing my hand gently. 

“That’s not true and you know it.” He said, a hint of frustration in his voice. 

“I would never have thought less of you. I would have done anything to help you, make sure you didn’t have to go through this.” His voice softened. 

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. That’s what I’m here for, to help you.” I felt a tear slide down my cheek, and he brushed it away. 

“I thought I could fix it myself. I didn’t want to be a burden.” I admitted, my voice trembling again. 

“You could never be a burden to me.” He said softly. A shaky breath escaped me, and I felt his arm slide around my shoulders, pulling me into a gentle embrace. I melted into his warmth, letting him calm me down. 

“I’m sorry, Spence… I’m so sorry.” I muttered against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under my cheek. He held me tighter, his hand brushing through my hair. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re here now and that’s all that matters. We’ll get through this together.” He whispered.

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[rist-ix]

This might be weird but bare with me: i saw some fanart of valtor and his mamma bears (I'm sorry), he was freshly made and a child still for some reason (idk if it's canon at this point that he was made in adult form or not buuuut) and so it's shown how they don't like him but at the next panel he wants their makeup so tharma and lysliss give him a makeover and at the end belladonna says i think we'll find a use for that pretty face. What i started thinking was if it's possible they used him as a pr0stitute at some point besides all the torture they put him through. My brain today is fixated on how much trauma or ptsd he could possibly have. Now that i write it i sense how weird this is but what do you think?

My friend my dude my brother in fandom, I am but a humble bacteria and u have given me the juiciest slimiest tastiest agar plate imaginable. Let’s get INTO THIS!

(For the record, this is purely fanon. I think I’ve alluded to this headcanon of mine in fics but I am well aware that I have little to no evidence from canon for these assumptions.)

ABSOLUTELY I think that Valtor was used for getting into royal's beds. Though I do think it would have been more complicated than simply “his moms are whoring him out cause they hate him and they want stuff from people” — and I think there are some FASCINATING implications that has for both Valtor's personality as a whole, and his relationship to sexuality and his own body.

First of all, the reason why I think you are correct is simple: he seems to be universally regarded as attractive in-universe, to the point of having even the Trix fawning over him, and he is consistently seen using charm and flattery to get others to do what he wants. If you wanted to expand on this in a darker and more mature setting, the logical conclusion would be that he'd use his body the same way. And I do think he would do that entirely of his own will by the way, no coercion necessary! Though there most certainly was coercion.

That ties a little bit into my view on the Ancient Coven's relationship to each other in general. While we do see Valtor and the Ancestresses at odds with each other in the finale (culminating in the Witches ‘disinheriting’ him and reverting him to his monster form), the fact that they seem to have worked successfully together for AT LEAST a good few decades implies they could be cordial when necessary. Plus, Valtor somewhat wistfully recalls working under them with Griffin, smirking and content in the flashback, makes me personally believe they were genuinely GOOD at cooperating too, instead of the Witches relying solely on tyranny. Don’t get me wrong: there is no way they were a happy family. I'm thinking more along the lines of them playacting as a very harmonious coven, doting creators and loyal creation, like a game that every one of them is in on — a performance, just for funsies, and because none of them want the outside world to see them as anything but perfectly aligned and ruthlessly efficient. All that while also having a sort of spiteful, vengeful arms race going on internally, with Valtor not-so-secretly trying to find ways to overthrow them, and them waiting for him to lean out of cover too far so they can gleefully, brutally remind him who's in charge.

There's a deep, deep, deeply rooted resentment Valtor seems to have for them, but they are also objectively the same: They both want power, they both want to control the Dimension, they both would do anything to accomplish that goal. So if there was a situation in which having someone charming on the inside would help them, I think both Valtor and the Witches would come to the conclusion that Valtor could do whatever necessary to accomplish that. Be it charm someone, poison someone, or sleep with someone in the hopes they might spill some secrets. I consider all four of them to be pretty pragmatic, I don’t think there would be any conflict or hesitation here — not at first.

Because while Valtor would certainly agree that that’s the best approach, and probably be more than willing to get out of their sight for a while and live it up in some palace or another, I do think it would chafe at him eventually. Whether he's using his body to fight people or seduce them is not all that different, both happens at their behest. He's always painfully aware that he is their tool — but I imagine it does get more pronounced with the latter. Especially over time. Your taste in people or attraction does not matter in combat, but certainly plays a role in sex. While Valtor certainly seems to enjoy putting on a show in combat, that is a power play, whereas having to play a long con, with himself so heavily involved no less, can start to feel humiliating, tiring, more like a loss of agency than a game of wits. I don’t think it’s the seduction itself that would bother him, but the clear knowledge that he's just following his creator's plans here, puppeteered even in this aspect of his life.

The result of that in the present day of the s3 era wouldn’t be sexual trauma per se, I would headcanon. Not in the ptsd sense at least. (Though I bet a good fic could convince me otherwise :D) I remain a firm believer that his trauma is purely about his lack of control over his physical form, and a revulsion towards his original body that borders on dysphoria. The sexual aspect of his utility to them would ADD to that, don’t get me wrong, but it wouldn’t be the main source.

It DOES influence him though.

I'm thinking mainly about Valtor's interactions with the Trix here. On multiple occasions he secretly witnesses how they argue or straight up brawl over who gets to have him. None of them even thinks about who he might have shown the most interest in, they treat this solely as a contest of strength, winner takes all. (I don’t think that’s them being rapey btw just to be clear. I see it speaks more to them being juvenile and deeply unserious about romantic relationships, like dogs chasing cars. They don’t care enough about people beyond the three of them to have any actual experience with romance: Darcy's fling with Riven was discarded INSTANTLY once the three had something better to entertain them �� like world domination. If one of them had “won” only to get ignored or rejected, the other two would have laughed her out of the room and then they would have done it all over again the next day.) im getting distracted. What I meant to get to is that Valtor sees them acting like he's a prize to be won… and he does not react at all. The first time he finds it mildly entertaining, the next few times the bit seems to get old for him already. That’s it. He encourages their possessiveness of course! He clearly enjoys being feared, admired, or simply the center of attention, but being treated without regard for his own desires doesn’t really register as an insult to him. AND he's shown to be pretty unperturbed with Darcy getting into his space, and flirting rather aggressively with him.

And while that may seem anticlimactic after all that, I find that FASCINATING. (Not just because Winx Club consistently writes men — powerful men! — the way female characters would be treated in another show. An essay of its own!) A non-reaction is still a reaction, and Valtor's lack of irritation says a lot in my opinion. I think he has little to no real boundaries, at least outside of combat or with people that are allies/useful to him. By that I don’t mean he would reject someone's advances if he didn’t welcome them, but that he wouldn’t really remember that this is a point where people usually DECIDE whether they welcome the advances or not, u know what I mean? I think his entire sense of self is pretty nebulous to himself, and that his own body seems to him more like a commodity than, well, him. Which makes sense, doesn’t it? He is created as one thing, for one purpose, and then given another body, for another purpose. He prefers to be human, reviles the monstrous form, but has no control over which one he is at any given moment — the people who do could change their minds on a whim. It would make sense for him to feel somewhat alienated from his physical form, and therefore have little care for what happens to it. It would take him far longer to know his own reactions, and to realize whether he enjoys something or not.

I feel like I’ve only managed to put like, half of what's in my head into words here. The dysphoria thing alone feels like something that should be dissected on its own, but I’m dead tired and this post is already pretty long. I will say that I’m not 100% consistent in this headcanon, and depending on the fic I use some of this and some of that, but I do think it’s one of my most favorite reads on Valtor as a character. Thank you so much for this ask!!! I hope the answer is close to what you hoped for lol

[famoussharkhairdoknight]

Between Hate and Desire- Pope Heyward

You sit on the shore, your bare feet in the cold water, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks. The sunset paints the sky in orange and pink, but your mind is elsewhere. You're trying to ignore the growing tension between you and the Pogues, especially Pope. Even though you're a Kook and things have always been complicated between you, you can't get him out of your head. The hate he seems to feel, mixed with an undeniable attraction, confuses you.

"Why are you here?" Pope's voice makes you jump, and you turn around quickly. He’s appeared out of nowhere, as always. His expression is serious, but there's something in his eyes that makes you doubt.

"Can’t I just come watch the sunset without you asking me a question?" you reply with a mischievous smile, trying to hide your nervousness.

Pope raises an eyebrow, his gaze betraying a hint of irritation, but there’s also something else, a spark of curiosity. "We’re not exactly friends, you know?"

"We’re something more complicated than that, Pope," you reply with a challenging tone, and he notices immediately. His gaze becomes more intense, but he doesn’t look away.

"Your friends..." Pope starts but stops. A bitter smile touches his lips. "What do you really want from them? You’re not one of us, and you know it."

"It’s not that I care so much about being one of 'you,'" you reply calmly, but your heart is pounding. "But you, Pope... you’ve always been like this... unyielding. Like you can’t see beyond that."

Pope takes a step closer to you, his eyes locked on yours. "And you’ve always been like this, haven’t you? Convincing everyone you’re superior, but deep down you’re just a Kook. A Kook trying to ruin the lives of those who don’t think like you."

His voice is sharp, but the way he looks at you makes you realize those words aren’t filled with hate, but something more complex. Maybe it’s just fear. Fear of what might happen if he let go.

"Why do you care so much?" you ask, feeling your breath quicken. Your heart races as you realize the distance between you two has narrowed to just a few steps.

Pope stops, staring at you for a moment as if he’s trying to decode a puzzle. "I shouldn’t, but I do. I can’t ignore you, even when I want to."

You move closer, so close that you can feel the beat of his heart. "And yet you trust me, even though you have every reason to hate me."

A smile forms on his lips, but it’s not like the ones others know. "I don’t hate you, Y/N. I... understand you."

The tension is palpable between you two, and as his eyes drift to your lips, all you want is for him to give in. But he’s always been so stubborn, so sure of wanting to keep control.

"You’re an enigma, Pope," you murmur as you reach out to touch his face. "A Kook who has the power to make you falter."

Pope’s breath becomes more uneven, but he doesn’t say anything. He moves closer, so close you can feel his warmth. Then, with a quick motion, he stops. "I’m not like the others, Y/N. I can’t... I can’t be like them."

His voice is a whisper, but you know nothing is clearer. The struggle between what he should be and what he feels is evident, but you have no intention of letting him escape.

The distance between you and Pope seems to have disappeared. The air around you is so thick it almost pulses. You look into his eyes, and for a moment, everything seems to stop. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore fades away, and the whole world vanishes. Then, without warning, Pope takes a step forward, and his warm breath brushes against your face.

"I can’t keep denying it," he whispers, his eyes dropping to your lips. "I can’t ignore you anymore."

His words are like an invitation. Your heart beats loudly in your chest as you take another step toward him. His hands gently cup your face, and without thinking, his lips find yours.

The kiss is sweet at first, as if you both are trying to figure out if this is really what you want. Then, like a fire igniting, the passion grows, and his hands move to your waist, pulling you toward him. You feel lost in the moment, completely overwhelmed by the warmth and strength of his embrace.

There are no obstacles between you now, just the urgency of a kiss that tastes like freedom and desire. His lips move against yours with a fervor you hadn’t imagined, and you respond with the same intensity, as if every part of you is finally free to give in.

When you separate, both of you breathe heavily, as if not quite believing it. "I don’t know what’s happening, but..." Pope says, his voice betraying a vulnerability you didn’t expect.

"Don’t worry," you reply, trying to stop the tremble in your voice. "I don’t know either. But I don’t care."

[brokenlovesong]

LOVE IS NEVER A GUARANTEE

darry x paul rating: general word count: 6.7k

Paul and Darry were reminding him less and less of how he and Johnny were and more of Elizabeth and Mr.Darcy throughout the novel, Pride And Prejudice, which Ponyboy had just started. The only difference is that in the chapter he’s currently reading, Elizabeth and Mr.Darcy are still working through their reasons not to finally fall in love, whereas Darry and Paul have already set aside the differences that prevented them from forming a close relationship. Or The Darry/Paul Madras shirt fic that became way more complicated than it had to be.

[short excerpt]

“See? I told you the shirt would look good,” Paul said as he fixed the collar around Darry’s neck.

Darry’s cheeks were red as a tomato. He must have been running around all afternoon with Paul tossing the football around. Or maybe they went for a jog. “You’re just sayin’ that cause ya have to.”

“I’d say it even if I didn’t.” They were standing so close, they were probably breathing in each other’s breaths. Their noses were practically touching. “We still on for tomorrow?”

It seemed like Darry wanted to speak. But nothing came out when he opened his mouth despite the effort, as if all knowledge of the English language had suddenly vanished from existence. Instead, he just swallowed hard and nodded slowly. Darry wasn’t often at a loss for words. He was usually a pretty well spoken guy. Great at first impressions and an excellent public speaker. This was apparently not one of those times. But Ponyboy couldn’t quite figure out what had his brother so shell shocked.

Unfortunately, Paul moved from where he stood, previously obstructing the doorway that Ponyboy was speaking out of. He knew he was about to get caught and with all the stealth of a spy on their first day of training, he collided into one of the metal chairs, sending him backwards into an end table their mother kept a well watered flower vase on. Practically in slow motion, he watched as the vase teetered back and forth from the momentum of the table before toppling over to the ground. The glass shattered the moment it made contact with the hard, wood floor, spreading out into a million tiny shards almost impossible to see.

[full fic on ao3]

[hmantegazzi]

Yeah, because that happens to almost no one since the 60s.

Edit: yup, I forgot that you got to keep the worst part of the old-school pension systems, having them being managed by your employer. Well, at least you didn't lose your Social Security! We had to do without ours from 1981 to 2008, and it was BAD. ok, end aside.

Pension money is actually given to you *now* by whoever you work for, in your monthly payments (if you're employed with a contract, this is), and then whatever your pension fund is, manages that money, produces way more of it (ideally) and gives to you back when you stop working, in a lesser amount of what you earned back then (fundamentally because the part that went to that fund was just a small percentage of your wage, for starters).

In most places this isn't enough to make old people make ends meet, so the governments give them another pension, basically for free (but in fact paid by taxes themselves paid much before), to close the gap. Here, for example, (almost) everyone that earns less than USD 821 as a pensioner also receives USD 241 monthly by a government pension, or a diminishing proportion if they earn between USD 821 and 1304. As a reference, the minimum monthly wage here is USD 470.

Oh, and by the way, our contributive pension system (the one paid with our savings) is so bad that this other one pays, by far, the biggest share of money that the elderly receive.

Pensions sound so fake as a zillennial. You work for one place for decades (already sounds fake) and then afterwards you leave and they just. keep paying you. the same amount of money. to do nothing. for the rest of your life. if i wasn't already aware that this was something that readily and commonly existed during my grandparent's days then it would sound like some kind of socialist pipe dream