#because I’m trying so fucking hard to make friends

[imsofreakingtired]

hihihihiiiii can you make more of Sevika x Masc reader, I just read it, and I'm sorry to say I'm now ADDICTED!!! Scenario: Sev and Masc reader encounter a cockroach, and fight over who's NOT gonna kill it (they're both scared little girls squealing, and convincing eachother to kill it. They moved out) ORR, ORR, ORRR Sevika x masc reader, where Sevika is jealous and possessive over reader, and reader is the same to her. I NEED MOREEEEEE (I'm sorry I'm so hyped, I love this, please make more if u have time hehe 🙏) -I'm just a really deprived butch4butch girl who's not above begging 🎀🎀🎀

absolutely i am also starved for mascxmasc content 😩

Sevika x masc!reader pt 3

pt 1 pt 2

________

on nights out it’s always a fight for your life because there are girls coming left and right trying to hook up with either of you. Sevika finds it funny because they always assume the two of you are just two masc lesbian friends out looking for some action, but she never gives them so much as a glance. when someone is really insistent, she’ll give them a half smirk and say “thanks doll, but I’m spoken for,” nodding in your direction where you’re glaring at the girl across the table gripping the cup so tight it might shatter.  on the other hand, sometimes you like to tease Sevika. when the girls come over to flirt with you, you entertain them, leaning forward, touching their hair, letting them try on your rings. you know nothing gets Sevika off like jealousy. you like to watch her seethe out of the corner of your eye as the girl gives you a whiff of the perfume on her neck. you know that the minute she gets you alone that night there’ll be hell to pay, and god are you looking forward to it. 

one day you hear a huge clatter in the kitchen while Sevika’s making dinner and you jump up and run over, thinking she hurt herself. you find her withdrawn to the corner of the room, breathing hard, staring at a huge roach on the floor, cocking its antennae as if aware of the terror it inflicts on her. “sevika, what the fuck, are you okay??” “quick. kill it,” she says, pointing at the roach. “kill it before it gets away.”  that’s when you see the bug. you let out a scream and practically jump back into her. “i’m not touching that! you’re the butch here!” “oh so suddenly i’m the big strong masc?” the roach skitters a few steps towards you. you scream again. you can feel every fight-or-flight instinct being jolted in Sevika’s body.  “fine. FINE!” you take a shoe from the foyer and tentatively move towards the roach, shoe raised. when it moves, you lose your nerve.  “what if we just moved, Sevika.”

on days when she comes home late from work stressed and frustrated from a problem she can't work out you grab her hand and pull her into the hall without a word, push her up against the wall, and fuck her till her knees go weak and her thoughts fade into nothing. then you walk away to cook dinner like nothing happened

she doesn't like movies unless you're watching them with her, but she will get heavily invested in true crime documentaries and you will not be getting any attention in the two hours she is watching the docs and yelling at the screen as if the detectives can hear her

you like the texture of her buzzcut hair at the base of her head so when she lies with her head in your lap you rub behind her ear with your thumb like she's a dog and it always makes her fall asleep

the two of you are like dumb & dumber when it comes to buying gifts for female relatives or femme friends because you'll both walk into a sephora looking for a specific piece of makeup they requested, walk around as if you know where you're going, then leave muttering something about ordering it online

Sevika is like a kid on Christmas morning in a hardware store. you have to physically drag her away from each aisle. "Sevika, for the last time, we don't need to renovate our sink, we're here for fucking LIGHTBULBS." (she will also mysteriously discover all of a sudden that she needs three new wrenches and a drill)

she gets awful period cramps and calls you an animal for working out on your period (maybe i'm projecting here) "do you enjoy torturing yourself??" "running helps with the cramps." "come a little closer and say that to me again..."

she's the "in-bed-with-a-good-book-by-10pm" older butch and you're the "i'm-on-my-6th-cup-of-coffee-and-whenever-i-pass-out-next-is-purely-up-to-the-gods" younger masc. she gets up at one point in the night to use the bathroom and sees you learning a choreography in the living room because you randomly decided to teach yourself to dance. she just stares at you in sleepy disbelief in her boxers and tank top. Sevika: it's 3am. You: aww, your hair's all messed up. cutie patootie. Sevika: Sevika: *slowly turns and walks back into the bedroom* (she isn't entirely sure if she dreamed the whole thing or not.)

on formal nights out: she's the tux, shirt, dress pants, shoes combo and you're the blazer with a bra underneath combo. it drives her insane how hot you look. "baby, that blazer is not making it through the night." "i sure fucking hope not."

when Sevika walks down the streets at night she tends to scare the women a little because she's 6 foot fucking 1, very masc presenting, and wears hoodies and leather jackets. to remedy this she has begun tying gay ribbons to the belt loops of her jeans "vika, i don't think anyone'll be able to even notice those." "it's the thought that counts." "no-"

Sevika always being the tough butch at her workplace with her poker face and relentless efficiency. you come in one day to surprise her at work and find her telling off an employee about some mistake, and it's lowkey both scary and hot as hell. it's also a little funny since you're so used to seeing her all soft and needy at home, because you're the only one she feels safe enough to let her guard down for.

~~~

thanks @shanesevikasfuckdoll for the req :)

[bitchinbarzal]

Choose Me | J Middleton

summary: you overhear something you shouldn’t and jake realises he can’t lose you over it.

-

The bar is packed, buzzing with the kind of energy that only comes after a big win. Jake is in the center of it all, surrounded by teammates and friends, his laugh carrying over the music. You had been standing near the bar, sipping a drink, when you heard his voice—clear as day, cutting through the noise like a slap to the face.

“Marriage? Nah, man. I don’t see the point. We’re good how we are.”

You freeze. The words slam into your chest with the force of a slapshot.

You turn to look at him, your stomach twisting as he claps his teammate on the back, completely unaware that his words just shattered something inside you.

You want to walk away, pretend you didn’t hear it, but the ache in your chest demands otherwise. So you step forward, heart pounding, and call his name.

Jake turns, still grinning—until he sees your face. His expression falters. “Hey, baby. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you.” Your voice is steady, but barely.

He nods, sensing the shift in your mood, and follows you outside. The cold Minnesota air stings your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat boiling inside you.

You round on him the second the door closes. “So, you don’t see the point?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Marriage, Jake. You don’t see the point in marrying me?”

His jaw tightens. “You heard that?”

“Yeah, I did.” You cross your arms, trying to keep your voice even, but the hurt seeps through. “Is that how you really feel?”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I just don’t think marriage changes anything. We’re good, aren’t we?”

“Maybe you think that, but I don’t,” you snap. “I want to get married, Jake. I’ve always wanted that.”

His brow furrows. “Why? It’s just a piece of paper—”

“It’s not just a piece of paper to me!” Your voice breaks, and you shake your head. “It’s about commitment. It’s about choosing each other, every day, no matter what. It’s about knowing that we’re in this for life, that we’re building something real.”

His face twists in frustration. “You think I’m not committed to you? You think I don’t love you?”

You swallow hard. “I think you don’t want the same things I do. And if that’s the case… then what’s the point?”

His eyes widen, panic flickering across his face. “Wait, what are you saying?”

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “If you don’t want to get married, then I don’t see a future here.”

“Baby, come on.” His voice is rough, desperate. “You’re really gonna walk away over this?”

You hate the way your body trembles, hate that you love him so much it physically hurts. But you can’t ignore this. You won’t settle.

“I can’t be with someone who doesn’t want the same future as me.” The words taste like regret, but you say them anyway.

And then you walk away.

Jake doesn’t sleep that night.

Or the night after that.

Or the one after that.

Your absence is everywhere. The bed is too cold, too big. The apartment feels empty, hollow. He catches himself reaching for his phone too many times, only to remember you’re not his to call anymore.

And it wrecks him.

Because he was wrong. So goddamn wrong.

Losing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. Worse than any injury, any loss on the ice. And if marriage is what you need to feel secure, to feel loved, then he’s a goddamn idiot for ever making you think he wouldn’t give that to you.

He just needs to prove it to you.

It’s a week later when you step out of your building and nearly run into Jake.

Your breath catches. He looks exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, like he hasn’t been sleeping. But his eyes, stormy and desperate, are locked onto you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask cautiously.

“Fighting for you.” His voice is rough, and he exhales, pulling something from his pocket. Your heart nearly stops when you see the small velvet box in his hand.

Your lips part in shock. “Jake—”

“I fucked up,” he says, stepping closer. “I was scared. Not of commitment, not of you—just of the idea that I could lose you. But I already did, didn’t I?” His voice breaks. “And I can’t live like this. I can’t live without you.”

Tears blur your vision. “Jake—”

“You wanna get married?” He opens the box, revealing a ring. “Then let’s get married. Not because I have to, not because you’re making me—because I want to. Because if being your husband is what it takes to keep you, then I’ll do it a thousand times over.”

Your breath hitches. “Are you serious?”

He steps even closer, crowding into your space, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you more than anything. And I want a life with you. Whatever that looks like—married, kids, whatever. As long as it’s you.”

A sob escapes you, and suddenly, you’re in his arms. He holds you so tightly, like he’s terrified you’ll slip away again.

“You idiot,” you whisper against his chest. “You should’ve just said that in the first place.”

His laugh is shaky, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know. I’m sorry. Just—tell me it’s not too late.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze, then glance at the ring in his hand. Your heart swells, aching and full.

And then you nod. “Ask me properly.”

His lips curve into a slow, relieved smile. He sinks to one knee, still holding your hand.

“Marry me?”

This time, there’s no hesitation.

“Yes”

[snowluvvie]

FUCK AWFFF COLLEGE RODRICK

everybody gave you two the kind of “really, him?” “how’d he get her?” sidelong glances when you’d started dating in high school. you’d basically swooned over him the first time you’d met at school—but for most of your classmates, the way he’d chase people down to convince them to attend his band’s shows rubbed them the wrong way. most people would describe Rodrick as ‘desperate’—but they weren’t fucking him, so they didn’t know how truly desperate he was, did they? either way, it didn’t matter. you wanted him, you had him hook, line and sinker. you weren’t exactly upset that people weren’t trying to snatch your boyfriend from you—you got his shaggy hair that was always too long, his hands calloused from the drum sticks, his nervous smile that he tried to play off as a smirk. you got him. you liked it that way.

you went off to college together, and Rodrick looked different by the end of freshman year. he was different. he laughed at the frat boys and grimaced at the music they played at parties. sure, he’d always been into different stuff—but now he was confident about it. he liked his music. he liked his friends. he liked his band. and, of course, he liked you (doesn’t count though. that’s not controversial. everyone knows you’re hot.)

you noticed this change in confidence before anyone else did. before it showed in his eyes and his clothes, it showed in the way he grabbed your face to kiss you, tangled his hands in your hair, grinned into your mouth. it showed in the way his fingers dug into his hips when he was fucking you, the way he ran his mouth. it had always been “this is so hot” “i can’t believe i’m fucking you” “you’re so hot” with him. now, he was boldly moaning “you like that, huh? i can feel it” he chuckled at the way you gushed around him when he was buried inside of you, he loved it, and now he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it.

people did notice him now, though. his new favorite bomber jacket did wonders for him, and his arms had gotten a little bigger underneath it. he wasn’t ‘hunky’ now, by any means, but in college people were a lot more forgiving of the eyeliner-and-unsuccessful-band thing. it wasn’t lame and desperate here, it was cool and niche. you two weren’t hot girl and “he makes me laugh” loser like they called you in high school—now you were hot girl and cool drummer boyfriend.

but even now that people actually come to his band’s dimly-lit club and coffee shop gigs, and buy some tees from the merch table, and giggle a little, waving their fingers and going “heyyy Rodrick, you were great this weekend!” when they walk past him on campus, it doesn’t really matter. you’re the one he searches for when he’s playing, grinning proudly at you in the crowd. you’re the one who sits shotgun in the band van, leaning on the center console while he tells you how pretty you’ve looked all night. you’re the one who passes out on Rodrick’s shitty dorm mattress with him, tangled together and attempting to kiss but failing because you’re both so exhausted, and the one who wakes up the next morning and watches him yawn and ruffle his hand through his dark hair, moving sluggishly through the dorm without a shirt and with eyeliner from last night still smeared on his face.

you’re the one he’s fucking—his people-pleaser desperate-for-validation tendencies are still very intact when it comes to you. his eyes still practically pop out of his head every time he sees your tits, he still has to squeeze his eyes shut when you dirty talk because the sound of your voice drives him insane, and he still rolls his eyes hard when you tell him that no, he can’t eat you out right now, you have to go to class. the audacity. at the end of the day, he’s your Rodrick, no matter how many other people are suddenly paying attention to him

[ghostgirl-22]

If you saw me post this and accidentally delete the ask and everything, no you didn’t 😭

But yeah anon. Patrick would do anything for him.  Make a mess of him before his first hook up with the prettiest girl in school. Just because he feels like it, just because he can. Because Art’s his best friend. His.  

He’s an amazing friend.

CW: 18+ NSFW 

——-

“Is it okay?” Art asks. He’s dressed up so nice in one of Patrick’s smaller sweaters, its cloudy blue like his eyes. He’s got on fitted black jeans, and a brown leather jacket. He looks so good, smells so good, like black cherry and tobacco, this expensive cologne that he only wears when he thinks he might get laid. 

He’s visibly nervous. Chewing incessantly on spearmint gum. Always nervous about his first time with a new girl. Patrick doesn’t know why, if he was a pretty girl he’d be wet the moment Art turned that shy little smile in his direction. He doesn’t need to dress up, pretty boy. He got Kennedy Sawyer’s attention in sweatpants and a t-shirt while he was arguing with Patrick over final fantasy play styles at breakfast.

But that’s not important. What’s important is Patrick just wants to help. Art is his best friend after all. He sits up on his bed, dropping his game controller. “Come ‘ere,” he says. Art checks his hair in the mirror for the third time and then approaches Patrick, eyes dilated, nerves making him run his sweaty palms awkwardly over his jeans.  That’s when it catches Patrick’s eye. He teases his finger tips up Art’s thighs up to the bulge along his hip, it’s not obvious but Patrick knows him so well, knows how he tries to hide it, but Patrick can tell that he’s hard. “I can’t calm down,” Art admits quietly. 

“You wanna know my secret?” Patrick asks, gripping at either side of his unzipped jacket and pulling him closer. “Like how I stay cool when I’m out with a beautiful girl?” 

Art looks hopeful that Patrick’s about to tell him the secret to life. “How?” 

Patrick tugs Art a little bit closer so he’s got a leg on either side of one of Patrick’s thighs. “I like to rub one out first…  just to help my nerves.”

“I um—really?” Art studies him, trying to decide whether Patrick means it or if he's full of shit. “No fucking way,” he decides, followed by that stupid pretty smile of his, the one that makes Patrick want to get on his knees. 

“I’m so serious,” that smile is contagious even when Arts annoyed. Patrick keeps his grip on Art’s jacket to hold him in place. “It helps, I promise. Especially if she’s really pretty, like Kennedy is. Plus it helps so I don’t finish too fast when we…” he looks up at Art's pretty blue eyes, letting him fill in the blank.

He’s chewing again. Anxious. He definitely has that “too fast” issue. He gets so excited. Patrick still touches himself remembering the night Art asked him, red faced and shy to please show him how to French kiss. Not even two minutes with Patrick’s tongue in his mouth and he’d already cum in his pants and got so embarrassed he nearly cried. Doesn’t even get how gorgeous he is. 

Oh. Patrick just wants to help him. Wants to help him so bad. He’s his best friend after all. Patrick can just imagine Art, soft and sweet and so gentle with her. Fucking into her, losing it too fast and promising he can do it again. Tears of shame in his eyes. God, Patrick kinda wants to be her. 

“I guess I should…” Art says quietly, bringing Patrick back from his thoughts. His expression thoughtful, his tongue, eager as he plays with his gum in his mouth. 

“I mean… what could it hurt?” Patrick shrugs, grabbing at Arts belt buckle.

“Um…” Art blinks, confused. He’s so smart but stupid about some things. He gets with the program fast enough, once Patrick’s got his hands on him. God, he’s hard. So fucking hard he’s already leaking into his boxers, can’t calm down. Let’s Patrick pull him onto his lap as his breathing picks up. “Patrick, no, it’s late. ‘m gonna be late,” he sounds a little panicky, but he’s gripping at Patrick’s biceps as they both look down at his lap, Patrick’s hand working inside his boxers. 

“No, it’s okay, I promise,” Patrick whispers. Not sure what he’s promising, he’s already lost the plot. Art smells so good. Patrick always wonders if he tastes as good as he smells in this cologne. He licks a stripe up the side of his throat, kisses his way up to Art's lips. Petal soft and minty, Art opens up right away. His mouth heated and… oh so wet. He scoots closer, his neatly ironed shirt getting wrinkled because he’s pressed up against Patrick’s body. His fingers tangled in Patrick’s hair. The kiss getting sloppier, sticky gum sliding back and forth between them. He’s chaos. So good at keeping it all in until he can’t. 

If Patrick wasn’t hard from the moment Art got back to the room to get ready for his little date he’d be gone by now. Patrick is dizzy, swallowing on Art’s helpless little gasps, the kinda kissing that can make Art come untouched. But Patrick wants to touch him,  bucks his hips up so Art can feel him. It’s not too long before Art is just mouthing him, no technique no nothing, just opened mouth moaning against Patrick’s lips. Patrick’s heart is racing, the blood pounding in his ears. He’s on the brink. 

“Tell me what you wanna do to her?” Patrick mutters hot, against his lips, hand gripping tighter, moving faster. You’ve been so patient for two months. So good… I bet you can’t wait to fuck into her wet dripping cunt…”  

“God Patrick…I want it so bad,” He whines. “I wanna— wanna fuck— fuck—” 

“Yeah?” Patrick coaxes, as if any of this is coherent.

“God Patrick, Patrick,” it’s all he can manage before spilling it everywhere, heated sticky pearls of white all over that neatly pressed blue shirt and black jeans. The image of it makes Patrick lose it, breathless in his pants. They’re both sitting there, catching their breaths. A soft sheen of sweat visible on Art’s forehead, his skin mildly flushed.

”Fuck,” Art whispers after a minute. “My…my clothes.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs, leaning back on the bed, letting the mess on his palm spread onto his sheets. “Shoulda done it before you got dressed probably…” 

Art takes a deep breath and pushes himself up to his feet, while simultaneously trying to straighten himself out. Patrick watches him, mildly amused. “I have to change… do you um… do you have another shirt?”

”I mean… I think what you were wearing is perfect. God. It really brings out your eyes.”

”Well I can’t wear it now, and I’m already late, god I’m supposed to meet her out front in ten minutes. We’re gonna miss the movie and the next show is not till 8 and we won’t make dinner before curfew and Ms. Henderson will be sitting outside the girls dorm and—” He’s started talking so fast he’s getting pitchy.  

“Hey I got a crazy idea,” Patrick interrupts and Art stares at him, so pathetically frustrated but also covered in jizz. It almost makes Patrick laugh but he stops himself. “This is supposed to be special, right? Why don’t you wait till tomorrow night? You can wash everything and you know… we can do it before you get dressed next time.”

”No we are not doing that again,” Art says determinedly, because he’s so sated and in his right mind.  

“Well you can then,” Patrick shrugs, smirking. 

Art rolls his eyes and goes to pick up his phone from the charger to text her the change of plans. Patrick goes into the bathroom to clean up a bit. 

“I’m gonna be hungry, should we order pizza?” Art calls from the room. 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, smiling to himself in the mirror. “Definitely.” 

[charmwasjess]

for our good friend dooku, 16, 21&22, and 6 if you have more to say about it. 🙏🙇‍♂️

OH YOU JUST COME INTO MY ASK BOX AND MAKE MY DAY?!! :D Beloved anon, these are SUCH fun questions and I absolutely had a blast answering them. Thank you so much! Stop by anytime and I’ll make you a cup of coffee! (I have tea too, but my taste in tea is real gross.)

16. What's your least favorite ship for this character?

Ohh, this is a hard one! 

The thing is, while I have my favorites, I find Dooku soo very shippable with a vast number of characters - not because he has any healthy understanding of his own sexual and emotional needs anymore than he has a healthy relationship with food - but because especially in his Sith era, he’s a black hole of need and loneliness. Sex is like the one way Sith are allowed to access the intimacy that fifty years of Jedi communal life has trained him to want and need. 

The ship for him that I absolutely love-hate in that vein is Sidious/Dooku. I doubt it went much further than a few absolutely debased encounters because let’s be honest, Sidious can do much better and isn’t in the habit of letting his dog eat from his plate, but whoof, what a fun, fucked up ship with nasty power dynamics. “Oh nooo, oh no, awful….where’s the link?” energy.

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

I love giving Dooku big, often violent, over the top moments where his natural appetite for chaos comes out. 

Dooku gives you these amazing options as a fanfic writer. He’s so high drama. A huge part of his reserve and composure is that there’s an absolute volcano of feeling bubbling under the crust.

The things he says are absurd and beautiful, poetic and horrific, hilarious and awkward. You can push the character further than you expect, and he’ll go with you in surprising places in a piece of writing if you let him show off. This is a character who loves attention and has the natural talent and chaos to back up his own bullshit. If you can get his sound and feel right, there’s almost nothing you can’t do with him - because a core part of Dooku is the unreliable narrator: even he doesn’t always know what he’s about to do. 

I think the hardest part is his “voice” because Christopher Lee had such a distinctive cadence - it’s not just a British accent, it’s early 20th century British, who grew up bilingual and went on to speak like literally 7 different languages fluently, with a supremely deep voice, who wanted to sing opera but only got half-trained before WWII ruined that dream for him. It’s a very unique sound.

I like “my” Dooku voice in my fics and I’m proud of it; I work really hard on it and it’s why I use him as a POV character most often. But I still look at my own fics and have those record needle scratch moments where I know a line of his needs to get reworked. It’s a constant process.

The Christopher Lee accent also could not be MORE different than my own rural American one. There’s a hilarious-awful story in Lee’s autobiography, Lord of Misrule, about him getting stopped by a patrol of Americans in WWII who absolutely do not believe he’s English and they start trying to speak German to him. He goes, “you don’t have to speak German, you know, I’m fairly capable of understanding English, since that’s what I am.” 

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

I love it when fics do a realistic job of letting Dooku be the walking contradiction he is. Two of my favorite Dooku fics right now are Pray My Mind Be Good to Me and Galaxies Far Far Away May Be Closer Than They Appear - both feature Dooku written in this way. He has done or is going to do horrific shit - shit that cannot be changed and has real consequences. In both fics, he’s also portrayed vividly, a "real person," full of genuine emotion, vulnerability, and deep investment in the other characters. Love is a part of his betrayal and betrayal is a part of his love. These two things exist in the character simultaneously in queasy, gorgeous combination. 

As far as what I don’t like, I don’t know, I think Dooku is a tremendously intimidating character to write and I’m impressed by anyone who takes a crack at writing him! I’d encourage anyone to give it a shot. 

I have one really small weird pet peeve, and that’s giving him too much stuffy, uptight rich guy cliche. Dude was a mud-grubbing mission Jedi for 50 years, himself raised by a swamp troll, who went on to train two of the most chaotic Jedi. He’s eaten more bugs than Anakin, and I'll die on that hill.

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

I went pretty broad on my other answer, so I’ll tell you two lil' things!

I’m tall (ironically I’m about Sifo-Dyas’s canon height, a character whose legit tallness is often overlooked cause he’s standing next to Dooku–) and I pull a ton of my own experiences into how I write the way he moves or his little gestures, especially how small he can fold up when he’s feeling vulnerable. There’s a unique tall person awkwardness that comes from experiencing the adolescent growth spurt right at the time when it’s the most emotionally unbearable to be physically conspicuous. 

I didn’t realize I shared his exercise-away-the-strong-emotion thing until I was chatting with @bolithesenate about some fic or something, and said something offhand like “too upset about Sifo-Dyas, gotta go for a run” and she was like “uh, Jess? are you QUOTING your own Dooku characterization here?” :O Don't call me out like that, bro!! Do not perceive me!

[chil-aglia]

𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

Check-up

Didn’t have time to make art for this chapter. So, you get this instead. 

Be sure to read the tags on my Ao3 so you guys know what you’re getting yourselves into.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

3 days…it had been 3 days since Giovanni suddenly vanished off the grid. It caused a panic for the others, his brothers have been searching high and low, non-stop.

But they found nothing. Raphael had called in for backup, asking—begging, his human friends to help search for Giovanni. Mikey done the same thing but with Draxum.

It was all too hard to handle, but they couldn’t give up. Not when they had just started getting Giovanni to open up, let him have fun and be…normal. Donnie frantically typed away on his computer, scanning for surveillance footage, and clues for his older brother. He slams his fist in the keyboard, groaning in frustration as he glares at the screen.

A large red ‘X’ seen. No sign of Giovanni.

”Fuck…! Why can’t I find him?!” He hissed at himself, gripping his hands over his head. He was pissed off at himself. Why didn’t he install the tracker into Giovanni when he had so many chances?!

If he had, he would’ve been able to locate his missing brother in a heartbeat. Leo had walked in, hearing the commotion as he narrowed his eyes.

”Donnie you’re going to hurt your hand if you slam it again.”

”I don’t care. Gio is missing a-and I can’t do anything to find him!”

Leo frowns at his twin. He knew Donnie was eating himself up on the inside, staying up late and scanning every camera in the city. It had everyone worry, but they understood.

Leo took a moment to calm himself down, he was trying so hard to not just break down. He was the leader now. So he had to act like it.

”Donnie…we need to narrow down the possibilities of what happened to Gio.”

Leo took note that Raph, and Mikey entered the room as well, along with an exhausted Splinter. “Narrow down the possibilities…okay, we can do that.” Donnie mumbles in agreement as he looks to the others.

”Gio wouldn’t just leave out of the blue. He’s not like that.” Raph declares, the youngest turtle nodding in utter agreement. “Yeah! A-and even if he did, he seems like the type to at least leave a letter for us, right?” Mikey tilts his head, frowning at the thought of Giovanni leaving the family.

Splinter hums and shakes his head, “Perhaps…he was kidnapped?” He suggests, the comment having the boys freeze upon realisation as they all share a concern look.

”Kidnapped…but who would want to kidnap him? All the villains we know wouldn’t have the courage to do that just because they hate us.” Donnie analysed but Leo was quick to correct him, glaring ahead.

”Actually…there’s one person we know who is known for kidnapping.”

At first it was quiet, until Splinter softly gasps and narrowed his own eyes.

”Big Mama.”

-----

Splinter stayed back home, in case the others like April or even Draxum called for any updated news. The four brothers however decided to pay a visit to a certain spider lady.

They run through the hotel corridors before reaching Big Mama’s office, Raph forcing the door open as they all stumble in, weapons ready for a fight.

”All right Big Mama, where is he?!”

Big Mama spins around on her chair, she was in her human form as she smiles politely. “Turtlyboos. My, you sure know how to make an entrance.” She giggles before tilting her head and resting her elbows upon her desk in front of her.

”Now, remind me why you decided to break into my splendid hotel?”

Leo growls, stepping forward with his katanas raised and pointed at her. “Our brother. He’s been kidnapped and we believe you have something to do with it.” He huffs but Big Mama only widens her eyes before taking and waving her finger at them.

”I’m afraid your wrong blue one. I don’t have Giovanni.”

Donnie tenses and glared at the yokai, “We never mentioned his name. This proves that you know him!” He announces, but he steps back when Big Mama stood up from her chair and made her way over to them slightly.

”I only know of him because you boys have been taking him around the city, fighting crime and whatnot. It’s adorable really.”

She sighs and leans back against her desk, her hand tapping against the wood. “He also came by a few months ago. I introduced myself to him and even told him that he and his brothers are welcomed here any time.” She added with amusement, especially when she saw the puzzled expressions on their faces.

Giovanni had actually met Big Mama? When? How? Why?

Leo had many questions, but he shook his head. There were more important things at hand. “So, he’s not here? At all? You know nothing about his disappearance?” Leo inquired again, voice firm but also laced with panic.

Big Mama nodded. “I’m afraid I haven’t got a clue about this. I feel such sympathy for him. From what I remember, he was pretty skittish. If he was indeed kidnapped…well, I can only wonder what he’s feeling and going through.”

Her words were enough to make the boys quiet, tension thick in the air as they all turn around and leave the room.

None of them had said a word to each other. But even without mind melding there was one thing that they were all thinking.

Where the hell is their brother?

-----

It was quiet, the sound of ragged breaths being inhaled and exhaled was heard. The white tiled room was cold and bright. Too bright.

The only time Giovanni managed to make the room dark was when he lowered his head into his shell. He felt safe there, a sense of privacy. The lights in the room never turned off. He wondered if that was a way to make whoever were in these cells go crazy. Unable to tell if it was day or night.

Giovanni already didn’t know how long he’s been in the E.P.F. base for. Given he was knocked out upon arriving and then knocked out again for hours when he was in that operation room.

It confused him, but he tried his best to not show a hint of weakness. He thinks he was doing well in that department. But then again, that could just be his mind messing with him.

Giovanni was curled up to a corner of the room, refusing to get comfortable on the thin mattress that they gave him. It was a poor excuse of a bed. 

Giovanni didn’t have company from when he awoke from his dazed nap. The only time there was a hint of anyone watching him was when the door of his cell opened and a yokai would walk in slightly and push over a tray of food and water for him. They would then leave him be.

Giovanni didn’t dare try and eat the food they gave to him. He would take the water, giving a few cautious sips before gulping it down his throat. The tray would then get taken away a few hours later, leaving him back to be alone with his thoughts.

He gave a grumble as he leans his face against his propped-up knee, wincing when he felt a short wave of pain inside his mouth. He licked his tongue over his teeth, before stopping at the tooth he was missing. It was starting to grow back, but the process of it was a bit of a pain that he had to put up with. His neck was sore as he gently rubs his hand along the side, pausing when he felt phantom discomfort from the memory of being injected with a needle.

He gave a little whimper and lowers his head slightly into the comfort of his carapace.

He wanted to go home. Surely his friends and family were already looking for him. 

He closed his eyes, trying to rest but he didn’t get a chance to relax when the cell door opened, making him flinch at the sound as he perks up in alert.

”I apologise for the long wait.”

It was a new voice, and Giovanni lightly glares at the figure of a man walking in. “It’s been quite a while S129. I’m glad that you’ve returned to us.” The man was alone, with a monotone voice that had Giovanni shuddering.

The man steps closer inside the cell before stopping and staring. Giovanni took in the man’s appearance briefly before he froze, eyes wide like saucers and mouth hung open slightly into bewilderment.

The man was tall and healthily thin. He wore a black suit and black tie. His raven coloured hair that was once quite short from memory had grown out a bit longer, slicked back.

Pale skin and completing the look he donned dark sunglasses that reflected the frightened state of Giovanni.

He remembered who this man was. How could he ever forget?

John Bishop came back into his life again. After all these years.

”I hope you haven’t forgotten me. I worked closely with you from your time with us as a child.” John comments, hands still at his side as he took in the appearance of Giovanni.

John remembered when Giovanni was only a child. He was much smaller in comparison now.

But now Giovanni was grown. Still looking the same but he was obviously different. Older and muscles all toned out in the right places. From the looks of it he was being taken care of, healthy.

John opens his mouth to say something, but Giovanni beat him to it. “I-I remember you…Mr. Bishop.” He rasps out, head hung low, avoiding meeting his gaze, even if they were hidden behind those dark glasses.

John hums in acknowledgement, a tiny grin plastered on his lips for a moment. “Good. I was worried about that. It has been too long after all.” He noted, but Giovanni didn’t respond, his body shaking.

”You’ve grown.”

”Y…yeah. I have.”

John walks over, ignoring how the mutant before him tensed. Giovanni sharply gasps when John cupped under his chin and forced the turtle to look up at him. His pupils small and wild but he didn’t move away.

”According to my math, you must be at least a young adult. 18? 19?” He concluded, but he wasn’t expecting a correction or answer from Giovanni, letting him go as the yellow-bellied slider exhaled out a breath he was holding in.

Soon the sounds of heels clicking grabbed his attention. Madeline walks in with a soft and welcoming smile. “Hello, I see you’ve become re-acquainted with your other primary carer for your time here.” She informs, side eyeing John who crossed his arms, not bothering to even look at her in acknowledgment.

But Madeline didn’t seem to care as she focuses on Giovanni. “You’re in need for a check-up today.” She states, which had Giovanni shake his head in response. “N-no…no more needles.” He begs but Madeline only softly chuckles and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

”There will be no needles. It’s a simple check-up to make sure you’re all healthy. Right, Mr. Bishop?”

Both Giovanni and Madeline look back over to the agent who nods firmly. “Correct.”

Giovanni remains hesitant but he then thought that if he was going to somehow leave the facility, he would have to know where he was going. With a little nod of reluctance agreement, John Bishop strides toward him and took out handcuffs from his pockets.

He clamps them down over Giovanni’s wrist before walking away to the open door. Madeline stays beside Giovanni, leading the mutant out the cell and into the corridors once more.

The black panther yokai was present once more, gripping firmly onto the mutant to stop him from doing anything stupid. John led the way, Madeline standing behind Giovanni who was in the middle being dragged.

Giovanni darts his eyes around at each passing door, taking in every detail he could. The signs, the left and right turns. The number of cells nearby.

He gazed over to an open door, almost leaping out in joy when he spotted his gear and weapon being displayed on a wall. It was a storage room from the looks of it.

He was tugged forward, losing his concentration as he glanced up at the panther who could only growl lowly at him, making Giovanni somewhat cower under the intense gaze as he looks ahead.

They come to a set of two doors, John pushing them open. Giovanni was expecting to be greeted to another operation room like last time. But to his confusion, the room he stepped into looked more like an actual med bay.

Madeline walks past him and comfortably gestured to him to sit on the bed. Giovanni stood on the spot, not wanting to really listen to the people who kidnapped him.

He nervously casts a glance to John who stood in the corner, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as he silently and eerily surveyed the mutant.

”No need to be afraid.” Madeline softly cooed, giving her best comforting look which finally had Giovanni to take control of his legs as he anxiously made his way over and sat on the bed, his legs dangling over as he fiddled with his hands.

He watched with cautious anticipation as Madeline hums a soft tune, walking around and gathering tools for this check-up.

He was relieved that he didn’t see any needles. As they had promised him.

Madeline appears in his line of vision, holding a stick that you would see at the doctors for when they check your mouth.

”Open wide for me sweetheart.”

Giovanni gulps, but he hesitantly listens and opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue as he flinched when the wooden stick made contact with his stretched-out tongue. Madeline took out a small flashlight from her pocket and shined it inside the mouth. Giovanni was naturally nervous; shoulders tense and shaking as Madeline soothed him.

”It’s all right. You’re doing so good.” She praises before moving away and throwing the stick in the bin. “It’s only been 3 days, and your tooth is already regenerating. Fascinating.” She announced, looking rather surprised and pleased with the outcome.

Giovanni didn’t say anything, closing his mouth and keeping a watchful eye on Dr. Brookes. She returns back with a blood pressure monitor, gently wrapping the blood pressure cuff around Giovanni’s arm as the cuff started to compress.

”Blood pressure is high. But I assume that’s because you’re still anxious.” She noted, gazing back at Giovanni who lowered his head to avoid eye contact. 

She takes the compression blood pressure machine off his arm, placing it back into its spot on a desk. “Open your mouth once more for me.” She advises, holding a temperature thermometer. Giovanni listens as he felt the thermometer placed in his mouth.

He waits a few seconds before the thermometer was plucked out. Madeline himself and nods to herself. “Temperature normal for a turtle.” She spoke out loud, listing off everything she was doing.

This went on for a bit, doing the all the ‘necessary’ things that one would do in a simple check-up. No needles were present, which only had Giovanni relax a bit.

”Almost done. I’m going to feel around your body to make sure all the bones are intact.”

Giovanni flinched when she got close to him, moving slightly back for distance. Madeline hums and gently settled her palm against his cheek, rubbing her thumb in circles to ease the skittish mutant.

”Relax Giovanni. It won’t hurt a bit. Perhaps some discomfort, but it’s all necessary.” She explains, waiting for Giovanni to relax at her touch.

When his muscles weren’t as tense as earlier, she began to feel his arms. Taking her time with him. Moving her fingers up and down and around his toned body.

She did the same on the other arm. She traced her hands up along his plastron, making Giovanni shiver as she placed two fingers alongside his neck and his jawline. ”Tense here. I see you’ve gotten into a few fights before being brought here.” She noted, but Giovanni didn’t question as to how she knew that.

Her hands leave his neck before touching his thighs, making Giovanni yelp when she gripped his skin slightly. Shaking at her touch as he closed his eyes tightly when she began venturing her curious hands around his legs and lower body.

She was getting a bit too touchy for his taste, but he didn’t want to show weakness. Not in front of his captors. She eventually left his legs and moved around to go behind him, leaning him forward as she traced along his shell.

But that didn’t take much time as she hums and walks to a desk, jotting down her observations on a piece of paper that was attached to a clipboard.

”All done. See? A simple check-up. We’ll be monitoring you and—“

She began to explain but stopped when she heard a quiet sob. She turns around and saw Giovanni shaking, curling up slightly as tears rolled out his eyes.

Madeline approached him and rubbed at his shoulder soothingly. “Oh dear, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She inquired, as she glances up at John who made no move to comfort the turtle.

“Home…I-I wanna go home. Please…” Giovanni begs, he didn’t want to be here anymore. He never did. He tried to stay strong, but it was very overwhelming for him to take in.

He didn’t even hear or see John move from his spot until he felt a firm hand grasp his other shoulder. Followed by John’s voice whispering in his ear.

“You are home, with the E.P.F. Or did you forget S129?”

Giovanni stared down in silence, his body felt limp and heavy. This was his home?

How though…? This place didn’t have his brothers or father, no friends around to come and visit him.

But he was raised here from his time as a baby. Was this place technically a home to him?

“Take him back to the cell.” John gives the order to the panther yokai who had been standing near the door. They pull Giovanni off the bed and forced him to stand. Dragging him out the room.

Giovanni didn’t fight back. Lost in his own thoughts.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What's this? Such a quick update already!

I APOLOGISE FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES THAT WERE MADE, I TYPE PRETTY FAST AND OFTEN DON’T SEE THEM UNTIL I ACTUALLY PUBLISH THE CHAPTER. THEN I’D TRY AND FIX ANY MISTAKES WHEN I SEE ONE.

quotev - 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

Ao3 - 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

First chapter here

Next chapter here

[hitlikehammers]

POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart…

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here and here

[emotionalhottiee]

Made For Each Other!

Chapter 4: Butterflies!

Aleah

After pulling myself together i got back to work on the social media platforms. Which consisted of trimming videos to post for the socials and queuing up scheduled post. I sent Paul a quick text just to go over everything and to check in to see if he needed me to do anything else. Once he let me know i was all set, i made my way to the gorilla to get some additional behind the scenes footage. And just watch the rest of RAW. I definitely can see why people get super attached the wrestling it brings out all the emotions.

As i sat down watching, the guys from earlier came into the gorilla to get ready for their segment. And the man that i had bumped into earlier was standing in front of me. His 6 foot something frame towering over me.

“Hey Girl, happy to run into you again” he stated in a higher pitched voice mimicking a woman. I’m not gonna lie it was actual funny in a corny kinda way. Once my little laughing spell was over he switched back to his regular deep voice. “My name is Austin” he stated, reaching his hand out for me to shake. I returned the hand shake while introducing myself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you” he said showing me all 32 of his pearly white teeth.

I got the feeling he was going to try to kiss my hand, but it almost felt as if he stopped himself. He must have read my body language. At least that’s what i was hoping. Feeling a sense of relief that he didn’t do that he released my hand after what felt like forever.

Feeling the small bit of tension in the air. His friend finally introduced himself “Nice to meet you Aleah, i’m Grayson” he spoke in a thick Australian accent “Nice to meet you too.” I replied sending him a small warm smile.

We dove into the conversation about me being the new girl around here. And my mind wandered off thinking about how many more times, i was going to have to have this conversation. But my thoughts were interrupted by Graysons very loud obnoxious laugh. Pretending that i was listening to what he was saying i joined in on the laugh. Totally clueless as to what i was actually laughing at.

Jey

Making my way out of my dressing room, i was walking towards the gorilla a few minutes early, just so i could hang out before my segment. When i heard Graysons loud ass laugh. Seeing Him and Austin there i peeped Aleah was standing in front of them. The three of them, just laughing their asses off.

I’m not gonna lie i felt a lil jealous seeing them all up in my girls face. I’m tripping hard. I don’t know what came over me, but i decided to claim what’s mine. So i walked over to them, making sure to stand right next to Aleah. Putting my arm around her shoulder. The look on Austin & Graysons face quickly changed from amusement to confusion. Looking down at Aleah, she looked like the cutest little deer caught in the headlights. Clearly that caught the three of them off guard. Not trying to make myself look crazy, i tried to lighten the mood. “What’s so funny yall?” I asked.

I feel like i ruined the mood completely.

“Oh nothing i was just telling Aleah, a little yarn from back home mate” Grayson replied trying to ease the tension. I glanced back down at Aleah and she went from looking like a deer caught in the headlights, to more a confused look. But she still wore a small smile. Fuck, i hope im not making a myself look like an creep.

Lucky the awkward tension was cut, when the producers motioned to Austin & Grayson they needed to be in place. They exchanged “see you laters” mostly with Aleah, but i wasn’t tripping. At least not on them. As they walked off Aleah placed her hand around my waist giving me a small reassuring rub on the back. Which i was thankful for.

I’m glad i didn’t make myself look like an idiot.

My thoughts were interrupted by Aleah’s soft voice thanking me. Slightly confused i asked her what she was thanking me for. She looked up at me wearing that beautiful smile of hers, replying “because i spaced out while that Australian boy was talking to me. And i didn’t hear shit he said. But i was caught off guard by his laughter. So i just laughed along with him hoping he wouldn’t ask me questions or anything.” Letting out a small sigh of relief that, that was all that she was thinking.

Glad it wasn’t because of me.

“So what are you up too”, she asked still holding on to me. As i kept my grip on her shoulder, but not too tight. “Well i just came up here for a quick segment. Then i was gonna figure out what to get into tonight” i replied. “Well what do you usually do for fun”? She asked me. I took a minute to think about it. Cause shit there is rarely a show taped in the city. And i would usually go back to my hotel after a show. “Well i don’t know yet, i’m not used to being so close to home after a show. But i’m trying to get into something since i don’t have to travel for a few days”. I stated simply unsure of what i was going to get into.

“What you getting into tonight lil mama”? I asked staring down at her small frame. “Well i was just going to go home and play some Mario Kart until i fell asleep” she shrugged. I let out a small laugh cause she was dead serious. “Damn what you like a homebody?” I asked outta genuine curiosity. Shawty seemed like a homebody, but you never know she might be a party girl. “Yeah i guess you can say that” she responded. “I went out a lot when i was in college, especially when my ex had a game out of town. But i can’t turn up like i used to, auntie be tired” she stated with all seriousness. I couldn’t help but to laugh, this girl definitely had a goofy side to her.

I got to see more of that.

For the next few minutes we continued talking and joking around. Then the producers came up to me, and let me know i was up next. “So lil mamas, you gonna be here, when i get back?” i asked staring down into her eyes. Something about those brown eyes, had a hold on me. “Of course, I’ll be right here” she stated cheesing.

Before i could say anything my music queued letting me know it was time to go. So i released Aleah from my grip. Slightly surprised she let me hold onto for that long. And made my way down to the ring.

Aleah

I couldn’t find the words to describe the butterflies i had in my stomach after that encounter with Jey. I can not believe how fast i find myself being infatuated with this man, and it’s only my first day on the job. But i am. I couldn’t help but smile watching him go down to the ring. Turning my attention to the monitors in the gorilla. I was in awe at how the WWE crowd embraced Jey. Singing his theme song word for word, doing the signature yeet dance. It just showed me a different side of him, one that piqued my interest in getting to know him even more.

Even though there a part of me that was completely smitten. I couldn’t ignore the sense of worry. Those troublesome thoughts started to rack my brain.

“Am i rushing into something too soon?” or “Am i trying too hard to get over Dominic too soon?”

I sat down having an internal conversation to calm myself down. While i may not be as over Dom, as i thought i was, or would like to be. There isn’t any reason to be so conflicted. That relationship with Dominic is now in the past, because it is something i am not interested in fixing. And while i feel myself catching feelings for Jey, we don’t have to jump into a relationship tomorrow. And that is okay to have feelings for someone new. Whenever the time comes for Jey and I to have a conversation about “us” we will. And we will proceed with whatever “us” is from there.

No need to worry!

I quickly rid my mind of those anxious thoughts to get back to watching Jey. Everything will happen the way it is suppose to happen. And that Jey & I met for a reason. I just want to enjoy my new found friendship with Jey. And not worry about the things i can not control.

Before i knew it, i was snapped out of my thoughts by Jey walking into the gorilla. “You good lil mama” he asked presumably concerned by whatever face i was making while consumed by my own thoughts. “Yeah of course” i replied, trying to reassure him that i was fine. He didn’t push any further which i was thankful for.

We continued our night with casual conversation. Jey didn’t have a scheduled match so he spent the rest of the show keeping me company, while i filmed & uploaded any extra content i could get. The more time i spent with him, the more butterflies i got. I just never met a man, that could check off all of the boxes so suddenly. I have always been told i’m “too picky”, but i feel like i am not. I just don’t believe in settling for what you don’t want. But there was just something special about Jey. Something that made me look at him with such adoration. The butterflies in my stomach were not going to stop anytime soon.

Once the show was over Jey told me to meet him back here after we grabbed our belongings, so he could walk me to my car.

Twenty minutes later we met back up, and just as promised he walked me to my car. “Well seeing as how you’re just going home to play Mario Kart tonight. We finally made it to my car, and stopped to say our goodbyes. “How about we hang out tomorrow?” He asked while rubbing the back of his head, almost as if he was anxious. “Yeah that sounds fine. I’m usually off of work around 3 o’clock, then im all free” I stated. “Okay how about we go out for dinner later on tomorrow evening” he asked, no longer rubbing his head, but still seemingly anxious. “Sounds like a date then” i smiled back at him hoping he felt a little better. “Just text me what time, and i shall see you tomorrow” i responded, trying to contain my excitement. “Alright bet I’ll see you tomorrow lil mama” he said back to me, smiling showing off his bottoms row of grills. I hadn’t even noticed them earlier.

We embraced in a hug. And i couldn’t help but breathe in his cologne. God he smelled so good. Finally parting from our hug, he watched as i got into my car. I waved goodbye to him before pulling off, to head home.

I can’t believe how enamored i was by this man, but i was loving every minute of it.

Feels good to meet someone new.

Series Disclaimer

Catch Up!

Tag list:

@prettypink-princesss @isabella-2025

@sheaabuttaababyy @uceyliyahh @mindairy

@yana3sworld @christinabae

[jayaawrites]

To All The Boys I’ve Accidentally Hit Send To

A/N: This is my first fic!! it’s a To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before AU but with the JJK men, I’m hoping to be able to make this into a multi chapter fic so…. please give me feedback!!

Sometimes, there are moments of complete dramatic irony where all you can do is try your best not to laugh. This moment, where you and Yuki are sitting next to each other, is one of them. The two of you are sprawled across your couch, catching up on Bridgerton as you do every Friday after rehearsal. Her hands are fiddling with the remote, while her eyes are glued to the screen, mesmerized by the scene playing before you.

"Not to be that person, but I don't think I'd ever forgive you if you did that to me," Yuki suddenly remarks, snapping you out of your reverie. You shake your head to wake yourself up a bit. "Did what?" you ask, half afraid of what on earth she could be talking about. Yuki gestures toward the screen, and your gaze lands upon Edwina and Kate Sharma arguing. "I mean, just look at them," she points out. "How do you ever recover from someone you care about so much stealing the man that you love?"

You shift in your seat slightly at Yuki's observations. Is it really that bad to get romantically involved with someone your friend cares about? The answer, of course, is yes. It's been yes for as long as you can remember, and if you had been in this situation two years ago, there would be no doubt you'd agree with Yuki. But that was before, before Yuki and Choso started dating, and you'd had your heart shattered into pieces.

Before Choso had become Yuki's boyfriend, he had been yours. Okay, maybe not really, but he was most definitely fated to be. All your relatives had expected it, and he had even made jokes about it from time to time, commenting on how embarrassing it was that your parents let you do anything so long as it was with him. And while you'd been skeptical at the beginning (when push came to shove, childhood friends to lovers was so overdone), because you were stupid and because you never knew how to say no to his honey-brown eyes and annoyingly beautiful hair, you had fallen for him—and fallen hard.

It had been hell. How are you supposed to navigate a crush that was seemingly inevitable? You'd avoided him for days on end before finding the courage to speak to him like a normal human being. And just when you'd built up the courage to ask him out, Yuki had called you excitedly to tell you that your super-hot best friend had asked her on a date.

Hence, here you were, watching Bridgerton season two with one of the people you considered your closest friends and pondering the ethics of fucking her boyfriend.

"Well!" Yuki gets up and stretches as the end credits start to roll. "It's getting late, and we have early rehearsal tomorrow, so I guess I better head home. Don't forget to bring an extra water bottle for me tomorrow if you can!" She grins at you and gives you a small peck on the head to say goodbye. You grin weakly up at her from where you're sitting.

"Bye, Yuki!" you wave goodbye and lock the door behind her as she leaves before collapsing back onto the couch with a groan.

Fuck.

You're screwed. Heavily. You need to get over Choso ASAP. You sigh and feel around the table in front of the TV before finding your laptop, wiping your hands clean of food before opening it up and drafting an email:

dancedancerevolution@icloud.com

Dear Choso, Remember that one time someone new moved in next door to you? We were six and some of the kids in our class had been making fun of you for only being friends with girls, and so when your eyes had landed upon the beady eyed brunette child who'd arrived with his parent I can still recall how your eyes had begun to shine a bit brighter when they landed on him. you and him became fast friends and because you were boys you'd do everything together. I felt horrible. all I could think was that I was a failure because I was a girl. it took weeks of me acting out towards the two of you before you'd pointed out the obvious : I was jealous. Back then it was easier, we solved the problem of jealousy through communication and you promised to include me more. So why is it this time my jealousy doesn't seem to want no matter how much you and Yuki include me in everything? When did my feelings become so overwhelming? It sounds stupid but I truly never meant to fall in love with you, and if I'm being honest I regret doing so. But I'm getting better, I swear I am. If not for your sake then for mine. So I can stop feeling little pricks of pain every time I see the two of you together. with all my love, your best friend

You finish typing and close your laptop with a sigh before switching your focus to the TV. Sure, your love life may have gone to shit, but at least you could focus on somebody else's.

[hatefulxtendencies]

Lmao. Blades are gone but this is how I used to self harm when I was institutionalised. Threw up because my body can’t contain this sickness inside of me. It’s spilling out. I’m a rotten mind in a rotten body. Nothing matters anymore. I’m so done. I’m.so.fucking.done.

[nonsensechemicals]

crying whenever i talk about Cookie9 because all my friends have these interesting and unique theories on them while i take everything too literally and they all just stare at me like “dude… uuugh we r TIRED” <-they dont actually say this they are very kind to me but i can Feel It

[j-esbian]

i lost the post but i saw someone talking about how some of y’all act like being weird is a choice and like. YEAHHHHHHH.

that’s fine, it might be for you. but i just live like this and don’t know any other way. like yeah i’ve worked customer service, i can do innocuous small talk, but anything beyond that, i don’t understand what i’m missing. and it’s frustrating to see the tonal disconnect especially from people who are like “uwu embrace weirdness!!” where they’re like. dressing quirky and talking about bugs and listening to obscure music and eschewing small talk to ask Deep Questions on the first date and unlearning their tendency to not infodump. and generally have an idea of what Weirdness is supposed to look like. idk man some of us wake up and get out of bed and can’t figure out why the rest of their coworkers chitchat with each other but when they join the conversation it dies.

weirdness is value neutral. let’s stop trying to turn it into a badge because quite frankly, it’s not a choice for everyone. it’s fucking exhausting to never be on the same wavelength as other people and they’re going to react the way they do and label you the way they will without any conscious actions on your end. it’s difficult to talk about this without feeling like you’ll be dismissed as immature, a teenager whining “no one understands me” but the thing is. sometimes you don’t grow out of feeling alone and different, and there’s no good way to talk about it without feeling like people will think you’re just fishing for pity.

[butnotbubblegum]

using the tags to vent my current emotional state into the void bc ig story feels like a bad plan for this, read at your own risk.

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

Oh wow !! My first anon hate yippee!! /neg

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

they call me the griever because halfway through a thing I enjoy I’m already sad that it’s closer to being over

[rose-tinted-nostalgia]

being told you don’t deserve kindness or empathy because you won’t fuck someone is so ridiculous you’d think it wouldn’t hurt to hear, but it does. it really fucking does.