#because frankly she is a LOT like that too what with how she opens up exclusively to mc

[celestialrealms]

I just noticed Mephisto matches with Barbatos (who is matchy with Diavolo) in the anniversary outfits in his SSR memory card

These three were also the only three who had half masks in the masquerade event!!!

Anyway, The Royals with Mephisto chat group when? We got one for Purgatory Hall with Raphael..... it's just fair !!

And one for Mephisto and Diavolo as well, but also one for Mephisto and Barbatos too. because you can't tell me their relationship isn't deeper than the devs portray when Mephisto has lines like this about Barbatos's room:

[babysfirsthaze]

need gross perverted caitlyn so bad.........

Untitled (Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader)

Synopsis: uhhh gross Cait I've been promising since January, or something. Sorry. Doing my best out here. CAITLYN KIRRAMAN IS TRANS TO ME, SHE HAS A PENIS. She violates you but it's hot I swearrrr.

Content: f! reader, cnc, spitting, lots of spit, brief fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, nutting inside, sex referred to as rape, heavy degradation, praise (because she's dignified like that), hand holding, cnc again, the cnc is very heavy, seriously dead dove do not EAT, she starts off mean and gets nicer when she starts fuckin you, aftercare kinda, the aftercare is pathetic, you shld really get a better wife...its rape the kink is rape don't read it if you don't like that. not proofread

A/n: SORRY I PROMISED THIS AGES AGO AND IT'S ONLY COME OUT NOW I KNOW I KNOW I'M SORRY. I started writing this back in February and then shit got hectic and I got cheated on and just ohh my god I couldn't. But it's done now I hope it was everything yg dreamed of,,, gross Cait nation ily please don't have died on me :(

Caitlyn has missed you. She’s been out all day, getting work done, getting, frankly, incredibly pissed off. You’re all she can think about as she addresses a meeting full of idiots, as she stomps around and barks orders. Your soft body, the way you smile at her, the way you looked so cute this morning, when she got up and left the house before you woke up. You’re all she’s thinking about as she stuffs her key in the door, pushing it open roughly with her shoulder so she can see you. When she finally does you look up from your book, startled. You weren’t expecting her home quite this early. She doesn't look happy, and you slowly put your tea down on the coffee table, before sitting up against the couch. “Hi, Caitie. How was work?” 

“Shut up,” she grunts, stomping her way over to you. Then before you know what's happening she's got her weight on you, and you grunt, feeling yourself pushed back against the couch. Ah. Alright. This is what we're doing. 

“Missed you so much,” Cait all but slurs, grabbing at your shirt, long, slender fingers clumsily trying to pull it off. “Gonna rape you, okay? Gonna rape this pretty fuckin pussy.” And then she pauses, slightly, you can feel it; a nod from you, yes, Catie, you can rape me, and she's grabbing at you like it's the last chance she'll ever get. Her mouth latches onto your neck, it's less a kiss and more like she's trying to eat you alive. “Fuckin whore. Missed you so much, fuck, baby– gonna hurt you so bad.” You groan in response, squirming slightly where you've been unceremoniously slammed into the couch. She licks a stripe up your neck, and begins to pull off your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor by the couch. She smells like sweat and the last notes of your perfume, her hands are rough, her breath heavy, her muscles twitching and shaking. 

“Stupid fucking– mm,” she's too overwhelmed to insult you, so instead she just grabs your face, kissing you wet, heavy, slow. You're pretty sure you feel her spit in your mouth. One of her hands tangles in your hair, grabs a fistfull of it, and the other moves down your body, grabbing, groping, exploring. 

She pulls roughly at your hips, trying to tug you closer to her. “Come here.” She kisses you, again, licking her tongue into your mouth, everything feels vaguely sticky and wet. You pant, trying your best to process everything that's happening. “Fuck, Caitie– slow down,” “What don't you understand about shut up?” she spits, literally, leaning up over you and spitting on your chest. She gathers the saliva with the pad of her thumb and brings it down to your nipple, circling around the sensitive skin and watching as the temperature change makes it perk up. The stimulation sends tingles down your stomach and you bite your lip to suppress a whine. She groans, a sadistic sort of grin on her face, and kisses you again, leaving open-mouthed, wet kisses on your face. She can taste the sweat and the makeup on your skin, it makes her dizzy. She is so, unbearably hard, and you look so good under her. 

You whine, and she pinches your nipple. “‘S gross, baby,” you're pouting, and right hand on the bible, Cait feels her heart stutter. “You don't like it?” She spits on you again, just so see that pout, saliva landing right under your eye. “Take my fuckin dick out, baby. Stop complainin. I know you like it, fuck– yeah, that's it, good girl, good baby…” The metal of her jean buttons is cool against your fingers, and you can feel warm saliva rolling down your cheekbone, to your hairline, as you pull her trousers off, palming her through her panties. She is indeed, very hard. You can feel the warm wet of her precum leaking through the fabric, and she lets out a long, low moan, pressing her face into your shoulder. And she bites, making you gasp, the sting deep in your muscle. 

“Oh you fucking bitch, what a good girl. Hmm? Does that- ohh, fuck, fuck. Let me- shit, baby. C’mere.” 

The first thing you register is her cold, harsh hands on your thighs, pressing them apart. You can feel her wedding ring on one finger, the metal digging into your warm skin, and she scoots up to get a good look at your pussy, wet and waiting for her. “Good girl,” she croons, dribbling more spit onto the sensitive skin. She presses a thumb to your clit, harsh, making you gasp and arch your back. She grins. “You gonna take it, sweetheart?” She works her length out of her pants, circling her thumb around your clit as she gets them off, a little awkwardly. You nod, and she begins to work her middle finger into your entrance, jerking off her tip in time, groaning under her breath. Her slender digits stretch you out deliciously, curling into your soft walls and making you mewl, her technique practiced and precise- she knows her girl, knows what gets you off, what makes your eyes go fuzzy and your pussy go nice and loose. She mutters something about fucking slut you don’t quite catch, and then grabs at your thighs to rest them around her hips. 

Cait presses her tip against your entrance, azure eyes half-lidded and filled with lust. “Fuck, I missed you,” she mumbles, eyes locked on your love like she’s talking right to your pussy, but her left hand dips down to entwine her fingers with yours. She squeezes, hard. And then with a groan she presses the head of her cock into your pussy, your warmth squeezing her so wonderfully tight, and she can’t help but press her weight further, burying her length in you, eyes closed in complete serenity and bliss. 

You on the other hand, are struggling. 

“Caitie- Cait,” you whine, trying to reason with her, squeezing her cool hand in your own. Her girth always stretches you out, you’d think after years with the woman it’d get easier. But no, the stretch still stings, and she still goes so deep you can feel it in your tummy, poking at your insides. She responds by rutting into you, forcing you to just take it, you both know you can. “You’re fine,” Caitlyn says almost soothingly, still pressing on your clit, she’s trying really hard not to just fuck you senseless right now. She’ll wait. And eventually you do relax, the pain subsiding to a pleasant full feeling. Immediately she’s taking the opportunity, pulling her hips back and snapping them forward again, cock bullying your newly accustomed walls, earning a lewd squelch. “Tha’s it,” She groans, beginning to fuck you properly, her weight pressing yours into the couch, sticky, hot skin smothering you. The sensation fills your tummy with warmth and you moan loudly, back arching to take her dick better. 

Cait growls into your skin, thrusting her hips hard, as if trying to get out all her frustration on you in a single round. Your walls squeeze her so good and she can hardly think straight, her head spinning, the only thoughts in her mind about pounding you, raping you, emptying her load so deep in your pussy a part of her becomes embedded in you forever and she never has to let you go. Hot, overwhelming pleasure fills your body, blooming from between your thighs all the way up to the back of your throat. “Baby- mmf, fuck,” you mewl, squeezing her waist with your thighs, which earns you a harsh slap because it slows her down and she can’t have that. Almost as an apology she shifts to kiss you, licking into your mouth, encouraging your tongue to push into hers so she can suck on it. 

The feeling is mind-numbing, and you whimper into her mouth, unable to do anything but take it, take her mouth, her dick, her treatment. She fucks at a relentless pace already, bullying your pussy and giving your clit enough attention to make you cry. The smell of sweat and sex fills the living room, your book layed neglected on a couch cushion, and the only thing you can hear is Cait groaning, muttering into your skin, and the steady plap, plap, plap sound of nasty sex. You can barely get a word in and when you do, she swallows it up greedily like it’s the only thing she's been craving. She fucks you like it’s the last chance she’ll get, like she’s been waiting, waiting to fuck you like this since the first time this morning some idiot made her jaw clench. 

“Fuck, baby, such a good whore…love this pussy, sh’takes me so well, huh? Yeah, yeah…” Cait trails off somewhat breathlessly, burying her dick so deep it makes your eyes prick up and all you can do is gasp uselessly against her lips, overwhelmed by sensations and already feeling your tummy start to clench as your orgasm approaches. Your eyes flutter, and she hisses as your left hand finds her back, raking harsh, red lines into her pale skin. She doesn’t let up, doesn’t change pace. Just pants and growls into your ear, hitting that spot so deep inside you over, and over, and over, making that knot so impossibly tight you think you might cry. 

Suddenly she changes the way she touches you, going from slow circles around your clit to fast, hard side-to-side motions. “Ah-..!” You squeal, nails digging further into her back, the unforgiving pace of it all making you writhe, making your body feel like it’s on fire. “Fuck, fuck, right there, fuck, Caittttcaitcaitcaitcait!” You babble, thighs shaking and pussy squeezing so tight around her. She groans your name with an almost predatory look in her eyes, moaning loudly when your release does come. She works you through it relentlessly, keeping up her bruising thrusts, working your clit till you stop shaking, till you moans becomes whines and then squeaks. At that point she shifts her weight, leaning over your body and pressing herself completely against you. She ruts into you, chasing her own release, teeth bared and drooling onto your shoulder, her fingers gripping onto your thigh and gripping it so hard it hurts. 

“Take it, take it, take it, take it,” she repeats like a mantra, rutting into you every time she says the words. You can feel her dick twitch, pulse against your walls- and then with a heavy groan she cums, shaky hips pressed flush against yours. Even through your hazy mind you’re lucid enough to appreciate the way it fills you up, a warm, gooey feeling you can’t get anywhere else, from anyone else. She stays pressed up against you for a few seconds while you both catch your breath, before pulling out gingerly. 

“Good girl,” she hums, pressing kisses up your shoulder to your neck, your cheeks, your mouth. She laps up any drool that wound up on your chin, hands running appreciatively over your twitchy body. “Took me so well. Such a pretty girl, hm?” One more kiss, “Sorry I spat on you.” 

[sturnsblogs]

Babysitter

Loser!Matt X Popular!Reader

Word count- 1400

Warnings- Mattitude.

The office smells like stale coffee and stress. You shift uncomfortably in the chair across from the principal’s desk, still unsure why you were called in. You try to replay the last week in your head—no skipped classes, no fights, no dress code violations (this time).

“You’re one of our more socially engaged students,” Principal Martin says with a smile that immediately makes you suspicious. “You’re outgoing. Involved. Well-liked by your peers.”

Your eyes narrow. “Are you buttering me up for something?”

They chuckle, opening a folder and sliding a paper closer to them. “We have a student who’s… struggling. Matthew Sturniolo.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Matt?

“You mean the guy who ignores every group project, wears his hoodie over his head all day, and basically growls at anyone who looks at him?”

Principal Martin gives a patient smile. “He’s been disengaged. He’s failing most of his core classes. Teachers say he won’t participate. Won’t speak. He needs a… nudge.”

You stare. “And you want me to be the nudge?”

“We’d like you to… connect with him. Check in. Sit near him when you can. Maybe offer to work together in class. Just… be friendly. Help him come out of his shell.”

Your laugh comes out sharp. “You want me to babysit him.”

“We’re calling it ‘peer support.’ He needs someone approachable, and frankly—he’s not going to respond to a lecture or another meeting with a guidance counselor.”

You slump back in the chair. “He doesn’t even like people.”

“Which is exactly why we think you might be the right person. You’re persistent.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. A glowing recommendation for your file would shut your parents up for at least a week.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But if he tells me to leave him alone, I’m blaming you.”

Principal Martin chuckles. “Noted.”

You’re about to stand up and leave when the door clicks open behind you.

“Ah—Matt,” Principal Martin says, standing a little too quickly. “Thanks for coming down.”

You turn, and there he is.

Matt Sturniolo.

Same messy curls, same headphones hanging around his neck, same silver chains catching the light when he steps in. He doesn’t make eye contact. Doesn’t say a word. Just slides into the chair as if it physically pains him to be here.

You watch him glance your way—just once—and then immediately look away like your presence offended him. His jaw tightens. His legs bounce. He slouches deep into the chair and picks at the rip in his jeans, ignoring the principal entirely.

“Matt,” Martin says slowly, like he’s speaking to a bomb, “this is Y/N. She’s agreed to help you out in a few of your classes. Group work, study support. Just someone to check in with.”

Matt scoffs under his breath. Loud enough for you to hear.

Your eyes snap to him. “Problem?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just tilts his head, eyes flickering toward your bold eyeshadow and glossy lips before he smirks—barely.

“Didn’t know this was a charity case,” he mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t know being rude was a personality.”

He shrugs. Doesn’t respond.

Principal Martin clears their throat, trying to salvage the awkward silence.

“Let’s give this a chance. Matt, you’re capable of a lot more than your grades show. Y/N is just here to help you—if you let her.”

Matt leans back in the chair and finally meets your eyes. Cold. Guarded. Judging.

“I don’t need help,” he says flatly. “Especially not from someone who looks like they came out of a makeup aisle fight.”

Your stomach twists—but you smile, because that’s what you’re trained to do.

“Awesome. This is going to be so fun,” you deadpan.

Martin forces another smile, clearly praying this doesn’t turn into a war.

“I’m sure once you two get to know each other, this will be a productive partnership.”

You and Matt exchange another look.

You’re both thinking the same thing:

No, it won’t.

You’re already planning how you’re going to avoid this kid as much as possible—pretend to help, fake your way through a few “study sessions,” and keep your life intact.

But of course, Principal Martin just has to make it worse.

“We’re going to help this arrangement run as smoothly as possible,” he says, smiling like they didn’t just trap you in a nightmare. “So I’ve spoken to your guidance counselor, and we’re working on adjusting your schedule to match Matt’s. That way, you’ll be in all the same classes and can sit together consistently.”

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

“What?”

“We’re switching a few of your periods,” Martin says, like it’s no big deal. “You’ll still meet your credit requirements, don’t worry. And we’ll make sure your extracurriculars aren’t affected—”

“No,” you cut in, shaking your head. “No, no, no. I have classes with all my friends. I’m in advanced lit. Honors chem. You can’t just move me around like that.”

Your voice cracks slightly, and you hate that it does.

Matt, still slouched in his seat, glances sideways at you. His expression doesn’t change much, but his mouth twitches into something cruel.

“They’re all fake anyway,” he says under his breath, just loud enough to make sure you hear it.

You whip your head toward him. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, eyes still trained on the floor.

“Your friends. Your little fan club. Bet half of them talk about you the second you leave the room.”

Your stomach drops, anger mixing with something else—something closer to hurt. Because deep down, you’ve thought the same thing before.

Still, you fold your arms and scoff. “At least I have friends.”

He finally looks at you again. His eyes are sharp, unreadable. “Must be exhausting.”

Principal Martin clears his throat, breaking the tension before it explodes.

“I know this is a lot, but it’s temporary. Just until midterms. Think of it as… a challenge. A leadership opportunity.”

You sink back in the chair, jaw tight, throat burning. You want to scream. Or cry. Or both.

Instead, you stare at the wall and say nothing.

Matt’s already put his headphones on.

You hold the new schedule in your hand like it’s a death certificate.

Period 1: English 12 – Room 108

Period 2: Pre-Calc – Room 203

Period 3: History – Room 115

…and so on.

Every single class—every one—now matches Matt Sturniolo’s.

You feel your stomach twist again as the bell rings for passing period. The hallway floods with voices, slamming lockers, and the faint scent of Axe body spray and cafeteria chicken nuggets.

You step out of the office just as Matt does. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t wait—just tugs his hoodie over his head, headphones back on, and starts walking toward first period like you don’t exist.

You stare at his back for a beat.

And then something in you snaps.

You lunge forward, grab his arm just before he disappears into the crowd. He stiffens immediately, twisting back like he’s ready to yank away—until he actually looks at you.

“Don’t walk in front of me like I’m not here,” you say, voice low but sharp. “I’m stuck doing this, so are you. You don’t have to like me, but you’re not gonna treat me like I’m nothing.”

His expression flickers—just for a second. He’s clearly surprised. You can tell. People don’t usually grab Matt. Or talk to him like that.

He blinks, lips parting slightly like he’s searching for a comeback. But you don’t give him time.

“Now let’s go,” you add, letting go of his sleeve. “We’re already late.”

You walk ahead a few steps, fully expecting him to ignore you again.

But he doesn’t.

After a pause, Matt adjusts the strap of his backpack and matches your pace—not beside you exactly, but not ahead either. Side-eyeing you every few seconds like he’s trying to figure out what your deal is.

Neither of you speaks on the walk to Room 108.

But when you reach the classroom and step inside, you hear him mutter—

“Didn’t think you’d actually have a spine.”

You slide into the seat next to his with a forced smile.

“Yeah? Didn’t think you’d be so damn dramatic.”

He snorts—quiet, but it’s there. The first crack in his wall.

The teacher starts class, but you can feel Matt still glancing at you every so often. Like you just became a glitch in the system he thought he had figured out.

A/N- I like the way i’m going with this.

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

[sp0o0kylights]

Part one here:: link

"oh i dunno if Im going to finish this" I say, right before the plot ate me. anyway this was too big to post in full to tumblr. If you want the full, completed fic (with bonus Fun Fic Facts tm) it is finished and up on A03 here:: link

TW vomiting, drug use

Eddie is good.

Eddie is kind.

Eddie does not run over Henderson’s bike, laying haphazardly in Harrington’s pristine driveway, even if it would make him feel better. 

He does slam his van into park with enough force to make the brakes squeal, which he decides is an excellent way to announce his appearance to the entire neighborhood. 

It’s a move he’s pulled countless times. Charging in and making a scene meant people forgot that he couldn’t actually fight for shit, and equally, took their attention off whatever their original target was.

Which in this case, was Eddie’s too fucking nice freshman. 

The rage pulsing through him is white hot and all encompassing, and it’ll get him through a lot--but the switchblade he carries ensures everyone’s safety in these little matters. 

It makes him brave.

Braver than he should be really, but Eddie spent the entire drive over here chain smoking out the window while prepping for this little confrontation and the more he’d thought it all over, the madder he got.

That a washed up jock thought he could still take advantage of actual children. 

Nevermind Hellfire, or Henderson ditching, or Sinclaire’s ranting. 

This was about their relationship with Harrington. 

A picture has been building in Eddie’s head. One that’s only gotten clearer after today, and one he will be putting an end to, because he doesn’t believe for a second Harrington has a headache. 

Henderson might always be the smartest person in the room, but he’s dumb as hell socially. Too honest, too blunt, and frankly, too goodhearted. 

That makes him easy to take advantage of. 

Sinclair was worse--the guy was too easy to guilt trip. 

It was a noted issue with his ranger, and apparently, himself, and Eddie could easily see how Harrington could have twisted the idea of some ridiculous life-debt to keep Lucas in his clutches.  

Even Mayfield, Billy Hargrove’s former stepsister, was wrapped up in Harrington enough to have a go at her own friends over him! 

She wasn’t even one of his flock, but Eddie was her neighbor. Saw how her mom was barely home. How she was practically raising herself, head down, doing her best not to ever let people see her cry. 

Yeah.

Wouldn’t exactly be difficult for a guy like Steve Harrington to swoop in and take advantage there. 

Wheeler clearly wasn’t a fan and Eddie can only come up with reason after reason as to why--King Jackass had the poor kid’s entire friend group under some kind of--of sick spell.

Well. 

Eddie was here to break it. 

Even if it meant storming into the King’s castle by himself and calling him out on his shit. 

Nobody fucked with his people. Especially not douchebag, washed up jocks. 

He’s up to Harringotn’s ridiculous double doors in a flash, banging hard on the wood with a closed fist, positively fuming and uncaring of who sees. 

Surprise, surprise, it’s Henderson who opens it.

“Eddie?” He says, blinking up at him like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing.  “What are you--hey!” 

Hey, because Eddie’s pushed past him, storming into the house. 

“This has gone on long enough.” He announces, loud as he ever has been. “Where the hell’s Harrington?”

Henderson, frustratingly, does not weep or throw his hands up in celebration of Eddie’s incoming rescue. 

Which is fine--Eddie hasn’t broken the spell yet.

Unfortunately he is bitching, in that infamously annoying tone of his.

“Dude, shut up, Steve’s pills really only work for like, an hour--” 

“Fantastic, he’ll be clear headed for our little talk.” Eddie tells him, head sweeping left and  right as he looks for his target. He’s been in Casa de Harrington a few times before to deal, but it was always at night.

He can now say with perfect honesty that the place looks worse in the bright light of the day. 

“Was that Eddie?” Sinclair calls, and Eddie orients towards him instantly, storming down the hall. 

It doesn’t take long to find the kid. 

 Lucas is standing in a kitchen larger than Eddie’s entire trailer, a too-large pink apron drowning his frame. 

He turns, revealing the front of the thing has  ‘Whisk Taker’ written on it in syrupy white font. 

(Baking puns. Disgusting.) 

“Are you cooking?” Eddie accuses with a sneer, though his disgust isn’t aimed at the freshmen. 

This is exactly what he was afraid of finding. 

Lucas just stares at him. “Uh--yeah?” 

“What did I say about too many people, Munson?” Mayfrield spits angrily. It takes a second to locate her--the kitchen is enormous and far too white--but eventually Eddie realizes she’s perched up on a counter next to the largest sink he’s ever seen. 

For a second, Eddie thinks that’s just where she’s chosen to sit. Then she moves, and he realizes she’s washing and drying a series of water bottles. 

He never in his life thought he’d witness Maxine Mayfield willingly do someone else's dishes. 

“Someone get me Harrington.” He’s not trying for anything dramatic, but his voice must sound dangerous because all three freshmen stop dead, eyes wide as if he's just spoken in tongues.

He zeroes in on Dustin with a glare. “Now.”

Who huffs, throwing his hands up in the air like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable here. 

“Absolutely not--we just got Steve to sit down. He’s been following me around the house insisting I’m causing more problems than I’m fixing!”

“Because you are.” Steve says, voice dripping with calm condescension as he appears like a wraith in the doorway. “And I know you’re all into the whole dungeon game, Munson, but this is a little dramatic, even for you.”

Eddie whirls to face him, already vibrating with fury. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who’s treating them like his personal minions. What’s next, Harrington? Gonna make them re-shingle the roof? Paint your house? Wax your car?”

Steve gives him a flat, almost disbelieving stare. “Do you seriously think I had Henderson miss your game just so I could lounge around while he’s doing chores?”

Eddie doesn’t bite, too busy unloading. “Oh we can both see it’s more than that.”

He doesn’t notice the way Steve’s jaw tenses, or how his hand creeps up to the side of his head, rubbing at his temple. 

“Anything else you want done, Harrington? Maybe make ‘em mow the lawn?” Eddie sneers. “Or teach ‘em to plump your pillows just the way you like—”

Steve finally snaps, pushing himself upright. “You know what Munson, you're right,” he says, voice tight with barely-contained frustration. “I’m clearly a terrible person they need to be rescued from so--”  

He cuts himself off with a hiss,  eyes squeezing shut as his hand goes to the side of his head, and spits out his next words like they hurt. 

“You can play the good guy and take them all home.” 

Dustin, with an exasperated sigh, steps between them. “No,” he tells Steve sternly, as if managing an unruly child, before spinning on his heel to say the exact same thing, in the exact same tone--to Eddie. 

(Jackass freshman can’t even appreciate when they’re being actively rescued!) 

“Eddie, I promise that this isn’t what it looks like.” 

For anyone else it would sound like a plea, but Henderosn somehow makes it condescending.

“We can explain, alright?” Dustin says, raising his hands as though coaxing a skittish animal. “Will you let us explain? Please?”

Eddie glowers. 

“You clearly do not, in fact, know what this looks like. Because if you did,” 

Eddie can make himself menacing and he does so now, pulling on every single year of drama and theatrics and lying to cops he’s had, pushing his shoulders back and making his body tall.

“You would know that it looks like a guy who peaked in high school is forcing a bunch of fourteen year olds to do his bidding.” 

He takes an aggressive step towards Steve, boots thunking hard on the floor. “And that isn’t happening on my watch.” 

“Aren’t you like an extra super senior?” Mayfield says, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Irrelevant!” Eddie swats the air in her direction, as if to physically bat away her words. “I’m still in high school and I’m not emotionally blackmailing a bunch of kids into waiting on me hand and foot while I fake a headache!” 

“Oh ew.” Max’s nose scrunches in disgust, a mixture of disbelief and fury warring on her face. “That is not what’s happening here.” 

“Were you even listening earlier?!” Lucas says, like he can’t quite believe Eddie is this dumb. 

(His character will be the next to die, so Eddie swears.) 

“I did.” Eddie points a finger at him, triumphant. “I heard all about how he’s tricked you into thinking you owe him a life-debt!”

“A what?” Harrington’s squinting, like he’s struggling to follow along what is happening. It’s a halfway decent sick act, Eddie will give it to him, but he knows the facade will drop in a moment. 

As soon as the asshole loses his temper and decides to try and throw Eddie out, he’ll switch from the Poor Me act into the usual pompous, rich dick on a rampage persona. 

“How he’s saved you all, convinced you and Henderson that you’re in debt to him.” 

“Could we just---please stop yelling?” Steve says in the background, heel pressing hard against his eyes. 

Then winces like his own voice hurts his head.

“What the hell, Eddie?!” Dustin’s cut across the room, stepping in between the two older teens. “Where did this even come from!?” 

“Guys.” 

“The mouths of babes, Henderson. Which you would know if you witnessed Sinclair’s rant instead of missing out because King Dickhead demanded your presence at his castle!” 

“Guys.” Steve’s voice abruptly takes on a weird tone, and it’s only Mayfield’s eyes popping wide that has Eddie realizing something is wrong--right before Harrington shoots past him, noisily hurling in the sink.

“Gross!” Max shrieks, throwing herself off the counter. 

Harrington aims a shaky middle finger in her direction. 

“I just washed those bottles Steve, I'm not washing them again!” Mayfield rants, but she’s not fooling anyone. Not with the way she’s already edging back towards him, like she’s afraid he might fall over. 

(Worse, like she might try to catch him, as if Harrington’s broad, barbarian-like shoulders wouldn’t flatten her instantly.) 

“Al-’right.” Harrington slurs a moment later, still panting over the sink. “Everyone--out. Now.” 

“Steve--” 

“Nope. Making it worse. Out.” 

He manages to stand and turn, leaning hard against the counter and for the first time since this all started, Eddie looks at him. 

Properly, and not through the lens of righteous fury. 

Harrington’s pale.

The shirt he’s wearing is stained with sweat marks, his sweatpants clearly old and worn for comfort rather than style. 

His hair…

Eddie has never seen Harrington without his infamously perfect hairdo, and the messy, slick waves plastered to his forehead is more of a shock then him vomiting in the sink. 

He’s got his hands pressed hard against his eyes again, and there’s a slight tremble in his fingers that belay he’s likely in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.

In short, Harrington looks like absolute shit, and Eddie, maybe, possibly, the tiniest bit believes he actually has a migraine. 

Well, it was that or he was really committed to the bit… 

The tense silence that has befallen them all is ruined when Harrington makes a ‘hurk.’ noise.

“I’m going to throw up again.” He decides after a moment of contemplation, before whipping back around to the sink and doing just that. 

“Steve’s right.” Mayfield decides suddenly, over all the nasty noises. “We should leave.” 

“I’m almost done cooking!” Sinclair protests, as if Harrington isn’t presently throwing up the contents of his stomach. 

“You’re almost done burning things, you mean.” Max mutters, but her words can’t hide the blatant concern written all over his face. “I don’t think he’s going to keep anything down.” 

“He needs us to finish what we started.” Dustin argues passionately. “You know how bad he gets, he’s not gonna be able to get up in an hour!” 

(A clear exaggeration, because Harrington looks like he’s not gonna make it across the kitchen unassisted.) 

“What I need is for everyone to stop talking so fucking loud.” Harrington moans, before appearing to give up on life entirely. 

He sort of sags against the counter, resting his head against his arms while bent double, as if that would help things. 

It was at this point that Eddie had the most unfortunate realization that he might be the asshole here. 

Because Harrington looks rough--and if he actually does in fact, have a migraine, then Eddie has done nothing but make it worse.

(Very likely the freshmen have as well, given Dustin is incapable of talking in anything other than a loud yell, and the smell of Lucas’s burnt food has permeated the air.

Mayfield seemed to have accomplished a small amount of actual work, at least.

…If Harrington managed to miss throwing up on the water bottles.) 

“Look,” Harrington interrupts with an audible, thick swallow.“You guys did great, and I appreciate the uh, help. I’m fine, I promise, you can all go home. Munson,” 

He doesn’t turn, but his voice does change into something that’s half pleading, half demanding.

“Can we please fight about this tomorrow? Or next week?” 

“No fighting!” Dustin shrieks, which has the effect of making Harrington cringe into the counter--and that is what finally kicks Eddie over.

Bows to the instincts that now want to wrap up Harrington in a blanket over the ones that want to strangle him, (though both are very much at odds in his head with each other.)

“We can put a pin in it.” He says, all the venom dropping out of his voice,  already knowing what’s going to happen next and hating himself for it. 

Even at his absolute worst, Eddie has never been able to resist trying to fix a problem he’s been presented with--or turn down someone who needs help.

Harrington, clearly, needs help. 

“You heard him.” He tells his freshman, then immediately holds up a hand when all three try to protest at once. 

“Ah-ah, inside voices.” He himself uses a harsh whisper, and then has to fight not to laugh aloud when all three abruptly eye him like he’s lost his head.

He probably has.

(Fucking King Steve.

No one who is that much of a douchebag should ever look that pathetic without deserving it, it’s against the Munson doctrine.) 

“Henderson, have you done anything actually useful while you’ve been here? Like, say, getting a warm washcloth?” 

“I--oh.” Dustin’s on the defense instantly, but for once actually listens before he finishes his sentence. “Uh. No.”

“Go do that then.” Eddie instructs, making sure to keep his voice quiet and even. 

“Sinclair, toss out the eggs, then take the garbage out so it’ll stop stinking up the place. Mayfield, see if these windows open. Harrington…” 

He pauses, watching as Harrington tries to gather himself, moving slowly and deliberately like even breathing hurts. His entire appearance is grating Eddie’s nerves—not because he doesn’t care, but because he does, and that’s infuriating. 

“Go lay down, man.” He finishes lamely. 

He expects the freshmen to listen to him. Knows they will, in his heart of hearts, even if they bitch back, because that’s just how things are when he decides to take charge. So few people truly want to, that others are often relieved when he does. 

Steve Harrington is not most people.

If he argues, he could very well tip things out of control again, which means Eddie is likely going to have to force the trio of fourteen year olds out of the house. 

Henderson and Sinclair he can manage but Mayfield…

Thankfully, Steve pushes off the counter with a groan, muttering something under his breath, but slowly making his way toward the couch without any other protest. 

The freshmen exchange glances, all of them looking just as unsure as Eddie feels. Like they’re waiting for instructions now that their default leader is down for the count.

He clears his throat pointedly. 

“Hello? Did I not give you marching orders?” He bats his hands at them. “Go march!” 

Mayfield mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “hypocrite” but thankfully, does as asked. 

“Are you gonna give us a ride home?” Henderson asks as he finally starts moving around--hopefully to get a damn washcloth. 

“You got yourself here, you can get yourself home.” Eddie scoffs back, taking stock of Harrington’s kitchen. 

He eyes the line of pain pills laid out on the counter, quickly noting not one of them is anything that would help with a sneeze let alone a migraine. 

Typical. 

“Why not?” Dustin disappeared down a hallway, but the fact Eddie can still hear him plain as day speaks to his ability to keep quiet. “You have your van, don’t you?” 

“Because I’m not leaving when you three are leaving.” 

It’s an absentminded comment, given his mind is elsewhere. 

Weed may be his bread and butter but he does have a handful of more serious things on offer. 

Of those things, one or two have some fun little unexpected side effects, and if Eddie recalls Rick’s yapping right, one of said things was stopping headaches. 

Said magic little mushrooms might even be in a pocket or two, here, if he remembers right… 

“Wait, you're staying here?” Lucas protests, far too loudly. 

"Ssszzhh!" Eddie hisses, drawing out the sound dramatically, mostly for the sake of cutting off whatever protests were coming his way. 

“No arguing. Your beloved King clearly needs a nap, and that means you’re all off duty. Unless," he adds with a raised eyebrow, "you intend to watch him sleep?"

Dustin looks torn, but mutters a quiet, "No," his eyes shifting sideways like he's weighing the logic.

"Good. Then if you’re all finished…?”

He waits for the nods he knows are coming. 

“Excellent. Now leave." Eddie says, pointing towards the door. 

They hesitate for a second, but then finally begin to shuffle out, the door clicking quietly behind them. 

And just like that, Eddie’s left standing there, watching Steve breathe shallowly on the couch--with a washrag over his eyes.

(At least Dustin managed that.) 

He could leave now. 

Should leave, really. Giving out drugs for free is not exactly a good business move and Steve will no doubt sleep the headache off without it. But Eddie’s feet don't seem to agree with him, rooted in place as his gaze lingers on the sharp line of Steve's jaw, the slight twitch of his brow every time a muscle aches.

Feels the pull, deep in his gut, to provide the relief he knows he can give. 

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s moving, crossing the room toward him.

“Munson?” Harrington squints up at him as he registers his presence, washcloth nudged upwards by shaky fingers. “Why’r you still ‘ere?” 

“Because I’m stupid.” Eddie mutters, right before realizing he actually said that outloud. 

“What?” 

Thank God for Harrington’s headache. 

“You look terrible, man.”  Eddie says slightly louder. “That hair of yours is so flat I think your crown’s gonna fall right off.” 

He’d meant it as a joke--spoke it like one, but it seems to snap Harrington out of his pity party. 

The sigh that blasts out of him is a whole body affair, and gets his feelings across better than his words do. “I get it. You thought this was something else and it wasn’t. Not the first time that’s happened.” 

He turns, cheek scraping against the fabric of his shirt, red rimmed eyes squinting against the light to look at Eddie. 

“You got your laugh in, so you can go.” 

There’s defeat in his voice. Like he’s accepted this might as well have happened. 

(Like he’s just as beaten down as anyone Eddie has ever saved.) 

“I didn’t stick around to laugh.” Eddie keeps his voice soft, and that somehow, makes the next part easier to say.  

“I honestly thought you were messing around with Henderson and Sinclair, and I uh, I’m used to being the only person who gives a shit. When that kind of thing happens.” 

Harrington grimaces. 

“It’s okay.” he mutters, eyes sliding closed once more. “Most people still think I’m an asshole.”

His tone has gone odd again, wrecked and rasping, migraine clearly trumping whatever strong feelings he had on the matter. 

And the stupid thing was, Harrington himself was never really an asshole. 

Sure he went along with the assholes, and he definitely egged them on if not outright participated in some of the lower tier shitty activities, but he wasn’t the guy slamming people into lockers. 

(Eddie, in fact, has a hazy memory of Steve telling off Hagan for doing said locker slamming.) 

It didn’t make him a good guy--he’d had slung too many insults around to get that label--but in the rankings of assholery, his was of the average variety. 

Which means that Eddie cannot logic himself out of his own stupid desire to help.

Even if he really, really wants to.

“Yeah well, even assholes need assistance sometimes, and since I kicked your help out, it’s on to make up for it.” 

“No offense,” Steve slurs tiredly, “but I don’t think you’re any quieter than Dustin.” 

A smile ghosts over Eddie’s face. 

“I live in a tiny ass trailer, Harrington. Trust me,  I know how to be quiet. I simply choose not to be.” He moves, slow and careful, until he’s seated next to the fallen King on his stupidly huge (and very uncomfortable) couch. 

Steve’s eye follows him over, staring up as he white knuckles his sweatpants, washrag sitting crooked on his forehead. 

“I’m not sure I’m not gonna throw up again.” He admits after a moment. 

“And that right there is one of the things I can help with. Provided,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows, “that you don’t mind taking a more recreational route for your recovery?” 

“....are you offering me drugs?” 

“I am indeed.” Eddie confirms with a real smile, plucking the offending baggie out of a pocket. 

“You ever done shrooms, your majesty?” 

Steve huffs a quiet noise that might have been a snort, had he put any effort behind it. 

“How is that going to help?” 

“Be-cauuuuuse,” Eddie draws the words out, still a showman even if he is doing his level best to talk as quietly as possible, “shrooms are what we call a psychedelic, and those are pretty well known among certain circles as the headache healer.” 

Provided one took the medicinal amount and not the down-the-rabbit-hole amount. 

Harrington’s eyes are back open, only this time they’re looking at Eddie’s fingers the same way a dog looks at a nail trimmer: concerned and not entirely unsure it wasn’t going to bite him. 

“I’m not…” He cuts himself off, frowning. 

“You’ve bought plenty of my weed, Harrington. Trust me this isn’t any different.” Eddie tells him. 

Isn’t offended in the slightest--this reaction is pretty typical for people who have only smoked the ganja. 

Even the ones who asked to try for something with a little more ‘umph.’ 

“S’not that.”Steve admits quietly. “I uh. Had a bad trip. While back.” 

“Ah, gunshy.” Eddie says it without a lick of judgment, because Eddie’s been there.

Or rather in the shower, at two am because he accidentally spilled LSD on his hand and promptly tripped balls for 48 hours after.  

 “I’ll hang around a bit, if you like.” He offers casually. “Make sure things don’t go sideways.”

He gets another huff-snort as Harrington’s watery eyes return their attention to him. 

“And what are you going to do if they do go sideways?”

“Put you back together again.”  

Eddie knows his grin is crooked, but can’t help it. He’s thinking about Humpty Dumpty and the King’s Men.  

Somehow he doesn’t see Steve Harrington cracking that easily—at least, not without putting up a good fight—but drugs did worse things to better people. 

“It really helps?” Steve asks, voice quiet. Doubtful.

Eddie presses his hands to his chest. “Scouts honor.”

“You were not a boy scout.” Steve tells him, but he’s struggling to sit up anyway, looking game. 

“Alright, so how do I do this?” He asks, though he’s already halfway down again, propped up on his elbows.

“First, you lay back down, and I’ll brew it into tea,” Eddie explains. 

“Tea?”

“Well, you could eat them straight, but I don’t think they’d taste too great. Not that I wouldn’t mind watching you try.”

Steve scowls. “Sadist.”

“Guilty,” Eddie replies, biting back the urge to sing-song it, keeping his voice down and steady. “Just a heads-up: they kick in fast, but I’ll go light on you—nothing like the ‘fun’ dose for the usual crowd.”

Which is how he ends up back in the kitchen, this time making tea and humming to himself, before offering the final brewed concoction to Harrington.

Who downs it like a shot, because he’s a fucking frat-bro at heart. 

“I didn’t find a teacup for you to do that.” 

Between a full-body shudder and a dramatic grimace, Steve chokes out “Not gonna lie I didn’t think we owned a teacup.” 

“What, do you think I just have them in my van?”

“Honestly? Yeah.” 

Which is kind of hysterical, and something Eddie may be doing--not that he’s telling Harrington that. 

“And now we wait!” He announces instead of rambling about teacups, nearly clapping his hands together before he remembers the migraine Steve is soldiering through with surprising grit. 

Eddie himself would have turned into a whiny mess, so he can’t help but admire the guy’s restraint.

“Waiting to see if I hurl again, you mean?” Steve mutters, flopping backward onto the couch. “That tasted like battery acid.”

“Think it’s coming back up?”

“No clue.”

They sit in silence for a second, then Eddie pokes, “Maybe it’s best if you crash in your room, man. You look like death warmed over, and this couch sucks.” 

An understatement, if there ever was one. The fucking thing didn’t seem to be made for people to actually sit on. 

Reluctantly, Steve pulls himself up, heading toward his room. Eddie tags along, snarky grin covering the way he holds his hands out in case the jock ahead of him slips on the stairs and takes them both out. 

(Unlike Mayfield, Eddie does not pretend Steve doesn’t outclass him weight wise. The man was built like a brickhouse, and he has to fight to keep his eyes up toward Steve’s hair instead of on his ass.) 

Thankfully, he’s saved from all R-rated thoughts by the sheer horror of Harrington’s bedroom. 

“Harrington, I’ve found the source of all your migraines.” Eddie tells him, tone as serious as he’s ever been.

“Ha-ha.” Steve deadpans, stepping into his plaid fucking room. 

“I’m not kidding, I’m getting a headache and I’ve been here less than five seconds.” 

The whole place truly is a nightmare--like someone took one of those plaid hunting jackets and themed an entire room around it. 

Fucking rich people. 

“Trust me, it’s not the wallpaper.” 

“Given how you’re weaving on your feet, I think it’s safe to say I don’t trust you at all.” Eddie tells him, half helping half dragging Steve towards the bed. 

It’s a comfy looking thing and Harrington falls into it gratefully, immediately crawling under the covers. 

“You know where to find me?” Eddie asks him, refusing to think Harrington snuggling up in his bed is something cute. 

“Yeah?”

“Good. Hit me up next time your head gets bad. I’ll make sure to keep some of this,” He shakes the little baggie, “on hand.” 

Steve’s pulled the covers all the way up past his chin, but he moves it down a little to properly cock an eye at Eddie. 

“Dare I ask what you're gonna charge for that?”

“Let’s call it a fair trade for all those times you’ve driven the freshman home from Hellfire.” 

If Steve even recalls this conversation, that is. Eddie hadn’t exactly given him the “fun” kind of dose, but then, he himself has never tested out what dose is needed to cure headaches rather than simply having  fun destroying one's own ego. 

He supposes that’s something he and Harrington both will have to test, between them--because Eddie meant it when he offered the drugs for free.

No one deserves to suffer from the kind of migraine Harrington clearly had. 

“Think you’re good to drop off.” Eddie tells him, after making sure Steve is happily content in his bed. 

Checks his watch to make sure enough time has passed to safely call it, before beginning to attempt his way out of Steve’s god-awful bedroom. 

Which of course, is when Harrington reaches out, looping his fingers around Eddie’s wrist. 

It freezes him in place. 

In a moment that is so utterly selfish and stupid that Eddie will loudly insist it was a hallucination should Harrington ever dare ask about it, he turns his palm and moves so that he’s clasping Steve’s fingers with his own. 

“Thanks. For all this.” Steve whispers, as they hold hands for a moment. 

Eddie squeezes his fingers against the younger man’s before he moves to make his retreat, flashing a peace sign over his shoulder as he goes.  

“Anytime, big boy.” 

Anytime. 

xxx

The thing no one tells you about creating a doctrine, is that at some point or another, someone’s going to hold you to it. 

In Eddie’s case it’s four very pissed off teenagers.

He has a gold medal in mental gymnastics and a silver in denial. Left on his own devices he could easily excuse everything that happened yesterday. 

Reclassify the fallen King as pathetic, and the kids' weird loyalty to him as a holdover from his babysitting days. 

Blame their nosy-ness on them being involved in Harrington’s life, and happily go back to mocking their relationship with renewed vigor because now he’s not going to handwave their behavior as being afraid of Harrington. 

Nope, they clearly and willingly, have attached themselves to the King, which means Eddie gets to make fun of them for life. 

Pity they don’t leave Eddie to his own devices. 

In fact, the little shits hit him up first thing in the morning, early enough that he's’ a little suspicious that the boys slept over at Max’s trailer. 

“We’re not done talking about Steve.” Mayfield tells him and given the determined (Henderson) angry (Sinclair) and put out (Wheeler Jr.) faces glaring at him from over her shoulder, Eddie figures his chances for getting out of this conversation are slim to none.

“Good morning to you too.” He snarks, voice gravel-deep with sleep. “What do you little shits want?”

“I literally just said.” Max rolls her eyes so hard he thinks about commenting that they may stick back there, only to decide that makes him sound too much like a teacher for his liking. 

(Besides if they get stuck, he’ll have an excuse to whack her on the back of her head without getting murdered for it.

…well. 

An attempt at an excuse, anyway.) 

“And who says I have anything I want to talk about?” He fires back, leaning a shoulder against the old metal doorframe. 

Just because he understood what they wanted didn’t mean he was going to make it easy. 

“Would you just let us in?” 

“No.” 

“Eddie.” Dustin whines, and Eddie redirects his frown his way. “Come on.” 

“Well I suppose if you say it that way,” Eddie hums thoughtfully. “No.” 

“Steve’s sick, you asswipe.” Max snaps angrily. 

“I know,” He volleys back, brightly sarcastic. “I saw him yesterday.”

Because it’s Mayfield, she matches him tit for tat, a mimicry of his sarcastic drawl entering her voice. “Good! You get to see him today too.”

And just like that their little ambush makes sense.

(He’s got to find a new way to get the damn kids to fear him, clearly his usual menacingness  just isn’t cutting it anymore.) 

“And why would I do that?” 

He’s done his good deed. He helped Harrington out, and even offered free drugs to help him get his migraines under control. 

Checking up on the guy was overkill.  

“We were gonna do it, but someone let it slip that Steve was sick.” A cutting glance is given to Henderson, who makes a face but otherwise holds his ground. 

“And his mom called everyone else's parents with instructions that we leave him alone until he feels better.”  

“So now if we go over there,” Sinclair finishes for his girlfriend, “we get grounded.” 

Which neatly answers every question that just popped into Eddie’s head. 

The threat makes sense for the boys--Eddie’s met Claudia Henderson and though she has that bubbly, easy to confuse nature of suburbanites everywhere, there was an undercurrent in her eyes of someone who knew more than she was letting on. 

Or perhaps, someone who simply knew what they wanted, and was happy to settle and wait for it. 

 Likewise the Sinclair and Wheeler parental units seem to want to keep in her--and Steve’s, no doubt, given he carts their kids around--good graces. 

Given Mayfield’s mom wasn’t even home last night, her participation in this farce does not make sense and Eddie narrows his eyes at her in warning. 

“I fail to see how this is my problem.” He says instead of directly calling her out.

She knows he knows, and he’s smart enough to figure out how to relay that without saying it directly. 

(An action taken out of respect for surviving a bad home life, and absolutely not because he’s terrified she’ll crawl through his window to enact revenge in the middle of the night.) 

“It’s your problem because you owe him one.” she tells him firmly. “And us.”

Oh no he does not. 

“How so?” He challenges with a snorted laugh. 

“You did kind of storm into his house and yell a lot.” Sinclair points out. He’s doing better at speaking up, Eddie realizes with a twisted sense of pride and dread. 

Not quite so easy to steamroll after his outburst yesterday. 

A part of him hopes that sticks around--Sinclair needs a spine, and not just because Mayfield will keep running circles around him until he grows one. 

The rest of Eddie is pissed off that he decided to get one now, when it directly impacted Eddie’s Saturday morning sleeping plans.  

Leave it to these dickheads to use a good deed against him.

“Look--we can’t make sure he’s okay. You can.” Mayfield steps up to jam a painted fingernail in Eddie’s chest. “He won’t let us do anything that will actually help him. You, he can't stop.” 

He does not take a step backward and thus lose all the cool points he has left in the eyes of the younger Hellfire members, but only because he’s already leaned up against the doorframe. 

He bares his teeth at her in a silent snarl instead. 

“We made it worse.” She admits, voice sharp. “And I don’t know how to make it better, but you seem to be able to, so congrats Munson--you get to go again!” 

Which gets Eddie’s back right up. 

He pushes off the doorframe, ready to tell Mayfield--and all his little dipshits--right off, except this is when Wheeler Jr., of all people, decides to add in his two cents. 

“If you don’t go, no one else will.” He looks off to the side while he says it, arms crossed tight across his chest and spitting the words out like he's admitting to a crime. “Robin’s not coming back until Monday and Nancy's got some stupid thing, so you’re literally the only person who can go.” 

Well just stab him in the heart, why don’t you. 

“What are the chances of you fucking back off to whatever hole you crawled out of if I refuse?” He asks, already knowing that he’s done for.

Accepted his fate, because he knows what it’s like not to have someone to rely on, when you need them the most. 

“Zero.” Sinclair and Henderson chant as one. 

“Well then.” He tells them with the biggest, most put upon sigh he can manage. “Guess you got me in a box here.” 

Mayfield grins at him.

It reminds him vaguely of a shark. 

A bloodthirsty, slightly demonic, mean shark. 

“Good. Go get dressed.”

“Oh I’m doing this right now, am I?” He complains, but he’s already moving to go back into his trailer. 

“We’re not leaving until you do!” Mayfield yells at him.

Eddie slams the door in her face. 

(He’s never adopting freshmen again, as long as he fucking lives.)

[bitchface24-7]

Oops my hand slipped and I’m back again (for the 3rd day in a row (I think I have a problem))

So following the trend of me seeing too many fanfics of smthn I don’t vibe with, I’ve noticed that a lot of Jayce and/or Viktor x reader fics have the reader as a scientist (makes sense writing-wise, provides a lot of opportunity for characters to interact and bond)

Problem is, I am dogshit at science. I was good at most subjects in high school, but science? Nearly failed. I was good at math and word problems too which made it even more confusing to me but it is what it is ig. So I was hoping for another JayVik x reader where this time, the reader is an artist

Now I primarily draw OCs and people (usually digital or w/ marker) so I’d like smthn leaning towards that but frankly you can do whatever

I just think it’s be funny if, while Jayce n Viktor do their cool nerd shit, the reader is fully unhelpful and doodling in their sketchbook. Quality time except I’m drawing sexualized men (gender equality) and my hot boyfriends are solving global trade or whatever

(Mayhaps also drawing them for studies and anatomy practice and showing them because I like forcing ppl to look at my art >:)) )

Again, take as long as you need to write this, hope you’re doing good :))

MY MUSES - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: after escaping Noxus with your best friend Mel, you've cherished the peace of Piltover compared to the wartime of Noxus. You were able to flourish in the city of progress with your artistry. It was the way you and Mel found solace in your old home. Now, you've been commissioned by the council to paint a portrait of the Hextech duo.

warnings: talks of wartime, insecurities, awkward talk, becoming friends with J + V, anatomy practice, complimenting your two boys, fluff, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/m/f or m/m/m

p.s. I understand your frustration, even I've fallen into “make reader a scientist to make life a little easier.” I hope y'all enjoy artist reader!

You're painting in your studio at the Academy when the door is opened, and you smell the delicious fragrance of vanilla, cardamom, and sandalwood, it’s Mel.

You put your paintbrush down and turn to look at your best friend, a smile beaming on your face. You get up and go for a hug before stopping yourself, your clothes are stained with paint and you don’t want to ruin Mel’s pretty white dress.

She fondly rolls her eyes and pulls you into a hug anyway. Mel’s not a very touchy person. It was seen as a weakness is Noxus. She’s only really touchy with you, you’ve been her friend for as long as you can remember. She wholeheartedly trusts you.

And you know how rare that is.

“Hello dove. How’re you today?”

You scrunch your nose at the nickname, it was a nickname given to you when you were much younger. “It’s because you don’t see the glory of war. You’re gentle. Something I desperately need in my life.” Mel had explained, her Medarda Mask no where in sight.

“I’m good. I’m almost done the landscape you commissioned for the council room.”

Mel’s smile widens the tiniest bit, but her gaze is downcast. This isn’t a social call. She’s been tasked to ask you something.

“Mel, I understand. Just, tell me what you need from me.”

A sigh escapes the gorgeous woman, “The council has requested a portrait to be made of the two Hextech innovators, Viktor and Jayce Talis.”

You raise your brows in confusion, “Okay… why is that a bad thing?”

Mel leans on a clean section of your work station, a hand coming up to rub her forehead, “They’re constantly working. They don’t see the prospect of taking a break. If you were to paint them, you’d have to paint them in the lab; as they do dangerous experiments. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You place your hand over top Mel’s hand that’s braced against the desk, “I’ll be okay. I can’t imagine they’d let anyone get hurt.”

Mel nods sagely, the hand that was rubbing her forehead is now placed over your hand. She’s now cupping your one hand and rubbing her thumb over your knuckles.

“I’ll tell them what the council has demanded. When will you be free to paint them?”

You look over to the almost finished landscape painting sitting on your easel, “Give me a week.”

Mel nods, gives you one last hug, and leaves your studio to break the news to Viktor and Jayce.

You just hope they’re nice to you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The week passed by in a flash, and here you are. Standing in front of two very large doors that make you feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

You don’t understand why you’re so nervous. You’ve painted portraits of the top-class in Piltover. The cream of the crop. The top one percent, and you were fine. You were mentally rolling your eyes every few minutes, but you were fine.

You’re now asked to paint two scientists and you feel like you’re going to have a stroke.

At least Mel gave you some advice in regards to both men, “Jayce is quite kind, easy-going, and easy to talk to. You’ll make quick friends with him as you are. His partner Viktor on the other hand… is a different story. He’s cordial, but stubborn. He’s quite witty with a sass that almost matches mine. He’d prefer it if you skipped the flowery talk and just got straight to the point. He’s not a fan of the mind numbing politics of Piltover. Say what you mean or don’t say anything at all.”

With that mantra repeating in your head, you knock on the doors to their lab.

“Come in!” A voice exclaims, “We cannot leave our stations, the gems may become volatile if we do.” Another voice adds, this time with an unfamiliar accent.

You lightly push open the doors and are stunned by the state of the lab. Papers everywhere, equations on a blackboard you don’t even want to attempt to understand, ink stains, scraps of metal.

You suppose this is their version of an art studio.

“Oh!” The first voice you heard exclaims, “You must be Mel’s friend, the one who’s been commissioned to paint us. I’m Jayce. The one brooding over there with goggles on his face is Viktor.”

A scoff, “I am not brooding. I simply do not see the purpose of a portrait being made of us. It takes time away from our research!”

You cut in, reminding yourself of Mel’s advice, “The council has ordered it. Besides, I need to study you two for a little bit. Understand your anatomy and proportions. Then when I have a clear understanding, we’ll take one day out of your schedule to get the painting done.”

Viktor raises his goggles, putting them into is hair and the most beautiful pair of eyes you’ve ever seen narrows onto you, “You’ll only need one day to paint us?”

“The weather is constantly changing. That means so is my light source, my shadows, my colours.” You explain easily, “If we spend the whole day together, I’ll be able to easily get the portrait done and you two can go back to work. Sound good?”

Viktor purses his lips before nodding, Jayce just looks between the two of you with a small smile. He thought that would’ve taken a lot longer.

Guess you’re pretty special.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One Week Later.

Their work is fascinating. You don’t understand quite a bit of it, but their enthusiasm and passion make up for your lack of knowledge.

Here they are trying to solve most of the worlds problems and you’re sketching them in your sketchbook with hearts in your eyes.

You focus on their bodies, how they bend, contort, their planes and shadows. How light glows onto them.

You focus on their unique features. Jayce’s sharp canines, Viktor’s cheekbones and moles. Jayce’s broad chest and Viktor’s cane and brace.

Those two points are especially important. They’re so detailed. And they’re a part of Viktor, you’re not going to erase something so vital to him as a human being to make the portrait “nicer to look at” according to the upper echelon of Piltover.

You’re so lost in your thoughts you don’t feel a presence come up behind you, “Whatcha doing?”

You jolt, putting a hand to your heart as your pencil drops to the ground, “By Janna Jayce! You scared me!”

A boisterous laugh permeates the lab, “You we’re so focused, I couldn’t help but wonder what you were doing.”

“We’ll… I was drawing my two very beautiful muses.”

There’s a small silence in the lab.

“Your—“ Viktor starts, then clears his throat as Jayce stands there, stunned, “Your beautiful muses?”

You nod, not realizing their disbelief, “Of course. The two of you have such beautiful features. Jayce is quite tall, with broad shoulders, a tiny waist, and strong legs. A nice hair cut, strong brows, big eyes, and pink lips. You, Viktor on the other hand—“

You’re cut off by said man, “Are not as conventional—“

You cut him off this time, “Are also tall, lean, lithe, with long beautiful legs. You have a face carved out of marble, messy hair, eyes that look like liquid gold, beauty marks, and a nice pale complexion that compliments Jayce’s tan. You’re both quite handsome, just is different ways.”

The two men are stunned into silence, and it takes a few minutes before you realize what you said. You feel your face heat up as you try to hide behind your sketch book. Viktor lightly smiles at that as Jayce laughs and forces your sketch book back down onto your lap.

“You know, I’ve never heard such an honest compliment before.”

“Neither have I.”

You feel like killing yourself. Maybe jumping out of one of the lab windows will do the trick.

“So,” Viktor’s interrupts your dark humorous thoughts, “Do you feel prepared to paint the portrait?”

You look the two men dead in the eye, even as embarrassment consumes you.

“Yes.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A day is set and you bring all your art supplies that you need into the lab. You even set up a place for the portrait to be.

The setting will be in front of their main work station, the hexcore and hexgems glittering in the background. You brought a comfortable armchair for Viktor to sit on, you know these paintings can take some time and you don’t want to over-exert his leg. You assume Jayce can stand for a few hours, placed right next to Viktor.

As you explain your thought process to them, the more excited they seem. And to think, they didn’t want to do this originally.

“Ok, get comfortable. Viktor you can put your cane to rest against one of the arms of the chair. Jayce, can you place your hand on the top of the headrest? Perfect. You two comfortable?”

You get nods and yes’ as your answer.

With that, you start to paints them.

You ensure to be as diligent as possible. You start with the boys, adding bits and pieces to the background as you go. You make sure to her the green in Jayce’s eyes, the beauty marks on Viktor’s face. The house Talis emblem on Jayce’s jacket; the intricacies of Viktor’s cane and leg brace. The purple and blue glows of the Hextech give the painting an almost magical feeling.

You have to say, this may be your best portrait yet.

A couple hours pass and you deem the painting complete. The two boys sigh, Jayce cracks his back as Viktor cracks his neck. Most of the painting was done is silence, a few tiny conversations sprinkled throughout the process.

You didn’t want them to move.

The two come to where you’re sitting and gaze at the portrait in awe. It’s… them. It looks so life like, as good as a picture. But it’s softer, it looks beautiful.

And they look phenomenal.

“Are you sure that’s us?” Viktor jokes, pointing at the painting, “Those men are incredibly handsome.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, “Now you know what to say when you look in a mirror. That’s how you look, and it’s how you’ll be remembered.”

Jayce smiles and puts a hand on both your and Viktor’s shoulders. Viktor looks touched at the sentiment.

“You should move your art stuff to be here. Permanently.” Jayce states easily.

You almost choke on your own spit, “Pardon? Why would I do that?”

“Because we'd miss you,” Viktor replies a cocky look on his face.

You huff out a laugh, “Ill be of no help to you. I'm not a science brain. I'd just be in the lab drawing you two constantly.”

“We’d pose for you.” Jayce jokes

“Even if I wanted to practice nude anatomy?”

Viktor hums, “Not in the lab obviously, but yes even then.”

You smile at them, “It’s a deal then.”

And to think you were scared they wouldn't be nice to you. You just obtained two pretty muses (hopefully for the rest of your life.)

TADA!!! This was such a cute request. I hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. Pebble, you keep those requests coming (and everyone else who requests too 🫵😏)

I have like four requests now in my inbox and I squealed when I saw it. I've never had so many requests before. Usually my inbox has like… spam and fishing schemes. So this is amazing to me!!

[liquideyes]

ミ★ there she goes ★彡

summary: rodrick's parents had just grounded him after finding out about the party him and his younger brother had thrown while they were away. and more importantly they had told him he wasn't allowed to be in the talent show with his band. and ever since then he hadn't come out of his room. his family was growing worried, so greg took it upon himself to do one thing right and call you. and of course you wanted nothing more than to be there for you boyfriend. pairing: rodrick heffley x fem!reader warnings: a little bit of angst, pretty much entirely fluff otherwise word count: 2.4k ao3 link playlist previous work

10 PM was when Rodrick usually called if the two of you hadn’t already seen each other that day. Or, obviously, if you happened to be with him. So when it was 10:10 and you received a call from the Heffley land line you had to assume it was Rodrick calling you. He hadn’t reached out for the past two days so you assumed he had to have been grounded. And when his parents grounded him they would usually take away his phone too. So in order to call you he would sneak the landline into his room in the attic.

But no, when you picked up the phone it wasn’t him calling you. It was his younger brother Greg.

“Greg? Why are you up so late? Don’t you go to bed at 7:30?” You were just trying to tease him, but he sounded genuinely offended by the suggestion.

“What– no, who told you that?”

“Rodrick.”

“Of course. That asshole. He’s—” He stopped himself, figuring you would probably tell Rodrick if he said anything mean towards his brother. You wouldn’t have, but Greg didn’t know that.

“Greg… why did you call me?”

“Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked. I’m calling because.. You need to come over right now?”

“Why?”

“Well, Rodrick hasn’t come out of room all day. And usually, I mean, I wouldn’t be too concerned. Frankly, I wouldn’t care at all. But, well yesterday, Dad found out about the party we threw, and as punishment he isn’t allowed to play in the talent show with Loded Diper.” That talent show meant the world to him. And ever since he had found out about it, it was all he would talk about. If he hadn’t been allowed to, it would crush him.

“Please don’t tell him it was me who called you. We’re not really on good terms right now. Oh, and before I forget you're probably gonna have to sneak in. He was also grounded.” I would have to sneak out as well. What would my parents think if I randomly left at 10 pm to go see my boyfriend. More likely than not they would assume the worst.

“Ok, I will be there Greg. Thanks for letting me know. Bye.” You hung up and placed your phone back on your desk.

You stood up from your desk and opened up your window as quietly as you could. However it was prone to squeaking from the lightest budge, so opening it as quietly as you could wasn’t very quiet at all.

Before you climbed out you grabbed your beat-up pair of converse and one of the hoodies you’d stolen from Rodrick. Tying your shoes up as you shut the window behind you. 

There was a tree right outside your window that made sneaking out fairly easy. Not that you would do it often, but the few times you did the sturdy tree was a much appreciated bonus. You would lean your bike up against it since starting up your car always made for a lot more noise. And your bike was almost exclusively reserved for the purpose of a quiet exit. 

You didn’t live that far from the Heffley’s. It took you about ten minutes to get there on your bike. The drive felt like almost nothing though. And before you knew you were pulling up to the Heffley family home. Pulling your bike up to the side of the house.

When you were stood underneath Rodrick’s windowsill, you took note of how there were no other lights on. Maybe his parents were asleep and you wouldn’t have to climb all the way up to his attic. You were already tired enough tonight. 

You picked up some pebbles from the ground, throwing them at his window. One after the other. Until his light finally flicked on and he opened up the window.

“Why-?” He sounded exhausted. 

“Are your parents up?”

“No… but,”

“Can you let me in?”

He looked away from you, staring off to the side. An aggressive sigh left his lips. “Fine.” He mumbled it softly and you could barely hear it. Once he left you walked back to the front of the house waiting for him to open the front door.

You understood why he was annoyed, but you didn’t really understand why he was annoyed with you. When he opened the door for you, and you entered the house, neither of you said a word to the other till you were upstairs.

You watched in silence as he sat down on his bed, and shut the window. Before he finally spoke up, “I don’t really feel like doing anything tonight, so I don’t know why you're here.”

“Because you’ve been avoiding me, and haven’t called. And I wanted to check on you, because I was told your parents found out about the party.”

“Because Greg doesn’t know how to shut the fuck up. And he never wiped the camera. I don’t why he was even taking pictures on our Dad’s camera in the first place. But it’s the fact that after that he didn’t even think to wipe it. The kid’s an idiot.” 

You sat down next to him, resting a head on his shoulder, “Oh come on, weren’t you two just bonding the other day.”

“That doesn’t have to do with anything,” he paused for a moment thinking to himself, “Any bonding has been–fuck what’s the word, re-, re-, I don’t know you get what I’m trying to say.”

“Rescinded?”

“Yeah, that.” He looked down at you, moving to rest his arm on your shoulder. And pressing a light kiss to your hair. “Look, I’m sorry for ‘avoiding’ you. It���s not because of you. You didn’t do anything. You’re perfect. I’ve been avoiding everyone.”

“I get it.”

“My parents thought the best way to punish me for throwing the party was to ban me from doing the talent show. That was gonna be my big break. And tomorrow they're making me and Greg go visit our Grandpa’s retirement home for the weekend. And he’s like weird. He doesn’t let us watch anything except the security footage of the place’s lobby. Oh, and I’m grounded so you shouldn’t even really be here.”

“I’m sorry, Rod. There’s not really much I can do there.”

“I know, but you being here is enough.”Just then you left out a soft yawn. You could barely keep your eyes open anymore.

He sighed standing up briefly only so he could move to the floor in front of your legs. He started to untie your shoes as he had noticed that they were still on. “‘m sorry that I’m keeping you up. You can stay the night if you want.”

You leaned back on the palm of your hands as you looked down at him. He was carefully taking his time as he undid your shoes. “I shouldn’t. You’re grounded and my parents would be pissed if they found out I snuck out.”

With your shoes now off, Rodrick sat back down next to you. Brushing some of the stray strands of hair off your face. “Please. I’ll wake you up before anyone else would reasonably be up.” He gave you the kind of puppy-dog look you could never in a million years imagine he would give to anyone besides you. As you gazed into his eyes, you contemplated staying or not. You really wanted to. You wanted nothing more. But if anyone found out–

You interrupted your own thoughts to let out a quiet, “Sure.” Afterwards placing a kiss on his temple. You let another yawn escape from your lips before laying down on his bed.

He shifted so that he was right next. Grasping towards your hand, so that he could run his fingers against your knuckles. “This might sound kind of random, but how did you know my parents found out? You must be psychic or something.” Rodrick realized that you were drifting off and more likely than not you barely registered what he had just said. 

“Greg called me.” It came out a little slurred and groggy. The tiredness was incredibly prominent in your voice as you spoke.

“Huh.” Maybe his little brother was actually good for something. He was going to add something else, but then he noticed how you’d already fallen asleep. Your soft snores like music to his ears. He could listen to them for hours on end. You had been laying down for barely even a minute. It was sweet. That you had come to see him so late even though you were this tired, just to comfort him. And listen to what he had to say. No one had ever made that much effort for him before.

And it was in that moment that he realized just how much he loved you. Even though you had been together for a little over a year now, neither of you had said it yet.

You of course had wanted to, but didn’t know if Rodrick was ready to say it back. However it was clear to anyone with common sense that he felt it deep down. Even if he was just too scared or didn’t truly understand what he was feeling. As he had never felt it before. But seeing you there, laying in his bed all wrapped up in his hoodie, everything just made sense to Rodrick. And so he couldn’t help it when the ‘I love you’ seemingly slipped out. But he meant it. Because he loved you more than he felt he had ever loved anyone before. 

-

The next morning Rodrick heavily overestimated his ability to wake up at the ass crack of dawn. Which all things considered wasn’t all that surprising. As he normally slept through the weekends. Only waking up around 3 pm if he didn’t have plans with you, or his Mom didn’t drag him out of bed. It just so happened that that morning was going to be one of those days. 

So when his Mom came to wake him up, so they could leave for the retirement home, she saw the two of you curled up together under his sheets, both properly clothed which she approved of, she hesitated before beginning to stir Rodrick. She liked you, and thought you were a good influence on Rodrick even if you weren’t the perfect poster child of your school. And she could tell that you had been there to comfort Rodrick. She had started to grow worried about the harshness of his punishment after Rodrick fell back into a slump. And to be honest she had been planning on reaching out to you herself in a hopes to cheer Rodrick up.

When she finally moved to nudge Rodrick’s shoulder, he blinked himself out of a tired daze into consciousness. After noticing it was his Mom standing beside him, waking him up, he tried his best to cover you. Even though it was extremely obvious that you were asleep next to him.

Susan starting speaking in a hushed tone, “I’m not mad. Just make sure she’s gone before we leave. So preferably in the next fifteen-ish minutes. Also I’ve already changed my mind. I'm a little mad. But I understand. Ok?”

He half-nodded, running a lazy hand across his face. Trying to wake himself up further, so he didn’t just immediately drift off after his Mom left the room.

She had hoped for a further response from Rodrick. Maybe even an apology of some sorts, but it didn’t seem like that would be happening today. So she just gave a neutral smile before heading back downstairs. Leaving Rodrick to wake you up and get ready before their family left.

“Hey, come on, you've got to leave now,” He trailed a hand through your hair, trying to stir you, “We’ve gotta go.”

A groan and mumble left you, it was unrecognizable and he could hardly hear you. Let alone understand you. “Please, wake up. C’mon.”

“Rod, what–” You opened your eyes the tiniest bit. Enough to see Rodrick and only Rodrick.

“Sorry, but you’ve got to go. ‘m leaving soon, and my Mom told me to make sure you get home.”

“I’m not surprised we ended up sleeping in,” you said with a laugh, leaning in towards Rodrick’s shoulder. Taking in his comforting scent, to help ground you. Bringing you back to reality after some of the best sleep you had gotten in what felt like forever.

He liked this moment. And he wished it didn’t have to end so soon, “Are you good to ride your bike home? I can maybe convince my Mom to drop you off if not.”

You appreciated how much he cared, but you knew once you got out of bed the drowsy state would wear off and you would be good to get home yourself. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about if my parents are awake and have figured out I’m not home.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” You moved to stand up, even though you really didn’t want to. When you got up and stood over him, you leaned forward for a brief kiss. “Bye Rodrick. Don’t miss me too much while you’re gone.”

“Oh, I won’t.” That made you scoff, as you picked up your shoes from the ground, stepping into them.

When you lifted up the window, and began to climb out you really wished you had the courage to say I love you, to him. It was the perfect moment to say that sort of thing to him.

But you were shocked when he beat you to it, “I love you, babe.’ Your heart felt like it had stopped, and you turned back to look at him with pure awe on your face. You swore you were ten seconds away from crying. 

Rodrick had shocked himself a bit with that one. Sure this wasn’t the first time he had said it out loud. But it was the first time he had said it when you were awake. He didn’t know what your reaction would be. Honestly he thought it would be bad for some stupid reason. So he was even more shocked when you said it back. Just as simple as that.

“Woah.” 

You smiled at him again as you continued backing up out the window. “Call me, Heffley.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

He was so glad you had entered into his life. And he still didn’t know how he had managed to make you fall in love with him. But he did know that never wanted this to end. Because he loved you too. And that would never stop.

author's note: surprise, a rodrick/reader. i rewatched all the diary of a wimpy kid movies and was inspired. don't expect any more of these though, as i'm sure this is gonna be a one time thing. also to clarify i am in the age range where it's not illegal for me to be writing this. so yeah. and i'm sorry if the opening scene was lowkey ass i didn't really know where i was going with this until halfway through, so i tried my best. anyways hope ya'll enjoyed :)

[deansapplepie]

Whatcha lookin’ at? (Drabble)

Part 1 of The Staring Contest Series

Warnings: none.

A/N: maybe ooc Daryl, I can’t say certainly.

The Quarry, Atlanta

It was a scorching hot morning at the quarry. 1 month after the outbreak or maybe a little more. The community that started small at the quarry, now had a lot of people and everyone had their own function. The function division was a little sexist, but you wouldn’t complain unless someone made some harm against you, or your dad. Not that you were dangerous or anything.

You were squatting near the water washing clothes with the other women, not your favorite chore you should say. You never thought you’d miss a washing machine so much in your life, but the task was bearable, the other ladies were nice and… having him some meters away fishing and being able to steal some glances made it all better.

Your legs were paining from squatting for a long time, so you decided to stand up for a little and you couldn’t just control your eyes as they wandered to where they’ve been wandering for the last month… to the charming grumpy handsome redneck. Daryl Dixon. He wasn’t one to speak much, but when he did you could expect 2 things a pretty smart remark that no one would expect from someone like him or a sassy remark that would annoy most of people, but made you all tingly and bothered.

“You’re staring, darling. Again.” Jacqui said by your side.

“I’m not.” You answered, cheeks instantly blushing.

It was well known among the women about your crush on the redneck, they saw how you looked at him, most of them disapproved it, not that they had any saying in it, but they new a Dixon wasn’t the kind of men Dale would ever want for you. Just a few of them didn’t judge you, Carol was too busy with her problems to care about anything else, Jacqui wasn’t one to judge anyone and Amy… she was a sweetheart, young and a little rebellious, so she always thought ‘why not?’.

While you were lost in your thoughts looking at Daryl, the way his muscles tensed while fishing, the sweat running on his tanned skin burnt by the sun…

He looked back at you.

He started walking in your direction.

“Fuck.” You squatted instantly again and put your attention back to the clothes. “He saw it, please pretend I wasn’t looking at him.”

“There’s no way of pretending, both of you are always on a staring contest.” Amy frankly spoke.

“What?” You asked, nope you were always the only one staring.

You got no answer because as soon as the blonde opened her mouth to answer you, a certain redneck approached you.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” He asked his feet planted by your side.

You didn’t answer. Maybe if you pretended it wasn’t with you he would just ignore and leave.

“Horvath, I’m talking to ya.” He squatted, SQUATTED, by your side. “Why d’ya keep staring? Have ya never seen a dirty redneck?”

Shit. He wasn’t going to give up, you pissed him.

Silence.

You couldn’t dare saying anything, but before he could open his mouth and pressure you one more time, the words simply left your mouth.

“You’re handsome.” You looked at him and you almost fell with your ass on the ground just by looking at his eyes deep as an ocean, but his reflexes were faster than gravity and he got a hold of your arm supporting you.

Silence.

That was his turn to have no words. Were you joking?

“I like looking at pretty things.” His hand got a tight grip on your arm, it didn’t hurt, but instead sent tingles all over you.

Silence.

He didn’t know if he felt flattered or offended. First of all he didn’t think he was handsome and secondly no men would like to be called pretty, but he couldn’t feel mad when it was coming out of your sweet pretty lips.

“And what does your daddy think about this?” He didn’t know what to say, so the first thing left his mouth was an intent of telling you that your father wouldn’t approve it.

In an act of boldness you said “I don’t know, I never asked him if he thinks you’re cute too.”

Silence.

You thought you had screwed things bad and if he didn’t hate you before, he’d now for sure, but your worries dissipated as soon as a smirk appeared at his lips, almost a smile, his pointed canine showing slightly at the side. “Ya’re fun.”

“Sometimes I am.” You answered.

He grunted, when what he wanted to say was from now on you would probably need to bear with his staring too, not that he didn’t before, there was just one thing about you that made it impossible for him to not take glances at you constantly. He wanted to dislike you, like everyone else, but even if Merle was disgusting to you, you still treated him nice, even if his brother was a jerk.

He got up and before living you go be tortured by the other women he said one last thing.

“I’ll see ya ‘round sunshine.”

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[starkeynation]

Is it casual now? Part 2

Part 1

A/N: The moment you’ve been waiting for🥳 Also this might the cliche fanfic story but im a sucker for it so i hope yall do too!

It’s been two agonising weeks since you broke up with Rafe..well, not exactly broke up cause you guys were never officially “together” as he said. Those words cut deeper than you’d ever admit, and you’ve spent every day since crying into your pillow, moping around your room, replaying every moment the two of you shared. Spending all four months with him really felt like a lifetime, and he’d burrowed into your soul in a way no one else ever had. It was infuriating.

But today, you finally snaps. It’s pointless being sad over someone who never truly wanted you in the first place. So, you took Sarah’s advice and go on the blind date she has been setting up for you.

When you arrive at the brunch place, you spot a guy in a blue polo, golden-blonde hair, decent looking, sitting alone at the table. That must be him, you thought. You proceed to approach him, exchange names and settling into the awkward conversations. Honestly, you don’t even want to be here. You’re just here for Sarah and you just had to get out of your room before you go crazy.

While you’re eating, you spot someone coming in. Rafe, he’s here. He sees you immediately seating with the guy but thank god your date is not facing him, or he could see the death stare Rafe is giving. While the kook in front of you who you don’t really remember his name..Matheo? Matty? is talking about his life, you couldn’t help but keep glancing towards Rafe’s direction. The way he needs to constantly tugs down his sleeve because of his huge biceps, his smooth buzz cut that you miss running your fingers through, his sharp jawline that you used to kiss all over- it’s maddening how much you still want him.

As the brunch date ended, Matt offers to give you a ride back home since Sarah’s the one dropping you off before. When both of you reach his car, he notices that his front left tire is flat. “What the- a flat tire? This was fine earlier,” he says, his brows frown. As he open his car boot to grab the spare tire, you accidentally make eye contact with Rafe from across the parking lot. He’s looking at you with a devilish smirk. You shake your head in disbelief as Rafe enters his car and drive off, “unbelievable,” you mutter.

“What was that?” Matt asks, returning with a tire. You give him a soft smile, “oh, nothing,” you reply. At that time, you know this is Rafe’s doing but how did he even know Matt’s car, your thoughts racing.

Later, when Matt drops you home, he invites you to a party at his place tomorrow night. “Um..yeah I’ll think about it,” you say.

“Alright, text me if you change your mind,” he reply. “Oh and y/n,” he continues.

“Yeah?”

“I just wanna say i had fun today,” he says, with a big smile plaster on his face. You return the smile, “yeah me too,” you say, as you walk in to your house. Matt is nice but to be frankly honest , all you remember from today is stealing glances at Rafe.

The next evening, at the party, you are looking for a drink at Matt’s bar when all of a sudden, you heard a familiar voice coming from behind you.

“Did you enjoy your date yesterday?”

You roll your eyes knowing it’s Rafe. You turn around facing him, “it’s none of your business, but yes, i did, thanks for asking,” you give him a sarcastic smile.

Rafe’s jaw tightens, he leans closer to your ear, “yeah? Well I don’t think he’s good for you,” he whispers.

You push his shoulder away. “Says the guy who slashed out someone’s tire just cause he’s jealous. Real mature, Rafe” you say, your voice filled with sarcasm. You walk away, not letting him talk.

The night pass by, you’re dancing and flirting with your date. You could feel Rafe is staring and observing your every move. You shouldn’t be enjoying this but you couldn’t help but to make him jealous. Suddenly slow music is on and Matt reaches your hand for a slow dance. You lean your head on the side of his shoulder as he place his hands around your waist. You search for Rafe to make sure he sees this. A moment later, Matt caresses your face and leans in for a kiss. You didn’t kiss him back. The kiss feels nothing to you, it doesnt ignite a spark in you, not like when you were with Rafe. The kiss only lasted for a moment when all of a sudden, Rafe grabs Matt by the collar and punches him.

You pull Rafe away from Matt, “Rafe what the fuck,” you shout, as the music stops and the room falls silent.

“I dare you, kiss my girl again and I swear I’ll put you 6 feet under,” Rafe spits, looking at Matt’s direction, ignoring you completely.

Your blood boils. Your whole body burn with anger. You slap Rafe in front of everyone. “I’m not your fucking girl,” you say, your voice low and deep. Gasps ripple through the crowd. Rafe stares at you, stunned. His eyes mixed with anger and hurt.

You don’t even bother to stay there any longer so you help Matt to his room. “I’m really sorry Matt..Rafe’s an idiot,” you apologise as you press ice to his bruise.

“It’s okay, it’s my fault anyways. I wouldn’t mess with you if I knew you were with him,” he replies.

“Well I’m not.”

“You sure? Dont lie, I notice your attention was drawn to him all night,” Matt questions. You go silent, not sure what to reply cause he’s right, you were flirting with him just to make Rafe jealous. “It’s fine..I think I’m just gonna go to bed now. Can you drive?,” he asks. You nod and apologise to him once again before walking outside.

As you walk outside heading towards your car, you feel a hand grabs your wrist. It’s no one else other than Rafe. “Please can we talk,” he says.

You yank your arm away, “was the slap not enough? Or should I give you another one,” you say, your tone cold.

“Ok fine I deserve it..but please, just hear me out,” he replies, his voice filled with desperation.

“What’s more to talk Rafe? You made it very clear that day that we’re casual and you’re not ready for a relationship so can you go and let me be with someone who actually wants me,” you spit back.

He throw his hands to the air, “okay I know I was a jerk, I’m really sorry. God…I’m so stupid for letting you go but that day, after you left all I could think about is you and how I could make things right,” he admits. “Without you my life is literally nothing, it’s quite, but not good quite and so lonely. Please please forget everything I said, I wanna be with you. Give me a chance please.”

Your eyes are getting teary, your head is spinning, you don’t know what to believe. Your tounge is tied and you don’t know what to say.

“Y/n? Please say something..look, I’ll apologise to that guy for the tire, for the punch, I’ll do anything you say but please just give me one last chance. I miss you y/n.”

You shake your head with a tear running down your cheek, “you really hurt me Rafe..I’m sorry I can’t do this right now.” And before he could say anything, you climb into your car and drive off as fast as you can.

For three days straight, Rafe wouldn’t stop. The constant barrage of notifications—texts, calls, it makes you impossible to think. Despite your silence, he keeps begging to meet and talk, desperate for another chance. Things escalate when he shows up at your house, knocking on the door and calling your name. It’s too much. You couldn’t take it anymore.

You storm outside, determined to end this.

“You said you’d do anything for me, right?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Yes, yes—anything,” he replies eagerly, nodding.

“Okay. Then stop texting me, stop coming here, and just..give me some space, some time.”

Rafe blinks, stunned, but after a long pause, he finally speaks up. “That’s what you really want? He asks.

“Yes that’s what I really want.”

He nods, signalling that he understands and left.

This time, he really does. There are no texts, no calls, no surprise visits. You can tell he’s really trying to prove himself so he respects your boundaries.

Monday comes, and you have to go to work at the country club. You don’t want to cause you know the chance of seeing Rafe there is high but, you can’t pass up the paycheck. As you carry a tray of drinks toward one of the tables, you spot two familiar figures seated together, Ward and Rafe.

You try to keep your distance, but their table is right across from where you have to deliver the drinks. Just as you approach, you overhear Ward’s voice.

“What happened to y/n? I haven’t seen her around lately,” Ward says casually. “She’s the first girl you’ve ever introduced to the family, and, surprisingly, I like her. You were always so happy when she was around. And I’ve noticed you’ve been a mess ever since she’s been out of sight Rafe.”

Your breath catches. The words hit you like a wave, and you nearly drop the tray. Heart racing, you hurry back to the kitchen, trying to process what you just heard. The weight of it all feels overwhelming. You decide to take a moment to clear your head, heading toward the restroom.

Just as you steps outside to return to your work, you bump into someone—hard.

“Oh, sorry,” you mutter, looking up to see Rafe.

He steps aside, about to walk away, but you stop him. “Wait.” Rafe turns, his expression guarded.

You hesitate but can’t hold back. “I didn’t mean to, but I heard what your dad said just now… Is it true? Am I really the first girl you ever brought to meet your whole family?”

Rafe’s face softens. “Yes. You are,” he admits quietly. “And you’re the only girl Wheezie’s ever like. She doesn’t even talk to anyone else.”

Your confusion deepens. “Then why did you say all those things before? I don’t understand, Rafe.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because I’ve fallen for you so hard,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “All the girls I’ve been with—they were nothing. Just hookups. But you? You’re special. And I was scared. Scared that if we were together, I’d mess it all up. I’m not a boyfriend material—I screw things up. But now I realize… I’d do anything to make this work. I’ll try, for you. I’ll become the man you deserve.”

The sincerity in his voice brings tears to your eyes. Without thinking, you reach up and kiss him. His lips feel like home, and in that moment, all the doubt and frustration melt away.

Pulling back, you cup his face, looking straight into his eyes. “Rafe, I don’t care if you’re not perfect. I fell for you—the real you. If you’re a mess, then so am I. I don’t care if you ruin my life or fuck up my nights. I’ll never change my mind about you. I trust you. The Rafe I’ve spent the last four months with is nothing like what everyone else describe you. You’re loveable, caring, and would never intentionally hurt me.”

Rafe wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground as he kisses you again. “I miss you,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, holding him close. “I missed you too.”

He sets you down, his blue eyes searching yours. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?”

You smile, tears threatening to spill. “I thought you’d never ask.” You giggle as he pulls you into another kiss, the world fading away around you.

A/N: i fw ruin my life so hard i had to make the ending feels like this song

[monocytogenes]

Illario Dellamorte and the role of First Talon

I've read a lot of speculation on the tags as to why Caterina favors Lucanis over Illario as her successor. While I know Veilguard offers its own implications, given that @nirikeehan and I have been writing a worldstate based solely off of pre-VG sources--such as The Wigmaker Job and Eight Little Talons--I got curious as to what those sources specifically tell us about Illario's talents and Caterina's likely perspective on the role.

Illario's Virtues

What qualities does Illario have going for him?

Illario is incredibly charismatic, in a striking and deliberate way. We learn from Lucanis’ perspective that Illario actively weaponizes his appearance and manner to great effect.

His “pretty-boy mask” seems to be more of a tool than a genuine facet of his personality, a costume he puts on to gain admiration from others and accomplish ends. He does seem to have a real interest in fashion (and, well, cleanliness, given the number of times he’s clearly put out by gore, and the scene where Lucanis expects to find him at the cleanest tavern at the docks), but he’s able to easily paint over the feelings of annoyance, frustration, and brotherly mischief he readily shows his cousin when he’s out to engineer a situation. Lucanis is grudgingly impressed by his skill.

I also love this little scene where Illario takes the lead on bluffing an approaching assassin, giving less socially adept Lucanis an effective opener and adding realistic sound effects. He has enough imagination to craft a convincing scenario on the spot and kick off some naturalistic banter.

We also learn that, though he can improvise, Illario is someone who values plans and active communication. He is clearly annoyed that Lucanis is playing things by ear after they discover Ambrose knows they’re coming, and working tactics out in his own head without informing him of what’s next.

A lot of Illario’s complaints, snarkiness towards Lucanis, and desire to find some joy in the job seems to be a response to this active exclusion (despite Lucanis viewing it as Illario’s unwillingness to work.)

Illario wants to actively discuss things—perhaps to swap ideas and collaborate better—and really prods at Lucanis when he’s unwilling to do that.

Frankly, I think the most interesting narrative dynamic in TWJ is how, given that we’re in Lucanis’ perspective, Illario at first does appear somewhat flippant and unserious, but as the story goes on and Lucanis starts taking extra risks and eventually goes fully off the rails (like, so off the rails that he’s effectively multi-track drifting), it becomes increasingly apparent that Illario is the more professional of the pair.

He gets annoyed that Lucanis is shirking an order, despite his own resentment for Caterina.

He gets upset at Lucanis’ willingness to identify himself to an enslaved person and leave her alive because it’s an operational security issue. He and Lucanis are foreign agents hired to kill a powerful, well-connected Tevinter nobleman. If she can provide a description of Lucanis, that puts Lucanis’ life at risk!

Later, Illario reaches Peak Pissed Off when Lucanis denies him a quick kill, makes the situation substantially more dangerous, and isn’t able to differentiate between his own vengeful thoughts and what Illario’s actually telling him. To Illario, the job is a job, a task to complete; emotions and greater political concerns are beside the point, and only threaten their own survival.

(There is no place for emotion in killing, as Caterina taught them—as Lucanis remembers and immediately ignores.)

Finally, I’ll note that though Lucanis’ physical talents surpass his, we see that apart from a master social engineer and a professional with an appreciation for plans, effective risk management and a sensibly limited scope of work, Illario’s a deadly combatant in his own right, too.

Caterina and the Role of First Talon

The question becomes: how do those assets match up to the job of First Talon?

Lucanis clearly believes Illario’s social skills fit the demands of the role:

In TWJ, we’re not given a solid reason, really, as to why Lucanis is the evident favorite. We are shown that Lucanis is an almost legendarily lethal assassin, kind of a Batman-esque terror hero (maybe more of just a 'protagonist' than a ‘hero’, if I'm honest.) Lucanis is larger than life in the eyes of his peers. In ELT mention of him makes Teia and Viago literally shudder:

And what’s interesting there is that the description of him as terrifying is presented alongside a description of First Talon Caterina as terrifying. She is not fair, she is ruthless. She previously subjected a House to such complete devastation that Teia, a younger colleague, has never heard of it.

Like Illario, Caterina is intentional about her appearance. She deliberately demonstrates her wealth and authority. She actively masks emotions that are at odds with what she’s trying to accomplish socially.

But she’s scary. She is fierce and unyielding and commands respect through not just through the resources of her House, or her capacity for planning, or her overall experience and intelligence, but fear.

In this way, Lucanis seems more like Caterina. If the role of First Talon, preeminent killer of killers, carries a heavy expectation of brutality for the sake of the Crows as an institution, then charming, fashionable, affable Illario may not look like an appropriate choice.

Illario is a capable, pragmatic assassin; his ability to endear himself to strangers is bar none; he appreciates the value of a thought-out plan and would likely take naturally to administrative work if he doesn’t have a hand in it already (perhaps there’s a reason why, per Lucanis, he doesn’t leave Treviso or have much in the way of foreign contacts.) But superficially: he’s pleasant. He’s pretty. He doesn’t like blood. He doesn’t fit the image.

He’s not even mentioned by Viago as someone of interest after Teia alludes to him indirectly (and amusingly implies that neither he nor Lucanis are sufficiently affectionate towards Caterina.) Illario's likely not perceived as a contender of importance.

It’s apparent, too, that Lucanis’ absolute freakout in TWJ is not Lucanis’ standard operating procedure, given how shocked and furious Illario is with him—normally Lucanis is committed to his contracts, if kind of flying by the seat of his pants. His potentially compromising expressions of empathy towards servants and lower-class folks are evidently not usual for him since they surprise Illario, who otherwise seems to know him well. And while Lucanis is avoidant of Caterina, he respects her, and seems to have previously only nudged at his boundaries while still getting his work done, rather than actively making a mess of things in a way that might invite her scorn.

Illario, for what it's worth, doesn’t seem to be obnoxious towards her either—he expresses some bitterness to Lucanis, but rather than bothering Caterina about the matter himself, he wants Lucanis to open the conversation on his behalf. He’s tense about the potential for conflict and acknowledges her fear-based influence over both of them.

In all, I don’t think, textually, that Caterina’s disfavor of Illario is due to him being unqualified for the job of First Talon in terms of his actual skills, or due to some sort of interpersonal conflict between them. Maybe she even has a decent sense of his ability and track record, given that she had a hand in training him and is actively overseeing her House's affairs. Rather, I suggest she’d prefer someone who would match her leadership style, someone who would rule more through fear than love, who could adopt the persona other Crows expect in service of their collective survival. And certainly even up to the time that she’s set to summon Lucanis, Lucanis seems like the more suitable choice.

Caterina doesn't know that Lucanis has been growing a conscience, that he’s behaving erratically, that he said “fuck the job” amid Illario’s protestations. War looms on the horizon, the Crow leadership is gutted, and it's logical enough for her to figure that her legacy will need to be one of cold-blooded shows of force, not the persuasions of a silver tongue.

[taliabhattwrites]

Less Fearmongering about Testosterone, Please, Or: There is no "Boy HRT"/"Girl HRT" Dichotomy

Hello folks, I'm a trans woman and I'm on testosterone gel.

As an immigrant to a regime that is currently setting trans standards of care on fire, there is no way I can acquire any of the drugs I need to put in my body through the official channels. I've been on E monotherapy (weekly injections, no T-blocker, works out really cheap and I have a few years' worth stockpiled) for a while now, and started T-gel about a year ago.

We initially grabbed it because my wife was interested in microdosing and I decided to do so with her (though she's on injections now). Most feminizing HRT regimes nuke our T levels to lower than the healthy range for cis women, and that frankly isn't good and can lead to various health issues. T is, ultimately, just a hormone, and even if I had too much of it in the past, I still need some of it to be healthy. One noticeable effect for me is that it's helped a lot with my energy levels.

In terms of acquisition, T is actually relatively abundant compared to E because a lot of cis men buy and take steroids, while most cis women who need E are just getting it prescribed by their doctors without much fuss. Our community is the only one that really has a need for E-compounders, while the population of people who consume steroids is way higher.

Funnily, our biggest challenge in acquiring the gel was just finding a forum that would point us to a gel supplier instead of just insisting that "Gel doesn't lead to enough gains, bro! Here just buy these injections." All very well-intentioned advice, of course, but that was very much not my goal and not what I needed.

Where I am, it's legal to purchase and own T, just not to sell it. T possession is not particularly harshly cracked down upon, given that its use amongst a certain crowd is basically an open secret. Gauge your level of risk but ultimately, the official policy on trans existence is discouraging transition and making it harder for us to be able to change our sex. A friend from Germany showed me this extract that explicitly advocates for therapy to dissuade bodily transition:

It's from the guidelines for transition-related care by the association of German health insurances!

If you can get it from a doctor, good. Do that and don't forget you'll constantly have to advocate for yourself. Even if you can, however, you should frankly have your back-up options sorted out, because we live in times increasingly hostile to transitional care, and we all need to have fallbacks.

Maybe the world will eventually become less trans-eliminationist, but in the meantime, transition is always going to carry with it a certain level of risk. All I can really advise is to take charge of your own bodily autonomy, to decide how you want to shape your sex, and if you feel like you can't currently do that, to start making plans for when you eventually can. That kept me going for five years in the closet, and eventually paid off.

Good luck, and death before detransition.

[hoonieyun]

now playing...

after midnight - chappell roan

pairing: singer/producer lee heeseung x singer reader "y/n" x singer sim jaeyun

warnings: profanity, suggestive, kissing, heeseung is thirsty, overall 18+ - also this is partially written so please make sure to read the written part so it all makes sense

wc: 954

ignore the time stamps and any possible typos lol

heeseung approaches y/n as she’s mingling with jake and his friends. her smile fading after he taps her shoulder and he comes into view. “can i steal her for a bit?” heeseung asks jake as if jake was the person in charge of you. a recurring behavior heeseung where he felt the need to always show ownership and possession of you when you were dating, rarely ever considering how you felt or how it would affect you. 

jake shakes his head and lets you go with heeseung even if you don't want to. heeseung grabs your wrist after failing to hold your hand, dragging you to a part of the venue where you weren’t necessarily seen by a lot of people. “what do you want heeseung? i’m trying to enjoy the party…” you say with a sigh and he tries to reel you in by showing you his big doe eyes and even though it slightly made your heart flutter, you chose to stand on business. 

“look, i know i fucked up but just give me one more chance to treat you right.” heeseung says but slows down as the sentence progresses when you just so happen to say the same exact things as him. this was the sentence he had pulled on you in the past and quite frankly, it worked a few times but not this time. 

“you didn’t even wanna try a new script to get me back?” you ask coldly and heeseung drops his face like he has been caught. “okay, i just don’t know what to say. i miss you and i know i was a fucking ass but i just can’t stand being without you.” heeseung says and you just watch him, waiting because you know he was eventually going to tell on himself. he had that habit, when heeseung was drunk and he began to ramble at you, if you just stared at him his silent pauses would be filled with more rambling because he wanted to avoid the awkward silence. so he’d fill it with more talking and eventually confess something he didn’t mean to.

“and i don’t know. that sond i made was mean i admit that but did you have to do a collab with jake of all people? you know how much i liked his music and it felt like a low blow.” there it is…

“ha! i knew it! you’re jealous, i can’t believe this is what this is actually about. do you even want me back or are you just threatened with the idea that someone else wants me and that i’m no longer yours?” you ask, anger in your voice and heeseung doesn’t know what to say. 

“heeseung, i mean this in the nicest way possible, leave me alone.” you say and although heeseung was expecting something a bit harsher, your tired demeanor and offset to his advances hurt more than your words. 

you walk away before heeseung could say another but you don’t rejoin jake and his friends, choosing to find a spot you could be alone for a few minutes. 

you turn around to hide yourself from jake as he approaches, half embarrassed that he has to see you like this and the other feeling guilty as you’re bringing down the vibe of his own party. 

“you okay, pretty?” jake asks as he pushes open the door to the balcony. the cold air whipping past him as he takes the spot next to you. clearing your throat, “yeah, i’m okay. sorry i don’t wanna be a downer on your birthday.” you say, trying to avoid eye contact but jake softly grabs your chin to make eye contact with you. 

“can i be honest..? i wasn’t really feeling the party either.” jake says with a chuckle and he gets a laugh out of you at the same time, smiling even bigger when he hears your laugh that he finds so pretty. 

“wanna get out of here?” he asks and as much as you wanted to, you felt bad. “jake, this is your party, you should be here.” you say to him and jake just rolls his eyes with a pout. “nah, everyone in there is probably too drunk to even notice.” he reassures you and for a moment you’re just looking at each other. jake’s eyes are fishing for the small glint in your eyes that tells him you want this as much as he does, and indeed you do. 

you take his hand in yours and drag him back inside, past the party, and into the elevator. “where you taking me, huh?” jake says, teasingly and you roll your eyes at him playfully as you drag jake to your car. 

the drive back to your place is filled with laughter and singing random songs with jake. he couldn’t believe this was finally, his crush on you was finally progressing to something more. his eyes widened at the sight of your apartment, a high rise but humble home that screamed your style. cute figures and stuffed animals scattered throughout the home and empty cans of energy drinks on your kitchen counter. 

jake is taken out of his thoughts when you slam the door behind him and you grab him by the collar. “do you think i’m pretty?” you ask even though you already know that answer to it. jake nods, desperation in his eyes as he looks down at your lips. 

“do you wanna kiss me, jakey?” you ask and he nods eagerly, answering faster than the first time. you don’t even get a chance to lean closer to jake before he crashes his lips onto yours. a moment he had been waiting for. 

masterlist - back - next

hoonieyun notes: trouble in paradise for heeseung means smooth sailing for jake! what do we think jake and yn are going to do once they get to yn's place? do a puzzle? coloring book? bake cookies?

also please answer the little poll, the result doesn't affect the story but i'd love to see yalls input

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

taglist: @17ericas @wave2hoon @nikiswifiee @kitzzenz @jae-n0 @dreamiestay @milanco @thinkinboutbin @who-tf-soddhi @yourssincerely-mimi @m3wkledreamy @aespaqq @isa942572 @riribelle @st4r-g1rlllsblog @heartheejake @pochakkeu @nyxiebabyyy @l1vw00n @ningningiloveumarryme @softchannie @jakeyverse @payformycoffeeandleave @alpha-mommy69 @starry-eyed-bimbo @insommni4 @wiccangirl29 @firstclassjaylee @right-person-wrong-time @blockbusterhee @heeaxvhhoon @yjngwon04 @mingyudids @zyvlxqht @sxnmavi @poeticjustice1010 @paririnnn @1starqi @whoa-jo

[imsogonesposts]

So This is Love

|| ao3 || So This is Love masterlist || steve harrington masterlist || requests are open!! || an: if anyone wants more prince steve stuff, i could totally write more stuff for him cause i love him || this is part of a series, but each fic can be read on its own ||

summary: a cinderella retelling. a girl accidentally meets the prince and gets him to fall for her. (wc:4,686)

warnings: brief mention of readers parents having passed away, no evil step family, no fair godmother/magical elements from the cinderella story

Sometimes, when Steve found the royal castle to be too stuffy, too fancy, and just too much, he found himself taking a ride out with his horse to the forest near the castle. He found the fresh air usually helped to clear his mind. He enjoyed hearing the birds chirp and seeing the animals run past him with not a care in the world. He sometimes found himself wondering what it would be like to not have a care in the world. To not have to worry about his princely duties, or have to worry about the upcoming ball his parents were forcing him to have as “it’s about time you found a suitable princess, Steven.” Frankly, Steve didn’t know how he would ever be able to find the girl for him when his parents rarely ever let him leave the castle. His only way out of its massive walls was to convince his closest friends Robin and Dustin to let him out of the castle and into the woods. It was a miracle they never suggested to follow him out and watch over him. Though, maybe they could sense he needed some time to himself. He always came back from the forest in a far better mood, after all. 

“Miss, are you alright?” Steve asked, noticing a girl lying on the grassy floor, looking up at the sky. Steve knew he shouldn't talk to people when outside the castle, especially when alone, but he couldn’t resist ensuring she was okay. Something about her drew him towards her, and he honestly didn’t want to put up much of a fight.

“Oh, I’m alright, thank you,” you replied, looking up at him and raising a hand to cover the glare of the sun from your eyes. 

Steve nodded, glancing around the forest with a sigh, “you know, you shouldn’t be this deep in the forest alone,” he told you, smiling at the small laugh you let out. It was a nice sound, he thought.

“I could say the same to you,” you replied, sitting up with a smile. “Besides, I’m not alone, I’m with you, Mr…?” You paused, waiting for him to reply with his name. 

Instead, he just laughed. 

“You don’t know who I am?” He asked as you shook your head “no.” 

“I mean, you do look familiar, I suppose,” you reply, your eyebrows creasing in the middle as you furrow them, almost as if trying to pinpoint where you could have possibly seen him before. 

He laughs again, “I get that a lot,” he says with a smile. “Some people call me," he pauses. "Ven,” he decides on.

“Ven? Is it short for something?” 

“Yes,” Steve replies with a shrug and a smile. He didn’t want to tell you he was the prince, at least not yet. He enjoyed being able to talk to someone without them thinking they had to watch their every word just because he was the prince. He only ever got that behavior with some of the guards and maids of the castle that practically grew up with him. It was almost refreshing. 

“So, are you from here, Mr. Ven?” You ask. 

“I, uh, work at the palace,” Steve explains. That’s close enough to the truth, right? He technically does work at the palace- as the prince.

“Really?” You ask, eyes going slightly wide. 

You have pretty eyes, Steve thought. 

“What do you do there?” You ask as he struggles to quickly think of an answer.

“I’m a guard,” he decides on. “And are you from here? Miss..?” He takes a pause as well as you tell him your name. “That’s a pretty name,” he whispers more to himself than to you.

“I’m actually the royal princess,” you joke. “Which you should know as the royal guard, of course.”

Steve lets out a small laugh, finally hopping off his horse, feet on the ground to be on the same level as you. “My apologies, Your Royal Highness, I don’t know how I could have not recognized you,” he replies with a bow. It was almost funny to him- could you really be so oblivious that you were making jokes about being the princess to the actual prince?

“Oh, you’re forgiven, Sir Ven,” you reply, standing up and giving him a curtsy. 

You’re cute, he thought. Maybe he wouldn’t mind the upcoming ball if you were in attendance, and if he could ask to meet you again. And again and again. 

He raised himself from his bow with a smile. 

“Is it nice in the castle?” You ask as you move to sit back on the grass.

Steve nods as he moves to sit across from you. “It’s quite nice,” he replies, “is it nice where you’re from?” 

You simply shrug. “It’s not the best,” you reply, picking a daisy off the grass, extending your hand towards him to pass it to him. “But it’s not the worst either. We make do with what we have.”

He takes the daisy, not quite deciding if he should smile or not. He wants to smile, as no one’s ever given him flowers before, and he thought it was a sweet gesture, but he also doesn’t want to smile due to your words. “Not the best?” He asks, twirling the daisy in his hand. 

“My step-family does their best, I suppose,” you tell him. “I just miss my parents is all.”

“Are they..?” He begins to ask before stopping himself. Dead. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-“

“It’s okay,” you reply with a small smile. “And yes, they are.”

He picks a daisy off the grass as well, handing it to you. “I’m sorry.”

You take the daisy with a slightly larger smile. “It’s okay,” you repeat, “it’s not your fault,” you shrug, placing the daisy in the spot between your hair and ear. “Do you like my new look?” You ask, pointing at the flower as he lets out a small laugh. 

“Beautiful,” he replies truthfully. Steve might not get to leave the castle very often, but he wholeheartedly believes that you are the most beautiful girl in the entire kingdom. World, even. 

You duck your head with a smile before getting up. “Well, Mr. Ven, I must get going,” you tell him, still smiling brightly. “I wouldn’t want to worry my step-family,” you tell him with a small curtsy. 

“I hope to see you again, Your Royal Highness,” he teases.

“My name will do just fine, Sir Ven,” you reply with a laugh.

He found himself enjoying making you laugh. You have a nice laugh, he found himself thinking again. 

“Forgive me for being too forward,” he starts, “but I truly do hope to see you again. Truly.”

“So do I,” you tell him with a smile before turning around, making your way home, he presumes. Away from him. 

He wished you could have stayed longer. That the two of you could have stayed in that field till the sun set and the stars began to shine. He wished more than anything that he could speak to you for longer. 

“It was lovely meeting you,” he shouts.

He smiles when he hears your small laugh. “You as well,” you shout back, further descending down the grassy hill.

***

“Oh, mother, a letter came in the mail,” your step-sister Max says, entering the parlor room, and handing it to your stepmom.

“Thank you dear,” she says, taking it before letting out a loud gasp.

“What?” You and your two step-sisters ask in unison. 

Your stepmother raises from her seat to show the three of you the letter. “It’s a letter from the royal castle!” She exclaims, handing your step-sister Vickie the letter, as she was in the middle between you and Max. 

“YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO THE CELEBRATION OF PRINCE STEVEN’S 18TH BIRTHDAY, IN WHICH HE WILL BEGIN THE SEARCH FOR HIS BRIDE AND OUR SOON TO BE PRINCESS” the letter read.

The date for the celebration was a week away, the invitation called it a ball open to the public, requesting guests to dress formally. 

“Oh, one of my girls could marry the prince!” your stepmom exclaims, walking in circles around the room. “Why, we’ll need to get dresses, and rent a carriage, and-“

Vickie leans into your side, whispering, “maybe you’ll see that guard you met in the forest.”

“Oh, shush,” you whisper back with a small laugh. “He’s probably forgotten all about me by now.”

Max leans into Vickie’s side now, whispering in a deep voice, “I hope to see you again,” mimicking Ven’s parting words to you. 

“You’re as beautiful as the sun,” Vickie replies in an equally as deep voice. 

You roll your eyes with a small scoff. “He didn’t say ‘as the sun,’” you reply. 

“Oh, but he did call you beautiful?” Vickie asks, laughing as you roll your eyes again.

Your stepmother turns around, stopping in front of the three of you. “What are you three giggling about? You have a ball to get ready for!” She shoos her hands away, exclaiming “Go! Go!”

“The ball isn’t for a week,” Vickie replies with a sigh. 

“So we have no time to waste,” she exclaims, clapping her hands together. “Up, up, all of you. One of my girls might marry a prince!”

Vickie nudges you with a teasing laugh. “Or a royal guard,” she whispers. 

***

“My, don’t you three look wonderful,” your stepmother exclaimed, clapping her hands together with a laugh. 

Max almost instantly began pulling on her yellow dress with a small groan, “this dress is uncomfortable,” she says with a sigh. 

“Maxine!” Her mother exclaims, rushing towards her daughter and pulling her hands away, fixing any nonexistent creases she might have left, “These dresses were a fortune! Don’t ruin them!” Your stepmother straightens herself, looking at you and Vickie, “that goes for you two as well. Do not ruin these dresses.”

The three of you nod as your stepmother sighs and opens the door of your home. “Off we go, off we go,” she says as the three of you enter a gold carriage parked outside your home. Max in her yellow dress, Vickie in her pink dress, and you in your blue one. 

“So, will you be running off to look for your guard?” Vickie whispers as you make your way. 

You shrug with a smile. “We’ll see,” you respond before stepping foot into the carriage. 

***

“Where is your sister?” Your stepmother whispers to both Vickie and Max, looking around the room for a girl in a blue ballgown. In normal circumstances, such as back in the town square, it wouldn’t be too hard to find you, but in a castle full of girls in ballgowns, finding you seemed close to impossible. 

“Probably looking for her knight,” Max jokes as your stepmother sighs. 

“Her and that boy. She met him once and she’d rather talk to him than the prince.”

*** 

Steve had been walking around the overly crowded ballroom with his head maid/best friend Robin in tow. He had told his parents it was so he could get a good feel of who was in attendance at the ball before coming to a final decision on which girl he would like to marry. But truthfully, he was only looking for one girl. A certain girl he had met in the forest who he’s half convinced truly had no idea she was speaking to the crowned prince. 

“She’s cute,” Robin whispers to Steve, pointing towards a freckled red-headed woman whose name tag displayed the name “Miss Victoria.”

“She is,” Steve nodded in agreement, continuing to glance around the room before his eyes drifted to another corner of the room, where he saw what he thought to be the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

“You should talk to her,” Steve tells his friend lightly pushing her towards Miss Victoria’s direction before making his way towards the girl in the corner, wearing a sparkling blue dress. 

“Hello, Your Royal Highness,” he says with a bow after finally reaching you. “May I say, you're even more beautiful than I remember,” he says raising himself. He smiles at the small gasp you let out. 

“It’s you! Sir Ven, I was looking for you!” You exclaim with a laugh. 

He laughs as well, “here I am. In the flesh.”

“You know, you’re quite hard to find for a royal guard,” you tell him, “I thought you’d be adjoined at the prince’s hip or something.”

Steve can’t help but laugh a little more. “You truly don’t know who I am, do you?” He asks with a smile. 

“You’re Ven, the royal guard, no?” You ask, tilting your head as a puzzled look crosses your features. 

Steve shakes his head no. “No,” he replies, taking one of your hands and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I’m going to tell you a secret now, is that alright?” He whispers as you nod. 

“I’m the crowned prince,” he whispers, lightly squeezing your hand. 

“What?” You ask with a laugh as he stares at you, a smile of his own on his face. 

“I said, I’m the crowned prince,” he repeats slightly louder. 

“Please tell me you’re joking,” you whisper as he shakes his head no. “Oh my,” you put your free hand up to your mouth to suppress a small laugh before coming to your senses and dropping down to a curtsy. “Your Highness.”

Steve simply laughs, “oh, there’s no need for that, Your Royal Highness,” he teases. You internally wince at his teasing. How could you not recognize you had been talking to the prince in the forest? How could he so easily call you “Your Royal Highness,” when you were no royalty, and yet he was? 

“I apologize for that,” you mutter as he lets out another laugh. 

“No need,” he tells you. “You know, I truly meant it when I said I’d like to see you again. I enjoyed our conversation. I’m glad to see you here tonight.”

You smile at that. A smile that makes him feel warm inside. 

Steve bows once again, a hand outstretched to you. “If you wouldn’t mind, it’d do me a great pleasure if you let me have at least one dance with you.”

You take his hand with a smile, asking, “just one?”

“More to come, I hope,” Steve replies, squeezing your hand as he raises himself, leading you to the dance floor. 

When the two of you finally reach the dance floor, he places a hand on your lower back, raising your joint hands. 

You glance around the room, noticing the crowd staring at the two of you as you whisper to him, “they’re all looking at you.”

He almost laughs at the absurdity of the statement. How could they be looking at him, when he had a gorgeous girl like you as his dance partner? “Believe me, my dear,” he whispered with a smile, “they’re all looking at you,” he said, swaying across the almost blinding room with you. 

“What are you staring at?” Steve whispers after a few moments of silence, as he notices you looking at a couple dancing not too far from you. 

“That’s my step-sister,” you reply with a laugh. 

“Well, your step-sister is dancing with my guard,” Steve replies with a laugh of his own. “That’s Sir Lucas,” he informs you, “he’s a nice fellow.”

“That’s Maxine,” you reply, “me and my other step-sister call her Max, though. She’s…nice when she wants to be,” you say with a laugh.

Steve lets out a hum in response, suppressing a laugh of his own. “May I show you something?” He asks as you nod your head yes. He removes his hand from your lower back, though still holding your joint hands as he leads you out to the castle garden.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the prince?” You ask when finally away from the wide-eyed, staring eyes, still holding onto the prince’s hand.

“I worried you might treat me differently,” he earnestly replied. “It was nice to not have someone worry so much over the fact that they were talking to the prince.”

You smile at that. “I suppose you’re not as intimidating as everyone claims.”

The corner of his mouth turns up at that. “No?” He asks, lightly squeezing your hand. 

“No,” you reply with a smile, the two of you stopping at a bridge to look over the lake beneath you. 

“Won’t they miss you back at the ball? It’s in honor of you after all, for your,” you let out a small gasp. “It’s your birthday! Happy birthday Your Highness!”

The prince drops his head at that with a laugh. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” he says with a laugh. You were the first of the people in attendance at the ball to remember such a thing, and to him, it felt like you just handed him the world. “They might miss me, yes,” he whispers, turning his gaze from the lake towards you, “but honestly, I think I’d miss you if you didn’t return with me.”

He smiles at the smile that crosses your features. It almost seemed to light up your face in a way he couldn’t describe, but it was a look he wanted to memorize. He wanted to see that smile every day if he could- if you’d let him. 

“You know, I didn’t want to have this ball,” the prince suddenly confesses, glancing at the party happening indoors before looking back towards you.

The moonlight shone on you in such a perfect way, highlighting your features in a way that made him feel something likebutterflies in his stomach. He wasn’t used to such a feeling, but he thought it was a nice feeling to have. He imagined this is what his maid Nancy had meant whenever she spoke of the baker boy she knew, Jonathan.

“But, I’m glad I did, if it means I got to see you again,” he continued, raising your joint hands and placing a kiss to the back of yours.

“Does that line usually work on the other girls?” You teasingly asked with a smile. 

That teasing would be the death of him. He loved how freely you talked to him, prince or not.  

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied with a laugh. “You’re the first girl I’ve tried it on,” he says with a smile. 

He doesn’t miss the small flicker of shock that crosses your features. 

“Well,” you quietly reply, “I’m sure you could do better.”

“You’re more gorgeous than the stars,” he easily replies, nodding his head up, towards the stars that lit up the night sky. 

“Better,” you reply with a smile as he returns his gaze towards you. 

“If I may, why didn’t you want this ball?” You quietly ask as he lets out a small sigh. 

“My parents wanted the ball so I could find a princess to marry,” he replies, squeezing your still joint hand. If he was being honest, he never wanted to let go of your hand. “We finally came to an agreement that the ball may be open to the public.”

“And why did you want it open to the public?”

“Because after meeting you in the forest, I was wishing on every fallen star out there that you may appear,” he raises your hand to kiss it once more, “and that maybe my parents would meet you and maybe one day, let me…marry you. If things worked out.”

Oh. The prince wanted to marry you.

“Your Highness,” you start as he quietly interrupts you, whispering your name. 

“My name will do just fine, darling.”

“Steven,” you reply after a blink.

“Steve is fine,” he tells you with a smile, “my friends call me Steve.”

“Steve,” you quietly reply, as if testing the name out on your tongue. He quite liked hearing his name fall from your lips. 

“Steve,” you began again, a smile wide enough to take over your entire face. 

“There you are,” a red-headed girl interrupts, suddenly grabbing you by the arm. The very same girl Robin had thought was cute. Miss Victoria.

“Come on, we have to get going,” Victoria says, lightly pulling on your arm as your hand, reluctantly, releases Steve. 

“Is everything all right?” You ask as the girl continues to pull you along. 

She only nods. “Yes, yes, mother is just in one of her moods. She’s a little upset neither of us got a chance with the prince, though none of us really tried. I was talking to a maid, Max with a guard, and you with your special guard.”

Steve could almost laugh at the situation, if only the girl of his dreams wasn't currently being pulled away from him. 

“Vickie,” he hears you call, “I was talking to the prince.”

“Did he show you where your guard was?” 

That's the last thing Steve hears before you and the red-headed girl disappear back into the overly crowded ballroom. Away from him.

Steve wanted to follow after you, he truly did, but it was as if something was keeping his feet planted onto the concrete. And, try as he might, he couldn’t move so much as an inch. That was when he noticed a single glass slipper a few feet away from him. 

Suddenly, almost like magic, he could feel the muscles in his body working again as he walked towards the shoe, bending down to examine it. It was pretty, he thought. Could it have been yours? He had certainly hoped it was. Maybe if fate was on his side, he could find you again and return it to you. And with that, ask to meet you again. And maybe one day, he could ask you to be his bride. 

***

“I can’t believe you got to speak with the prince, and we just pulled you away from him,” your stepmother exclaimed with a sigh. 

It had been two days since the ball, and yet your encounter with the prince was still the topic at hand in your home. 

“His parents want him to marry a princess anyways,” you reply, “it wouldn’t have mattered in the end.”

“Oh, none of that,” she replies with a wave of her hand. “You’re a beautiful girl, you said he even told you that, surely the king and queen could be persuaded.”

That is when your step-sisters decide to join the conversation. 

“Especially because the prince is in love with her,” Max says in a sing-song voice, emphasizing the words “in love.”

You could only roll your eyes in response as you tried to hide the smile threatening to overtake your face. The prince being in love with you didn’t seem too awful of a deal, after all. 

“Aw, look at her, she loves him too,” Vickie teases.

“Oh, you’re both irritating,” you say at the same time your stepmother tells your sisters to leave you alone. 

“Now, now, girls, if she loves the prince, that is her business, not ours,” your stepmother says with a smile as you raise yourself with a huff. 

“I’m going to my room,” you announce. 

There is a knocking on the door at the same time you begin your tread up the stairs. 

“I’ll get it,” Max states, rising from her seat, and towards the door.

Her next words stop you in your walk. 

“Your Highness,” you hear her say, turning around to be met with none other than the prince himself.

He bows to your sister as she curtsies to him. “Hello,” he says with a smile. “You must be Miss Maxine.”

“You know my name?” She asks with a shocked laugh.

He only nods in response. “Your sister has told me about you. As well as one of my soldiers, Sir Lucas,” Steve adds with a wink. 

You swear you could almost see the blush that spreads across Max’s face. 

“Speaking of your sister,” the prince begins. “Is she near?”

“She is!” Your stepmother and Vickie yell at the same time, causing a laugh to escape the prince. 

“If it pleases the lady, I would love to see her,” Steve replies as you walk down the stairs. 

You lightly push Max out of the way when you finally reach the doorway, face to face with the prince again. “Hello,” you whisper. 

“Your Royal Highness,”  he says with a bow. 

You curtsy in return. “Are you never going to let me live that down?” You ask with a smile. 

“Afraid not,” he replies, raising himself with a smile of his own. “I believe you left something at the ball,” Steve whispers, turning to his side to retrieve a glass slipper from the brunet maid at his side, a guard with curly black hair to his other side. 

You can hear her whisper to him “You’re right, she is pretty,” as she hands him the shoe, Steve whispering back “I know,” with a smile. 

“My slipper!” You exclaim when he shows it to you. 

“It’s a pretty slipper,” he tells you, taking one of your hands to hand it back to you. “It only seemed fair I return it to the beautiful girl that it belonged to. If only to see her once more.”

“You came all this way just to return a slipper?” You ask with a smile. 

“And perhaps to tell you I would like to spend more time with you,” he says, his dark brown eyes looking into yours with something almost like adoration. “If you would like that as well,” he says after a brief moment of silence. 

“I thought you had to marry a princess,” you reply as he shakes his head no. 

“I was able to do some convincing,” he tells you. 

The maid to his side, the one who handed him the slipper, whispers to you, “he practically begged," as the guard laughs.

The prince shoots them both a glare as you cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. 

“Ignore them,” Steve says, turning back to you, a crinkle in his eye as he noticed your barely covered laughter. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that sound, even if it had only been two days since he last heard it.  

“Your parents are okay with you marrying a commoner,” you ask once more for reassurance. 

He nods his head yes, that same look of adoration in his eyes. “Well, you’re more than just a commoner,” he tells you, “but yes. And I, would like nothing more than to spend my time with you, and one day, hopefully make you my queen.”

You had to admit that did sound nice. 

And so, you nodded, whispering out a quiet “yes.”

Steve’s face broke out into a large grin as he raised your free hand, the one not holding the shoe, and pressed a kiss to it, smiling the whole way through. 

“May I?” He asked, nodding towards the shoe, smiling at your puzzled look. “May I help with the shoe?” He explains. 

You hand him the shoe with a smile. “If you’d like,” you say, turning around, silently inviting the prince, his maid, and a few guards into your home. 

“Your Highness,” your stepmother, and sisters say, curtsying in unison.

“What is it?” Steve asks, turning around to face his maid when she lets out a gasp. 

That’s when Vickie let out a gasp of her own as she rose from her seat. 

”Robin?” Vickie asks at the same time the maid tells Steve “It’s Vickie!”

“That’s the maid?” You ask your step-sister as Steve breaks out into a laugh. 

“Two birds with one stone,” he says, lightly pushing his maid, Robin, towards your sister. “Go talk, I have business to take care of.”

Steve then nods to you as you take a seat. He then gently takes your foot, delicately placing it into the shoe. “Perfect fit,” he mutters with a smile, looking up at you as if you hung up every star that filled the night sky. Maybe you did, it certainly wouldn't surprise him. 

“Perfect fit,” you repeat with a wide smile. 

[wordslikesilver]

I am once again thinking about Hoarah Loux, the only man Marika ever trusted and the only man she ever loved. It’s such an insane thing to think about the fact that the second last boss of Elden Ring is Some Guy. He is literally just A Human Man. Marika looks at this fucking raving barbarian man and decides to My Fair Lady him into a Lord like the deranged woman she is by assigning him a babysitter to perpetually gnaw on his neck whenever he’s in public. As insane as all that sounds, let’s break down that imagery a little because it’s actually really good! His babysitter is the king of beasts, a lion named Serosh, who digs his claws and his fangs into Hoarah Loux’s body to keep him suppressed and restrained enough in temperament to now be fit to be named Godfrey, The First Elden Lord of Queen Marika.

Serosh is frankly quite mysterious as far as what he actually is goes but as far as story themes go, he’s a really interesting symbol of lordship. The lion basically IS Godfrey’s crown, it’s what makes him Godfrey. The symbolism is essentially stating in a very overt way that this man is more savage than all the beasts of the world. In Elden Ring, beasts with five fingers indicate an enlightened or elevated intelligence, blessed by the greater will. It’s fascinating how it’s basically stating that Serosh is more intelligent, refined and noble than Hoarah Loux, that this man is more wild and savage than the greatest of all the beasts in the world. That only a beast king could teach this man to be a Lord. Godfrey can rip him apart anytime but he doesn’t. It takes more than strength of body to wear a crown and he knows it. He needs Serosh to honour and do right by Marika. He is showing his opponents a courtesy, as he puts it. Morgott takes after his example and so too is Radahn inspired by him. It’s really wonderful imagery.

There’s more to the symbolism. My knowledge of alchemy is, I completely admit, too surface level to elegantly speak at length but I’ve done some light reading online to back up my confidence in what I’m saying. We know Miyazaki loves dark edgy anime like Berserk and I posit that he also gained inspiration from the anime/manga Hellsing, in which the main character recites the line “I am the bird of Hermes, eating my own wings to make me tame.” This line comes from the Ripley Scroll and is theorized to have many meanings but popularly is presumed to mean giving up higher philosophy and knowledge to live normally on the earth as a human. Miyazaki uses lots of alchemical symbolism in his works, Elden Ring especially (go watch Quelaag’s videos!) so I could be totally full of shit about hellsing but I’m completely confident that Godfrey is meant to be an inversion (like literally everything else about his character) of what the Bird of Hermes represents. Godhood is a prison, a shackling. The entire plot is Marika (and Ranni tbh) trying to escape that imprisonment. Godfrey loves Marika enough to chain himself down, to eat his own wings, to pull out his own teeth and claws for her to make himself tame and ascend to lordship.

What’s especially fascinating about him is that he carries Serosh out into the badlands with him, as the opening cutscene shows. Cut dialogue indicates he already knew the Elden Ring would shatter and the tarnished would be beckoned to return. That Marika told him her plan in full before she took from him and his warriors the grace of gold and sent them away. A line from him saying to trust in gold, always, that it will guide our fates to our true destiny has wonderful implications I would certainly love to expand on in another post maybe. Hoarah Loux was just a human man and Marika trusted him enough to tell him everything. Trusted him with her gambit to escape the shackles of godhood. This is the fascinating part about taking Serosh with him. Keeping himself disciplined enough to remain a Lord when he returns. To hold back his aching heart just enough that he could follow through on this dark plan and allow his wife to protect him from the machinations of the greater will by sending him away. Also note that in that opening cutscene, he’s being crucified, with a lion about his shoulders and spear buried in his abdomen. They could not be milking the Jesus imagery harder if they tried. The Bird of Hermes is also thought to represent Christ, more points for that symbolism.

I love Godfrey so much as a character. He loved his sons and he loved his wife. The tenderness that he holds Morgott with is enough to make me cry. How he wished he could’ve seen him sooner, I’m all too sure. He’s the only other character we see guided by grace in the entire game. Marika guides you and her beloved husband, that’s it, that’s how much she trusts him. When he rips Serosh from his shoulders, you understand how Marika felt such faith in him. In Elden Ring, it is through battle that you face the true self of an opponent. Godfrey reveals to you Hoarah Loux, Warrior Chieftain of the Badlands. It is a test. Are you worthy to free her? Can you do what I could not? I have shown you courtesy enough as a Lord. You served me well, Serosh. I relieve you of your burden and feel only gratitude for your service. Now begins the test. Are you, tarnished, stronger than the only man who was strong enough to bear the burden of Lordship? Are you stronger than the only man that Queen Marika ever trusted? Are you stronger than the only man she ever loved?

[worldcleansingdragon]

Thinking about Dan Heng and Himeko's relationship...

They're literally mother and her son, your honor! Himeko was the one who found Dan Heng and, after he helped her, she offered him becoming a nameless.

(the fact that Dan Heng only joined in after she said he can leave whenever is incredibly sad.)

Himeko is a really observant person, I imagine she saw that Dan Heng did want to join, but was hesitant. That's why she started saying all those things, not to force him into joining but to make him realize that he wants to join out of his own free will.

Himeko notices everything about Dan Heng. She noticed how he became less cold and more open to TB and March, she noticed how much more comfortable he is, she noticed that he wouldn't even join if he hadn't been given an actual job.

That brings me to a pure headcanon of mine:

At first, Dan Heng disliked Himeko. He disliked her because of how observant she was and how easily she could see right through him.

Dan Heng is a person who appears to be stoic, cold, and a one who, quite frankly, doesn't give a fuck. Yet Himeko immediately noticed how he wanted to join, she immediately noticed that he isn't a cold-hearted douchebag but a kind child, who's been hurt by the world. Himeko has read through him the moment he stepped onto the Express.

And Dan Heng probably hated that.

He respected her as his senior, as someone with lots of knowledge. Yet, the way she could read him like an open book was too much. He felt watched by her, even if it wasn't true. He felt like Himeko would use it against him.

Yet, Himeko never did. She would never use that knowledge against him. If so, it only helped. Himeko probably knew about Dan Heng's nightmares, she was there for him countless of times. She didn't say anything about them, she just sat with him, waited till he calmed down and fell asleep. The next day, she didn't try to talk with him about it, no. She left it the way it was.

Dan Heng realized that maybe Himeko's observation skills weren't so bad. Perhaps, they worked in his favour. He didn't have to voice out the vulnerable feelings that we're threatening to spill. Himeko would notice and wait for him, she would never try and make him talk.

That's when Dan Heng has begun to warm up to Himeko, the same way he did to Welt.

We also know that Himeko makes extremely bitter coffee... And Dan Heng is the only express member who can handle it.

Is it because he genuinely likes it? Does he want to test his senses? Or maybe, he doesn't want to upset the woman who has given him love, home and comfort when he needed it the most? Who knows.

What we definitely know is how badly Dan Heng respects Himeko and how he's ready to help her with everything, just for giving him a chance. "Himeko, you can leave any contingencies to me." is probably his way of thanking her for all she has done for him. He wants to take things off of her shoulders and show her how grateful he is.

(Also, in the JP dub, he calls her "Himeko-San", which also says a lot about his respect towards her.)

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Toothache

How does one go "You're Too Sweet For Me" to "My Baby's Sweet As Can Be"?

Synopsis: Simon Riley finds himself stuck in a situation, growing feelings for his roommate who's so annoyingly caring, domestic, sweet and too good for him. What happens when he let's himself indulge in the sweetness rather than cage himself in the bitter life he's been told is the only one he's deserving of and the only life he's known?

Apologies to this mess of a lyricfic, I couldn't help it even though this was supposed to be a relationship analysis..

MEN WRITTEN BY ANA HUANG ARE GONNA BE THE DEATH OF ME. Alright back to our original programmed schedule with Hozier. ALSO SURPRISE! THIS CONTAINS 3 HOZIER SONGS as an apology for not posting these past two weeks due to me enjoying holidays, reading, prom dress picking and wanting to stab myself because of life, there's the added bonus 👀

My CoD Masterlist

My Simon Riley x You Playlist

Also reader in this one had a lot of characterization, she's me fr, so AFAB?Reader, Fem!Reader, Short!Reader, Reader is VERY feminine with fashion, soft-girl-sunshine!Reader and Chubby?Reader. Y'all have no idea how hard it is to write without a personality and physical intimacy in romance, I tried but failed 😭

Warnings and Disclaimers: Mentions and details on sexual content ahead (is this considered smut? Idk anymore). Not detailed smut but vivid memories of sexual intercourse (especially the dialogue) with Simon. Again, this is a safe account for all ages because I'm not a MDNI acc, you are responsible for your own media consumption. DO NOT GO ON MY DMS, INBOX OR REPLY TO MY CONTENT TO TELL ME YOUR AGE. I don't need to know that and let's strive to not make each other uncomfortable. Mentions of questioning of religion or rather belief on afterlife??

Pink, bold and italic: Lyrics

Italic: recalling past events

Little snippet of an image of how I imagined he'd hold you, courtesy of the one and only @ave661

"It can't be said I'm an early bird, it's 10 o'clock before I say a word. Baby, I can never tell, how do you sleep so well?"

Simon Riley was never a man to live the life he was taught to in the military, it was out of habit for him to not leave his room until around noon. Then there was you, his roommate, he didn't exactly calculate how much it would affect his personal life to save money through rent by willingly letting someone within the same living space.

He'd find himself with not even a wink of sleep, hearing your footsteps through the thin walls, hearing the lock on the windows outside click open.

"You kept telling me to live right, to go to bed before the daylight. But then you wake up from the sunrise."

He'd always hear you, quite frankly it was like nagging on the constant.

"Simon you shouldn't do that, you'll hurt yourself"

"Simon please go get some rest"

"Simon.."

He'd swear he'd rip his own ears out every time his name falls from your lips from how sweet and chirpy it sounded and yet deafening silence would consume him whenever you aren't around.

"You don't gotta pretended, Baby, now and then. Don't you just wanna wake up dark as a lake? Smellin' lika bonfire, lost in the haze?"

Something about you makes it so tempting for Simon to give in, I mean it would be a one time thing, wouldn't it? So soft, so pliant, he set himself up for an addiction. It wasn't healthy, he knew this, he'd convince himself of the fact that he would end up hurting you.

Just too different, it repeated like a mantra in his head. He was bitter, brooding and didn't find any sense of pleasure in living. Why'd you think he has the job he chose? It's all he knew, till you skip your way into his life, giving him the sweetness he was deprived of.

"If you're drunk on life babe, I think it's great. But while in this world, I think I'll take my whiskey neat"

Drowning himself in alcohol, a trait Simon promised himself he wouldn't ever do when he was young, setting his glass down with a small thud from the wooden table. But what would the kid version of him know about life. He didn't have healthier options of coping with what seems to be his dilemma.

But then there you were, sweet little thing coming home at the late hour in that skimpy dress of yours. Revealing too much to the eyes of those who wish to have you for themselves with just one look. Where did you go that night?

"My coffee black in my bed at three, you're too sweet for me"

Desperately trying to keep himself awake and at bay from his thoughts of you. Drowning himself in now two cups of straight black coffee to help him focus.

It was odd, you got used to the scent, was strong with a lack of sweetness but it calmed you down knowing he was around.

How he'd corrupt you, he wanted to shatter that rose tinted glasses of yours to save you from himself because being with him would change you. Selfish but he doesn't want that, you were utter perfection..

Simon further delved into his feelings, what the fuck was wrong with him?

"I aim low. I aim true, and the ground's where I go. I work late where I'm free from the phone and the job gets done"

Grumbling, Simon walks back into the apartment in the middle of the night. You heard a thud, you come out of your bedroom, yawing from you incomplete sleep.

"Si..? Are you hurt? What happened?" You asked in a soft tone, careful not to agitate someone would could possibly be pissed off.

Simon stays silent, glaring at you as his eyes was only thing visible because of his balaclava. Your soft gaze intimidated him, because why would he feel that squeeze in his heart?

"But you worry some, I know but who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate. The rest of you like you're the TSA, I wish I could go along Babe, don't get me wrong..."

The only thing Simon heard was a sigh from you and nothing more, you walk up to him, each footstep feeling louder than that last.

Something Simon didn't expect you to do was wrap you arms around his waist, tiny thing you are that your head only goes up to his chest. Your body against his, basking in the warmth in contrast to the cold weather he had to deal with coming home.

"You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. If you can sit in a barrel maybe I'll wait, until that day.."

You took care of him that night, to his reluctance and stubbornness. Despite refusing, he had no choice, he wouldn't want a soft thing like you on his ear the whole night till he agrees. You were persuasive in your own irritating way.

Sitting on the edge of the tub of the warm bath he's in, washcloth in hand. Touch was so gentle, why was it so soft? Why's it so warm? "It's the water you fucking idiot" his subconscious screaming at him. In denial.

Why is his heart beating so fast..? He wants to stab it to stop the feeling..

"I'd rather take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at three. You're too sweet for me"

Using both your hands this time around, one gently holding his chin with your fingers while the other wiping away at the eyeblack he had. Every scar on his face felt the graze of your finger.

The slow blinks, your eyes on his. Before any conscious thoughts consume Simon, he lifts his arms from the warm water and wraps them around you.

Your nightgown was now damp but you couldn't care less, now with the man you were pinning over, foreheads against the other.

"Si.." you softly whisper. That nickname will be the death of him, you'll be the death of him. He crashes his lips on yours, not wanting to let go till you both were panting. You were too fucking sweet, your lips, your skin, everything. He wanted a taste and he got it...

"My lover's got humor, she's the giggle at a funeral. Knows everybody's disapproval, I should've worshiped her sooner"

Another sleepless night wasn't uncommon for someone like Simon.. however this aching feeling wasn't, he doesn't know where it's from or what it's about. Not until he heard you in the kitchen, letting out a giggle even though you knew better.

"If the Heavens ever did speak, She's the last true mouthpiece. Every Sunday's getting more bleak. A fresh poison each week "We were born sick"

That sweet fucking voice, like the angels speaking to him themselves. "Oh- I'm sorry Si, did I wake you up?" You asked, turning around to the sound of his footsteps.

That tiny nightdress of yours, a reminder of the night you spent together, that morning you slept in his bed.

Lashes beautifully displayed on the delicate skin of your under eyes. Soft noises while your chest was peacefully moving up and down with every breath.

"She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom". The only Heaven I'll be sent to, is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well. A, Amen, Amen, Amen"

"Simon.. Ahh~" you moan out softly, your body writhing underneath him. It felt hot, sweaty despite the well ventilated room, so intimate from something that was supposed to be the farthest thing from domestic.

"Shhh, you can take it sunshine.. You don't want the neighbors to hear us, do you?" Simon whispers, callous hand covering your mouth with as little pressure possible, you whimper at his words.

Closing your eyes to lose yourself in the pleasure you've never felt before. Your body being worshiped with gentle hands and soft kisses that leave marks by the very same man who kept distancing himself from you, now he'd stop at nothing for your pleasure.

"Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life."

"Simon.. no more–" you whined. Scratching his back hard enough to leave marks without being aware, he'd always imagine what those pretty pink nails could do to him.

"Just one more, please sunshine.. you remember our safe word right?" Simon asks for you to nod softly, you didn't have energy to take anymore. "I told you I'll make you feel good, didn't I? So be a good girl for me and take it, hmm?"

Your eyes roll back at his praise, your legs shake with one after another wave of pleasure running through your body. This man was starved.. insatiable.. who would be able to resist such a request? Not you.

"If I'm a pagan of the good times, my lover's the sunlight to keep the Goddess on my side. She demands a sacrifice, drain the whole sea, get something shiny"

It took everything in Simon not to worship the ground you walked on that night, he wasn't trying very hard, was he? Because always.. at the end of the night, you're in his bed, his mind, his life.

Was it really a sin? To want something you don't deserve? Simon stayed up that whole night, not a wink of sleep while thinking of whether this arrangement should continue. Every bone and organ in his body telling him to be selfish, take what was something that wasn't his to take.

"Something meaty for the main course, that's a fine looking high horse. What you got in the stable? We've a lot of starving faithful that looks tasty, that looks plenty, this is hungry work"

Simon's gaze, never faltering on your sleeping figure that he refuses to go anywhere but his own arms. He tries to close his eye to compose himself, free himself from the emotions you emit from him.

His efforts were to no use, all he saw was the image of you, sweetly smiling, those doe eye staring right through his soul.

"No masters or kings when the ritual begins. There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness, in the soil of that sad earthly scene. Only then I am human, only then I am clean"

You were getting too close for your own good, Simon knew that, he'll be damned if he let's himself hurt you. So he does what any stupid man would do, avoid you like the plague. Did it mean nothing? Were you just some fling, never to be talked about again?

Fuck you Simon Riley, he made you feel loved in bed like no man ever has or ever will, completely ruining your chance of ever thinking of anything else and that was just a hook-up session? Maybe this one time you can let yourself be delusional, was there really something more? Only one way to find out.

"Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen, Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life"

You caught him, fucking finally, after days of waiting and trying to get him at the perfect time. "Si.." you whispered softly, you didn't know where to start. He took a quick glance at you before looking back at what he was doing.

"Simon Riley, don't fucking ignore me. Not after everything that happened those nights" You said, it was stern but he needed to hear it. It made him stop, think about what had happened.

Before he could generate a response, "Why?" You asked. It was a vague question, why was he ignoring you? Why does he feel this way? Why does he love you yet refuse to act on it?

"Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life.."

"You don't deserve a man like me, you deserve one who is like you, optimistic, sweet, fucking beautiful and alive.. A man who's not damaged, scarred, has blood on his hands and haunted by his past. A man who's not afraid to show his love for you. A man who won't put his burdens on your shoulders and a man who will take care of you instead of the other way around. That's what you deserve and I can't give that"

Everything felt like it came to a stop, were you hearing that right?

"You have no idea how much you contradict yourself, Si. How are you so sure that you haven't given those things to me already? You might not be like me but "like me" isn't what I want.. I want you, every flaw, every beautiful scar. Not once before your silent treatment have you hurt me, it's frustrating yes, but you are worthy of that. Every struggle, frustration and mistake, every bit of your love is worth all of that. I want you to see that Si, your actual true worth rather than what some psychotic fucker decided to torture you with"

"Boys, workin' on empty. Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby, I'm so full of love I could barely eat"

"Si?"

"Yes, Sunshine?"

"I love you" You whispered after smothering him in a plethora of kisses. Never has anything made Simon melt more in his life than his wife say that. Doesn't matter how long it's been, how much the both of you have been through or how much frustration the both of you were going through..

It will always stay the same, the feeling those three words give him, like the first time, every moment feels that way. Familiar, finally.. Home.

"There's nothing sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree. 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be, she give me toothaches just from kissin' me"

He always thought about how unfaithfulness was such a struggle between some people, he thought about how good he has it constantly, reflecting back on what he used to have to how now this is something he never thought he'd have or deserve.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"

When a man finds himself in the verge of embracing death's arms, what causes the struggle? What causes him to fight that pain, to keep on going? Not once has this crossed Ghost's mind.

No. He's not Ghost, he's Simon. Your Simon.

And you're expecting your Simon home, fuck everything else, he'll give the biggest "fuck you" to death itself and crawl home to you because he'll be damned and he'll experience everything he has in his life over and over again just to hold you again.

"Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin, I woke with her walls around me. Nothin' in her room but an empty crib and I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived, but I swear I thought I dreamed her. She never asked me once about the wrong I did."

It should matter, the amount of blood on his hands. Not once did you judge him for it, what the fuck was wrong with you? Giving a monster such as him a bath like he was some innocent stray kitten, although this time around it was far more messy. The dried blood caked underneath his finger nails.

Flashing him a tired smile while you wiped off the blood that made the water in the tub a hue of brownish-red. Taking your hand in his, his lips brushing against your knuckles. The way you looked at him was enough to make him cry.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her"

"Fucking get up" Simon repeats to himself, "She needs you, she loves you" despite how many times he's convinced himself you didn't due to the voice of his father in his head, it felt like a knife twisting in his heart imagining how it would be for you without him.

How much you cried the night he came home a day later, you told him yourself, practically sobbing while clutching your aching chest and him with your other arm how you weren't ready for Price to show up at your doorsteps holding Simon's belongings.

He won't let that happen.. he can't...

"My babe would never fret none, about what my hands and my body done. If the Lord don't forgive me, I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me"

Simon knew it, no one would ever love him like you do. No one would show him the same acceptance, devotion, care, concern and love. It wasn't healthy to be so attached dependently to someone in love.

He couldn't help it, it felt so right, everything with you did. Never a judgmental one, at least towards him. Always first to hold him, the first to ever take away the heavy guilt that weighed his heart and shoulders down after he'd done something he knows he'll go to hell for, if it's even real

"When I was kissing on my baby and she put her love down soft and sweet In the low lamplight I was free. Heaven and hell were words to me"

Every inch was kissed, not a part wasn't worshiped. "So fuckin' beautiful, so sweet. All for me, hmm?" Simon mumbled against your skin, suckling on the soft sweetness that he so claims. All hickeys, no bruises.

Fuck, he'd not just survive but thrive on just you. No other sustenance, your supple thighs he adores to cover in purple, your neck, your lips and your skin that he often compares to sugar syrup in his head.

"When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her"

The question was, was it worth it to live an eternity of lifetimes filled with suffer to be with you in at least once? The only answer to ever graze Simon Riley's lips was the word "yes", the day that changes is the day that he'd be the biggest bull-shiter the world has ever known.

Simon opened the door to your shared home, "Daddy!" A loud squeal wakes him up from his dread of what he's seen on the field.

"How's my little sunshine been? 'Ave you been good to your momma while I was gone?" Simon asked, carrying the little girl in his arms.

"Yes! Momma said we'd go to the park tomorrow as a reward for me helping out!" Little one saying it so proudly, Simon couldn't help but smile, beaming with pride as his little girl grows up to be what he recognizes as a good person.

"Simon..? You're finally home, I missed you so much" You said, peeking out the laundry room. You walked out, quick to give him a peck on the lips.

"I love you Si.."

"I love you too Sunshine"

Also this is a very long fic.. I expect long feedback.. @connorsui 👀

Does this make sense? Idk anymore it's like almost midnight and I'm running on a few hours of sleep. GOD MY PROM DRESS LOOKS SO GOOD, I CAN'T WAIT.

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thelightdjinnofpalestine @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo

Trying out new dividers as well by @anitalenia

[solarstranger]

a/n. pleasantly surprised at how quickly i wrote this bit, it practically wrote itself. i love writing about psych/therapy stuff (despite my complex relationship with 'em), and bakugou being the central character in all of this is only the cherry on top <3 i honestly don't know where i'm going with this, but it's been fun so far. (0.8k)

navigation. part 1, (you are here)

thankfully—and to the relief of whatever dignity he had left—that interaction was short-lived.

well, it’s mostly because after you blinked at him for what felt like a torturous eternity and said a shaky hello back, he gave you a curt nod as if he wasn’t the one who just initiated the exchange and bolted it out of there without a single glance back.

that bit haunted him for the next few days, reappearing in his consciousness whenever the topic of therapy or anything remotely close to it was broached. he even snapped at kirishima when the redhead asked how his latest session went during one of their evening patrols together. it was a kneejerk reaction, an entirely out-of-proportion, aggressive response that shocked even him, which says a lot.

he should go ahead and text the guy an apology.

eventually, though, that unfortunate powwow slowly faded into the background of his exceptionally busy mind as the days went on. things got so hectic in the agency that he had to postpone his appointment for the week, which—quite frankly—is an upside to this chaos, because he sure wasn’t pumped about discussing his love life, or the lack thereof, with the jarringly knowing middle-aged lady. being able to definitively avoid you and buy you more time to forget about his stupid social blunder is merely the cherry on top.

okay, maybe the incident didn’t actually slip his mind after all.

“…bakugou-san? are you still with me?”

dazed, bakugou squeezes his eyes shut before fluttering them open, and what greets him is the very same lady against the backdrop of her increasingly familiar office, only this time she’s looking more concerned than perceptive.

right. he’s supposed to be in the middle of a session right now.

“yeah, sorry,” he mumbles, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of irrelevant thoughts and focus on the matters at hand. therapy is expensive, after all. “i’m here.”

that doesn’t seem to placate the woman who instead prods, much to his chagrin. “you seem out of it today. is there something in your mind that you want us to talk about?”

for a second, he debates caving and just telling her the dumb shit that happened two weeks ago, but then backtracks when it dawns on him how ridiculous everything is. what is he, a prepubescent boy? he died and survived a major war, for fuck’s sake. why is he so hung up on seeming awkward for once in his life?

even hearing it in his head is embarrassing enough.

that settles it, then. his lips are and will remain sealed.

but then his gaze refocuses on his therapist, and the sheer ‘unconditional positive regard’ or whatever the crap is called that she’s radiating becomes so palpable that it just spills out of him.

“i fucked up.”

that makes the lady frown—which, if he thinks about it, is understandable, because he rarely opens up about his failures, let alone this blatantly—although she manages to quickly school her expression into a more neutral one. “can i ask you to expound on it?”

at that, bakugou sighs, because it’s either he just tells the laughable truth or actually cite one of his actual mistakes—which he’s not feeling right now, by the way. or he can expertly maneuver the conversation to another topic, but something tells him there’s no getting out of the current subject. maybe today, there is, but it’ll surely loom over their next sessions indefinitely until either of them revisits it.

he should know. it’s happened to him too many times, he’s lost count.

with this realization, he can only sigh again.

“it’s stupid,” he preempts.

“i’d like to hear it regardless,” comes her classic, supportive response.

and so he does it. talk, that is. it starts off a bit rough—he didn’t know how to even begin without flushing like an idiot, but he managed to get the brief anecdote going. he still ended up blushing anyway—the warmth in his cheeks was undeniable—and if she noticed, she gratefully didn’t point it out. by the time he’s finished with the trivial tale, he’s mildly out of breath, having said everything in one continuous burst.

“i told you,” he spits when she doesn’t say anything for a beat. “it’s stupid.”

“i’d normally ask you to reconsider the adjectives you use for yourself and your experiences, but i think you’ve heard enough of that.”

he snorts. damn straight.

the woman then shoots him a smile, and he has to tamp down the reflex to bristle at an impending attempt to placate him. fortunately, it doesn’t come.

what does, instead, is a question.

one that catches him completely off guard.

“did you find her attractive?”

the fuck, is his first, immediate thought.

but then his normally trusty and acute brain seemingly comes to life and promptly supplies a second one that leaves him frozen and utterly dumbfounded.

yes.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗