#because i hate the film and refuse to acknowledge it

[geekgirles]

So I noticed something. Don't know if I'm onto something, or if I've just fallen victim to my fever dreams. But hear me out.

Rumi's mother was a member of the Sunlight Sisters, to be specific, she was the one with the braid, just like Rumi.

At first, it's easy to imagine that's because she's trying to emulate her mother and live up to her legacy as a popstar and huntress. It wouldn't be surprising if she braided her hair in her honour.

But then you remember, who raised Rumi? That's right, Celine.

I don't have the screenshots for it, so I could be mistaken, but if memory serves, it was Celine who was braiding her hair back when she was a child. It was Celine who ultimately chose her and Mira and Zoey as the next huntresses and helped them raise to fame to achieve their goals.

So what if the reason Rumi wears a braid is because Celine is the one desperate to keep her mother's memory alive, even if it means neglecting who Rumi is as her own person?

The film never really dwells on the true extent of her hatred of demons and how it affected her relationship with Rumi beyond ruining her self-esteem and causing all of her internalised hatred. Maybe Celine doesn't hate demons just because it's her job, but because they took Rumi's mother away from them. Maybe her falling in love with Rumi's demon father is what broke the Sunlight Sisters up.

Maybe, the reason she styles Rumi's hair into a braid and why she refuses to acknowledge her nature as a half demon is because she's purposely suppressing the idea of Rumi as her own person, separate from her mother.

Maybe all Celine wanted all along was to hold onto the memory of Rumi's mother, even if it meant refusing to accept her daughter, whom she swore to protect, for who she is.

[yeahiveheardofbears-fics]

Behind the Beaded Curtain

When you and Steve get stuck closing Family Video together, the usual banter takes a turn toward mischief—and maybe something more—when an empty store and a cart of VHS tapes lead to some questionable decisions. Between late-night chaos, awkward tension, and way too many adult films, Steve might finally figure out that sometimes, taking a chance is worth the risk.

hi guys! here's a little smut oneshot to hold you over till I post the next fic in my rewrite series! There is no use of Y/N and the 'you' mentioned is fem. I loosely based it off of my OC, Mac, but I tried not to be super descriptive so the X Reader girlies can get a little more immersed. This was just an idea that didn't make sense for my main fic, so i decided to write it as a oneshot. I'm goign to try and post my oneshots on this page as well as ao3! comments encouraged and I hope you enjoy.

enemies to friends to lovers, semi public sex, confressions, idiots in love word count: 13,619 TW: talk of porn, sex at work, body confidence issues, uh idk they fuck so if you don't like that i guess don't read it

REQUESTS ARE OPEN, IF YOU LIKE THIS, PLZ MESSAGE ME CAUSE I NEED INSPO <3

fic masterlist

read on ao3 or read below the cut:

The bell above the Family Video door jingled weakly, signaling the entrance of a customer. You leaned against the shelf you were restocking, the rough cardboard edges of a VHS cover pressed into your palm, watching Steve Harrington prop his feet up on the counter like he owned the place. His uniform vest clashing with his shirt, collar slightly rumpled, and his hair—perfect as ever—caught the light just so. You hated that he looked like he belonged in one of the cheesy rom-coms he was so bad at recommending to customers.

“Don’t strain yourself,” you called, sliding a copy of A Nightmare on Elm Street onto the shelf. “Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle working too hard.”

Steve lazily swiveled the stool he was perched on, an easy grin spreading across his face. “It’s called delegating. You’re the one who offered to restock.”

You raised a brow, slapping another tape onto the shelf with a little more force than necessary. “You mean when you handed me the cart and said, ‘You’re better at this, anyway’? Yeah, real great teamwork.”

Robin appeared from one of the aisles, dragging a broom behind her and looking thoroughly unimpressed with both of you. “You know, it’s amazing you haven’t driven each other insane yet. You’re like two stray cats fighting over the same dumpster.”

Steve shot her an annoyed look, but you just smirked, leaning against the shelf with your arms crossed. “He’s not worth the energy,” you said, jerking your chin toward him. “I’d rather put my effort into alphabetizing the horror section for the third time this week.”

“Hey!” Steve pointed at you, his grin widening. “That’s because you have no taste. You keep shoving Gremlins into the comedy section.”

“It is a comedy,” you retorted, the hint of a challenge in your voice. “You’re the one who insists on putting it in horror.”

“Technically it’s a Christmas movie.” Robin interjected but you two were too into your usual banter to acknowledge her comment.

“It’s literally about monsters terrorizing a town,” he shot back, standing now, clearly ready for this argument.

“And it has a montage set to Christmas music,” you countered, stepping closer, refusing to back down. “Face it, Harrington. It’s a comedy, and your taste is basic.”

Robin watched the exchange with barely concealed amusement, resting her chin on the end of the broom handle. “This is how wars start, you know. One second it’s Gremlins, next thing you know, someone’s annexing the drama section.”

Steve ignored her, crossing his arms as he stared you down, his brown eyes sparkling with exasperation. “Oh, I’m basic? Says the girl who has a Misfits patch on her backpack like every other kid trying too hard to look edgy.”

You scoffed, stepping closer until you were almost nose to nose. “You wouldn’t know edgy if it bit you in the ass, Harrington.”

For a second, the room felt charged, like something was about to snap. Then Robin cleared her throat dramatically, cutting through the tension. “Okay, you two, this isn’t a cage match. Save it for the Halloween crowd this weekend.”

You stepped back, rolling your eyes as you returned to your cart of tapes. “Fine. I’ll let him live another day.”

Steve plopped back onto his stool, muttering under his breath but loud enough for you to hear, “You wish you could take me.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, already halfway down the aisle. “It wouldn’t even be a contest.”

“You know, for someone who spends most of her time glaring at customers, you’ve got a lot to say.”

“Somebody has to keep you on your toes,” you shot back, brushing your hands off and making your way toward the front. You flicked a stray strand of hair out of your face as you passed him. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t charm every poor soul who comes in here. It’s starting to get embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Steve feigned offense, placing a hand on his chest. “I’ll have you know, plenty of customers appreciate a little charisma. You could try it sometime.”

“Charisma doesn’t mean flirting with everyone who rents ‘Sixteen Candles,’ Harrington.”

Robin let out a dramatic sigh, looking between the two of you. “I can’t decide if this is banter or foreplay, but either way, it’s exhausting.”

“Foreplay?” Steve sputtered, his cheeks flushing.

“God, no,” you said at the same time, shooting Robin a glare.

Robin laughed, leaning against the counter as Steve sighed, shaking his head with a reluctant smile. Somewhere behind the banter, in the dim light and popcorn butter air, the faintest trace of something real hung between the two of you—something neither of you was ready to admit, least of all to each other.

---

The last few hours of your shift crawled along, with Robin having said her goodbyes twenty minutes earlier and left you and Steve to close up. A post-dinner rush had left the place in chaos, with empty shelves and a mountain of returns now sitting on the counter. Steve, standing at the rewinder machine, was absently humming to himself as you finished putting away the last of your cart.

“Finally done,” you muttered to yourself, dusting your hands off. Just as you started to roll the empty cart back toward the counter, Steve sauntered over with a fresh pile of tapes, all rewound and stacked precariously.

“Perfect timing,” he said, grinning as he plopped them onto the top of your cart. “More work for you.”

Your eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as you stared at the offending pile. “You’re kidding me.”

“What? That’s the system!” he said defensively, his hands going to his hips. It was a classic Harrington move—half annoyed, half clueless.

“Your system sucks,” you shot back, pulling the tapes off the top and setting them on the counter. “And you’re helping.”

“I am helping,” he argued, gesturing to the now-empty rewinder. “I rewound the tapes. That’s like, ninety percent of the job.”

You snorted, grabbing the cart handle with more force than necessary and turning it toward the aisles. “Whatever. I’ll do it myself.”

Halfway to the shelves, you paused, an idea sparking as you glanced back at Steve, who was still standing there with his hands on his hips. “Actually…” you said, setting the cart brake and turning to face him fully.

Steve tilted his head, suspicious. “What?”

“You’re an athlete, right?” you said, your tone dripping with exaggerated innocence. “Former Mr. Cool Guy?”

He frowned. “I don’t like where this is going.”

You grinned, hoisting yourself onto the cart and sitting cross-legged on its flat surface, tapping the metal sides. “Put those skills to use and make this less boring. You push, I steer. I’ll call out the titles; you take me to the aisles.”

Steve’s mouth fell open, his brow furrowing. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“This is dumb,” he said, shaking his head. “What if someone comes in?”

You leaned back, gesturing toward the door with a dramatic flourish. “Steve, it’s Wednesday. It’s 7 p.m. The only person walking through that door is someone too embarrassed to rent their adult movie during daylight hours. And if that happens, do you really want to help them?”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed, throwing his hands up. “Fine. But if you fall off, I’m not taking you to the hospital.”

“Noted,” you said, grinning victoriously. “ I always wanted to bleed out in the comedy section anyway.”

With a reluctant groan, Steve walked around the cart and grabbed the handle. “What’s first?”

You picked up the first tape from the stack beside you, holding it up to squint at the title. “Raiders of the Lost Ark. Action-adventure, aisle three.”

“Roger that,” Steve said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he started to push the cart. It wobbled slightly, and you leaned forward to steady yourself, already laughing as he picked up speed.

“Faster, Harrington!” you called, pointing toward the aisle like you were commanding a ship. “Aisle three awaits!”

“This was a mistake,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. He slowed as you neared the correct aisle, and you held the tape out dramatically, like a torch.

“Here we are!” you declared. “Place the artifact on its rightful throne.”

Steve grabbed the tape from your hand, muttering something about your flair for the dramatic as he slid it onto the shelf. When he turned back to you, you were already holding up the next tape.

“Ready for the next one?” you asked, wiggling the VHS case.

Steve let out a long-suffering sigh but grabbed the cart handle again, a reluctant grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “This is going to be the longest close ever.”

“Yeah, but you’re having fun,” you teased.

He didn’t respond, but the way his lips twitched into a full smile as he started pushing again gave you all the answer you needed.

Steve pushed the cart into the Drama aisle, his grip on the handle loose as he rolled his eyes at your smug expression. You waved The Breakfast Club over your head like a trophy, already looking triumphant.

“Drama section, as requested,” he said, stopping with a slight flourish. “But I’m just saying… it could also go in Romance.”

You nearly fell off the cart from how hard you laughed. “Romance? That’s what you got out of it? You think it’s about Claire and Bender hooking up?”

Steve raised a brow, his hands moving to his hips in that classic, I’m about to defend myself stance. “What? No, that’s not all it’s about. But it is a part of it. Opposites attract, right?”

You tilted your head, grinning like you’d just been handed the perfect opportunity to roast him. “Oh, sure. Opposites attract. That’s definitely a trope worth rooting for,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Especially when it’s just code for ‘the weird girl has to completely change herself to be worth the jock’s attention.’”

Steve frowned, clearly thrown off. “You’re talking about the makeover thing?”

“Obviously,” you said, flopping dramatically against the back of the cart, the metal sides rattling under your weight. “She was perfectly fine as she was—better, even. Then suddenly she gets some preppy glow-up, and boom, Emilio Estevez notices her. It’s such crap.”

He was quiet for a beat, like he was actually chewing on your words. His lips pressed into a line, and then, unexpectedly, he nodded. “I mean… I agree with you. She looked out of place like that. It wasn’t really her.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “Wait… you agree with me?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, shrugging. “I mean, she didn’t need all that. She was cooler before.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip. His tone wasn’t teasing or defensive—it was sincere. He looked at you with this genuine expression, like he actually cared about what you thought. The space between you suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, and the quiet made your skin prickle in a way you weren’t used to.

Then Steve broke the tension with a smirk, shifting back to lean casually against the handle of the cart. “So, what I’m hearing is… you must hate Grease too, huh? Sandy changes everything for Danny at the end. That must drive you nuts.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, sitting up straighter and gripping the sides of the cart like you were preparing for battle. “Oh, don’t get me started on Grease, Harrington.”

His grin widened, and he gestured with one hand for you to continue, clearly enjoying this way too much. “By all means, let it out. This should be good.”

You took a deep breath, ready to launch into a full tirade about the crime that was Sandy’s transformation, while Steve leaned against the cart, laughing softly under his breath before you’d even said a word.

---

Steve jiggled the lock on the front doors, pulling them to test if they were secure before flipping off the outside lights. The neon "OPEN" sign fizzled out with a soft hum, leaving the store bathed in the sterile glow of its overhead fluorescents. He sighed as he turned the "CLOSED" sign around and shot a glance your way.

You were standing at the counter, finishing up the register deposit you’d started early since the rush had ended hours ago. You hummed quietly to yourself, seemingly in a good mood, which was rare for a late-night shift.

“Got any costume ideas for Halloween?” you asked as you counted the last stack of bills. “Since we get to dress up here and all.”

Steve leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Robin and I are going as pirates,” he said, his voice flat. “Her idea.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Let me guess. She’s all excited, and you’re just going along with it because you have no spine?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, though there was a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’s got this whole ‘Captain Robin and First Mate Dingus’ bit planned. It’s exhausting.”

You snorted, finishing the deposit and closing the register drawer. “Well, I’m going as a devil. Simple, classic, but I gotta tone it down a little so Keith doesn’t spend the entire shift staring at my chest.”

Steve went stiff for a moment, muttering something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

“What?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, straightening. “So, uh, are you done with that?”

“Just about,” you said, locking the deposit bag and setting it aside for the morning shift. Your eyes drifted to the cart in the middle of the store, still loaded with a few stray tapes. “Looks like we’re not done with that, though.”

Steve followed your gaze and sighed. “Oh, great. More cart rides.”

You grinned, hopping back onto the cart and gesturing for him to take the handle. “You’re the one who insisted on delegating, remember? Now push.”

With another sigh—this one more dramatic than the first—Steve complied, wheeling you toward the horror section. You rifled through the tapes on the cart, calling out titles as he brought you to the correct spots. It went smoothly until you reached for the next tape and froze, reading the title aloud before you could stop yourself.

“Blondes in Heat?” you said, eyebrows shooting up. Your gaze darted to the rest of the tapes on the cart. “Oh, no.”

Steve groaned, already knowing what was coming. “Yeah, I’ll take care of those.”

You shook your head, holding up the tape with a smirk. “It’s fine, I can do it.”

“Seriously,” Steve said, his tone a little sharper. “I’ll handle it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, shrugging. “I’ve seen porn before, Steve.”

His eyes widened, and he stumbled over his words for a second before recovering. “What—you—you’ve—okay, I mean—”

“Relax, Harrington,” you said, clearly amused at his reaction. “You’re not the only person in Hawkins with a VHS player and curiosity.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, his face slightly pink. “I wasn’t—okay, fine. Just—don’t make it weird.”

You laughed, waving him off. “It’s not weird. Now push the cart.”

Grumbling something under his breath, Steve resumed pushing, steering you toward the back corner of the store where the beaded curtain waited. The clinking of the beads was just faint enough to make you second-guess the idea, but you straightened your shoulders and braced yourself. The cart rattled slightly as Steve slowed, and you gave him a look over your shoulder.

“C’mon, Harrington. It’s just tapes.”

The dim lighting of the ‘adult’ section made the whole thing feel way more awkward than it should have been. You broke the silence once more as Steve pushed the cart, and you, to one of the corners and had you hand him the tapes.

“You know, a place called ‘Family Video’ having a section for porn is a little weird.” You say as he shelves Blondes in Heat.

“Can you stop saying porn?” he sighs over his shoulder before walking back to you.

"Oh, I'm sorry. What would you rather me call it? The erotic arts? Adult features?"

"Just shut up," Steve says, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

You hand him the next tape, which you had been staring at with an amused smirk. "How to Satisfy a Woman in Six Minutes or Less? Really?"

Steve groaned. "God, you're such a pain."

"I'm just saying. Unrealistic. Also why the rush?"

"Oh, my God. Shut up!" Steve says, trying not to laugh.

"What? I'm being serious! Six minutes is a lot to ask. That's barely any time for foreplay, and I don't think anyone wants a half-assed—"

"I am not talking about sex with you!" he says, a little too loudly.

You bite back a laugh. "Why not? It's not weird. I'm sure it's not even the most awkward conversation you've had this week."

He turns, an eyebrow raised. "Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh. Remember when Robin told you and Dustin the difference between tampons and pads?"

Steve visibly winced at the memory. "Okay, fair point."

"See? Not weird," you said, handing him the next tape. 

"Yeah, sure," Steve said, rolling his eyes as he took the tape and glanced at the cover. Then his eyes went wide, and his whole body seemed to freeze.

"What? What's wrong?" you asked, trying to peek at the case. "Don't tell me it's worse than the last one. Oh, is it—"

"It's nothing," Steve said quickly, cutting you off as he turned away.

"Uh-uh," you said, jumping off the cart and walking around so you could see the front. "I want to see."

"No, no way."

"If it's really nothing, then why can't I see it?" you challenged, crossing your arms.

"Because I said so!" Steve shot back, his voice high and panicked.

"Fine. Hand it over," you demanded, holding out your hand.

"No."

"Yes."

"No, really, I—"

"Steven Harrington," you snapped, your patience running thin. "If you don't give me that tape right now, I will—"

"Alright, fine! Just stop yelling," Steve sighed, relenting as he shoved the tape into your hand. You stared at him, surprised.

"I yelled once."

"Still."

"Whatever."

You glanced down, and immediately, you felt your own body freeze. In a flash, the situation felt way too real.

Because staring up at you from the tape cover was an image of a girl who could've been you, if her hair was a different color. A girl, sprawled out on her back, naked. The camera angle was positioned above her, the lens angled to give the viewer a full view of her body—her face, her breasts, her legs spread wide.

Your face was on fire, your mouth suddenly dry. Beside you, Steve shifted nervously, and it occurred to you that you were both just staring silently at a porno tape that was clearly made for a specific audience.

"Uh... this is awkward," you finally managed, your voice a little hoarse.

Steve made a sound that was half laugh, half strangled cry. "Yeah, I could've done without the reminder, honestly."

You shot him a confused look. "Reminder?"

He waved his hands in front of him, clearly flustered. "No, that's not what I meant. I just meant—forget it. Forget I said anything. Can we please move on?"

"Not yet," you said, narrowing your eyes. "What do you mean, reminder? Is there a girl in pornos who looks like me or something?"

"Uh... maybe," Steve said, wincing. "But it's not weird, or whatever. It's totally normal. I just... happened watch this one. I wasn't trying to... or anything. I didn't realize..."

He was rambling, and it was kind of adorable. But there was also something about his nervous energy that made your skin prickle in the best way.

"So, if I look like this girl..." you said, letting the words hang as you tilted your head and met his gaze, which was locked onto yours.

"Yeah?" he breathed, swallowing thickly.

You stepped closer, holding his gaze. "Does that mean you've thought about me like that?"

"What?" Steve said, his voice cracking. "No. No way. Of course not. Why would I—"

"Liar."

Your tone was gentle, playful. It was a challenge, not an accusation. Steve's lips parted slightly, but he didn't respond, his eyes still locked on yours. You tried to keep a straight face, but you couldn't help the laugh that escaped you.

"You know- just give me that." Steve said, snatching the tape back. You watched him shove it onto the shelf, the movement quick and jerky.

"Hey, I'm just teasing! It's not that serious." You say, hands up in mock defense as you walk backwards and hop back up to sit on the cart.

"Shut up," he muttered, his cheeks flushed.

You bit your lip, unable to stop grinning. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself."

"Yeah, well, it's not funny."

You tilted your head, watching him as he fiddled with the shelf, his eyes not meeting yours. There was a vulnerability there, and a hint of shame. He looked almost hurt.

"Okay, seriously," you said, leaning forward and catching his gaze. "I didn't mean to actually upset you."

You hand him the next tape, attempting to make a joke about the absurd cover, but he just gives a noncommittal shrug. You frown.

"Steve, come on," you say, trying again. "I was just playing around. If it's really bothering you, I'll stop."

"It's not that," he said, shaking his head.

"Then what is it?"

He looked away, his jaw tight. You waited, giving him the space to say what he needed to. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, his words heavy with frustration.

"It's stupid," he said, still not meeting your gaze. "I just... we never talk about this stuff, okay? And then, the first time we do, it's because you think I'm some perv who gets off on looking at girls who look like you."

You blinked, caught off guard. "I... did not think that."

"Well, you should have," he snapped, turning to face you fully, his eyes burning. "Because that's how everyone thinks of me, isn't it? Steve Harrington, the former king of Hawkins High, screwing anything that moves."

You swallowed, not knowing what to say. Naturally, you went with humor to deflect.

"I mean if it helps, I've seen your luck with women lately, so I definitely don't think that..."

"Stop. Just—stop," Steve sighed, sounding exasperated. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. This is all we ever do. We can't have a serious conversation without joking about it, and it drives me insane."

You uncrossed your legs on the cart and let them dangle, leaning back against the wall of tapes, taken aback by his sudden honesty. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched. You had known each other through school, been friendly since he started at the store in July, but this was the first time he had ever really opened up. It was new, and a little scary, and definitely not something you knew how to deal with.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, and you meant it. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Yeah, well," Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not the best at sharing. Ask anyone."

"Hey, I've got no room to talk," you said, smiling a little. "I've kept my walls pretty high too, I think."

"You're not wrong."

The air hung heavy between you. Steve shifted, his eyes darting from the cart to the shelves, clearly feeling just as awkward as you were.

"You know that the person you were in high school doesn't, like, define you right?" you offered, your voice quiet. "Like, I don't think of you as 'King Steve' or anything."

"Really?" he asked, his brow furrowing skeptically.

"Yeah," you said, nodding. "I mean, we work together. I get to see all of you. The Steve who's actually really good at his job, and a surprisingly good teacher when you're helping Robin study, and an actual nerd about movies. Plus, y'know, the dingus pirate."

Steve rolled his eyes but grinned a little.

"And I mean, maybe you'd have better luck if you were that guy when you tried to uh, pick up women. The fake charm kinda just... doesn't work with this version of you."

"Gee, thanks," he said, feigning annoyance.

"No, I mean it in a good way," you assured him. "I think you're more real like this."

He was quiet for a moment, chewing his lip. Then, unexpectedly, he reached for the next tape and you went to grab it from the dwindling stack. You handed him the tape, your fingertips brushing his palm, and a rush of heat flooded your cheeks.

Get it together, you told yourself. You're not suddenly crushing on the guy because he showed a little vulnerability are you?

Steve, oblivious, flipped the case over, studying the cover. "Okay, so this one is... not great," he said, shaking his head. "I've had the misfortune of having to put away more than one."

"Oh, boy," you said, laughing. "I'm ready."

"Okay, here goes," he said, turning the case toward you. "Blonde Bimbo Gets Banged."

"Jesus Christ," you snorted. "Is there any way this can get worse?"

"Let's find out," Steve said, flipping the case back and reading the synopsis. "She's blonde. She's a bimbo. And she knows it. She likes to flaunt her blonde beauty. Her boyfriend knows she's a whore, and that's just the way he likes her. They get wild and hot together, and soon the whole gang is banging the blonde bimbo."

"Jesus Christ how many times do they have to say 'blonde' in one synopsis. Does the target audience have the memory of a goldfish? Does this company need a new marketing team?"

Steve laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it gets worse. The reviews call this a 'stand-out-of-the-pack classic.'"

"Please don't make me read the rest," you said, waving you hand in front of your face while laughing. "I'm already scarred."

"You wanted to know," Steve said, his lips pressed into a line to keep from laughing.

"You're right. I did. I shouldn't have."

You two fell back into a comfortable silence, and you found yourself studying Steve as he went about his task, staocking the last of the tapes neatly on the shelf. He had always been attractive, but he was starting to feel realer. You could see the details of him now, the cracks and rough edges and the parts of him he'd rather not share. It was a dangerous thought, and you knew it. He was still your coworker, after all. And, maybe, your friend?

You watched him finish shelving the last tape, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly with the movement, and your stomach did a somersault.

Oh no.

Steve turned and noticed you staring. He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

You shook your head. "Nothing. I was just zoned out, I guess."

"Right," he said, clearly unconvinced. But he didn't push it.

"Last one," you say as your got to hand it to him. "And the survey says... oh. Wow."

"What is it?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Oh, no, it's just this is the first time we've actually stocked something decent," you say, turning the case toward him. "Like, this one doesn't make me want to scrub my brain out with soap."

Steve studied the case, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, yeah. I've seen this one."

"Really?" you asked, surprised.

"Yeah, it's actually pretty good," he admitted. "There's, like, a plot and everything."

"You don't say," you said, smirking. "Maybe we should put this in the Romance section."

Steve rolled his eyes, shelving the movie. "Okay, wiseass."

"I'm just saying. Plot, characters, and actual sex? That's practically a Jackie Collins novel."

"Very funny," Steve said, walking back toward the cart. You were still sitting on the edge, the wheels of the cart rattling slightly.

"Huh. We actually got through the whole cart," you said, grinning a little. "Go us."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, leaning his hands against the cart and looking over at the shelf. "That was surprisingly easy."

"We're a pretty good team," you pointed out.

"Yeah, we are."

You leaned back a little, balancing yourself on your hands and studying Steve. He seemed to be doing the same, his gaze locked on yours. The air felt thick, heavy, and somehow electric. You could practically feel the sparks.

"We should, um," Steve swallowed thickly, glancing over at the beaded curtain that led out to the main sales floor. "We should probably get to the front."

"Yeah," you agreed, though neither of you moved.

You held his gaze, and he held yours, the tension between you was overwhelming, and intoxicating, and you could barely breathe.

"You got a deposit to finish..." he whispered, his voice low.

"Yeah, the main lights are still on," you said, your throat dry.

Neither of you moved. You could feel the pull, the urge to close the space, the electricity between you threatening to overload. Your pulse was racing, your skin tingling. You wondered if he could hear the thunder of your heart, if he could feel the warmth of your breath on his lips.

"This is dumb," he murmured.

"So dumb," you breathed.

"We're not gonna..."

"Yeah, we're not..."

And then his lips were on yours, and everything else faded away. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle but firm, and the world seemed to stop. His mouth was soft, the kiss slow, lingering. You melted into him, letting him guide the pace, savoring every second. He tasted like coffee and popcorn and something sweet, and the scent of his cologne surrounded you, enveloping you.

When you finally pulled apart, your lips felt swollen, and you were breathless. Your eyes fluttered open, and you stared at each other, the air crackling around you.

"We are so fucking dumb," he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, a small, amused smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

You laughed, feeling giddy. "The dumbest. We should probably stop."

"Probably," he murmured. But his lips found yours again, his hand drifting into your hair, his fingers curling. You grabbed a fistful of his uniform vest, pulling him closer. He pressed into you, the pressure of him against your chest, between your legs, made your body ache. You moaned softly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting along your lower lip. You could feel his smirk as your lips parted, giving him access to the rest of your mouth. His tongue grazed yours, teasing, exploring. His free hand ran up the outside of your leg, his palm hot on your thigh even through the denim of your jeans. You arched against him, craving the friction, the feel of his weight, and he pushed back.

You tugged on his vest, and without breaking the kiss, he clumsily shed it and tossed it aside, his arms then circling your waist. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, and you shivered at the contact with his bare skin. He sucked on your lower lip, making you gasp. Your fingertips dug into the muscle of his back, and he pressed harder into you. His body was solid, but soft, and he still held you so carefully. You wanted more of him, all of him, everything.

One of his hands moved to you shoulder to take the same hideous Family Video vest off of you. He broke the kiss only to make sure that he didn't rip it or pop one of your many pins off while doing so, putting it on the bottom of the cart. The careful action made you giggle. He smiled down at you before capturing your mouth in another heated kiss. You pressed your tongue into his mouth this time, running it along his bottom lip. He moaned softly, pulling you even tighter against him.

Your fingers raked down his back, nails grazing the smooth skin, and he moaned into your mouth, grinding his hips into you. The friction of him between your legs sent a shiver of pleasure through your whole body, and you groaned. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading your legs so that he could fit himself perfectly against you. He pressed hard, his body hot between your thighs, his chest pressed to your chest, his mouth on your mouth.

He rocked his hips into you, the slow friction driving you wild, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding on as he pressed his full weight against you, pinning you on the cart between him and the shelves. Your fingers gripped his shoulders as he moved again, his hands moving down to grip your hips. You could feel his arousal growing, and you shifted to match his pace, his hips rolling into you as yours rocked up to meet them, creating the perfect amount of friction, the pressure building with every thrust. You whimpered against his mouth as his fingers dug into your thighs.

"God, I want you," he breathed between kisses, his voice husky, sending a fresh wave of heat through your core.

"We—we have to—" you gasped, your words catching in your throat as he ground against you again, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding. His hands moved to your waist, pushing your shirt up and running his palms up the exposed skin, his thumbs grazing the soft skin of your stomach that that swelled gently over the waistband of your jeans, his touch reverent as he let his thumbs trace lazy circles there. You pulled away at the contact, suddenly feeling self concious with his hands on your exposed skin.

"Woah.. is this okay?" he asked, his voice a little strained. "If you're not—"

"It's not you, it's just..." you swallowed, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "I've never been with someone... like you before. Someone who... has expectations..."

His hands slid out from under your shirt as he took a step back, confusion on his face. "Wait, what?"

"I mean," you continued, struggling to find the right words, "You're so attractive, and I'm..." You gestured to your body with an open palm, not even able to find the words to express how self-concious you were about your body compared to the girls that usually got his attention. "You know," you finally added. "Me. So... I mean, I just want you to be sure, because..."

Steve's eyebrows pulled together in concern, his voice suddenly very serious. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean."

"No," he shook his head. "No, I really don't."

You stared at him for a moment, surprised, and then your eyes dropped to your hands, which were clasped in front of you. Your nails had been painted black with silver glitter, and the edges of your fingertips were rough, worn down from anxiously picking at them for so many years. Your thighs, while sat on the cart, pressed together, the soft curve of them spilling slightly over the edge, a reminder of how you never felt like you fit the mold of what guys like Steve usually went for. You thought about the way your jeans pinched at your waist or how you always avoided certain angles in photos because they made your arms look bigger than you liked. Your stomach churned at the idea of him seeing all of you—every mark, every curve, every imperfection that you’d tried so hard to ignore but couldn’t help cataloging in moments like this.

“I just…” you started again, your voice quieter now, “I don’t want you to feel like this is a mistake. Like maybe the weird girl is hot when you're at work, but in the real world...” You trailed off, biting your lip hard to keep it from trembling.

Steve crouched slightly to meet your gaze, his hands gentle as they rested on your thighs, grounding you. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady but insistent. “Look at me.”

When your eyes finally met his, the warmth in his expression nearly unraveled you. “You think I’m going to change my mind just because we take our clothes off? I'm rock hard in the middle of an adult section that smells like stale popcorn, and you think that's going to go away when your clothes are off? Really?" He asked incredulously, pausing to laugh at his own words. "That's pretty bold of you to assume."

Your breath hitched at the words. At his touch. The way his voice softened around your name. "Steve..."

"Seriously," he said, leaning a little closer. His voice was quiet now, almost a whisper, and his eyes darted between your eyes and your lips, his hands still gently kneading your thighs. "It's you that should be careful. I mean... I can barely focus on anything when you're just standing around in these jeans," he admitted, his eyes moving to your legs, his palms slowly moving up the curve of them. You bit your lip, heat flaring low in your stomach. "But naked?" His eyes returned to yours, his voice suddenly rough. "I wouldn't stand a chance."

Before you could even respond, he closed the distance, pressing his mouth to yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, his hands gently kneading the tops of your thighs. You moaned softly at his touch, your arms sliding over his shoulders and tangling in his hair as you melted against him. He wrapped one arm around you, pulling you to him, the other hand sliding up your waist.

"Now," he whispered against your lips as he went to lift your shirt a little again. "Can I continue where I left off, please?"

You smiled, kissing him in reply. You parted your lips, deepening the kiss. He moaned against your lips, his hand slowly trailing up your waist again, lifting your shirt up more this time. Your body tingled in anticipation of his hands on your skin, his fingertips warm on your bare stomach, slowly trailing up to your ribs, then higher still, his thumb brushing the edge of the cup of your bra.

Your head tipped back as he broke the kiss to trace his tongue over your collar bone, then dipped lower, his breath hot on the exposed skin as his thumb gently brushed your nipple through your bra, your back arching slightly at the sensation. He pressed another kiss to your throat, and you moaned as his hand dipped under your bra, cupping your breast and kneading the soft skin.

You slid a hand under his shirt, trailing your fingertips across his waist, tracing the trail of hair that lead lower, the muscles in his stomach contracting at your touch. His hand on your waist tugged at the hem of your shirt, and you took the hint, reluctantly pulling away for a moment to peel the fabric over your head. Steve let out a low groan at the sight of you in your bra, and you smiled shyly, letting him take a moment to appreciate your newly exposed skin. His hand went to the back of your neck, his touch firm, grounding as he leaned in to kiss you again. His free hand found its way to your other breast, palming it and gently tugging your bra strap down.

You were both panting now, his fingers on you and your fingers on him, and your whole body throbbing for more. You ran your palm along the front of his jeans, feeling the outline of him straining against the denim. His mouth left yours and moved to the skin above your bra as his hand left your chest and fumbled for the clasp at your back. You ran your nails over the front of his jeans, your own pulse racing. You had to touch him, you had to see him. Your fingers found his belt, but it was difficult to work with his hands on you and your mind a haze of arousal and nerves.

He seemed to be having the same problem, because after a few more attempts he stopped trying to work your bra clasp and tugged impatiently at the fabric, his voice husky.

"This—can you take this off? Or should we move? Because I can't—"

"Here," you gasped, shifting slightly and turning so your back was to him. "Try again."

Steve hummed softly in acknowledgement, his breath tickling your shoulder as he worked to free you from the offending fabric, his touch feather light and torturously slow. You leaned forward a little, letting your hair fall in a curtain over your face so he wouldn't see how much his teasing was affecting you. But you could feel the wetness between your legs, the ache of anticipation making your knees weak. Finally, with a quiet, satisfied noise, he freed you from your bra, and you sat back against the self again, letting your hair swing back to frame your face again as you watched his reaction to your body.

Steve's mouth dropped open at the sight of you, the slow grin tugging at his lips doing nothing to ease the ache.

"Well, this isn't fair," he breathed, standing straighter with one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair, as if to calm himself down. He looked over you as you leaned back, braced against your elbows. He then let out a long, deep exhale, his hands moving back to take his own shirt off. He paused about halfway through the motion to peer down at you, looking a little ridiculous with the collar halfway up his face, one arm free.

"Oh shit, sorry, did you want my shirt off too, or did you want me to leave it on, or—"

"Shirt. Off. Please," you said quickly. Steve grinned and finished the motion, tugging the tshirt off and letting it hit the floor. Your eyes darted to his torso, his skin flushed and his chest heaving slightly from the anticipation. He had a nice, lean build, with broad shoulders and a surprisingly strong-looking core. His chest hair was a light dusting that trailed across his pecs and tapered into a faint line down the center of his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. It added to his charm, giving him an effortlessly masculine edge. Your fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, to feel the softness of his skin under your palms, to trace the faint lines of his muscles beneath.

He definitely noticed you staring because he started grinning again, and when you noticed, he laughed a little. "What? Never seen a guy naked before?" he asked teasingly, making a joke of it to cover up the fact that he was suddenly a little self conscious under your scrutiny.

"You're beautiful." It spilled out of your mouth before you could stop it, and he looked surprised by the sincerity. His hands froze in mid-air and his eyes darted to yours. He opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out, so instead he cleared his throat and grinned shyly at the ground.

"Okay," he said, clearly trying to collect himself, and you realized that he'd been flustered. By you. A wave of pride flooded your stomach, and you bit your lip as your smile grew wider. You weren't usually so forward, and it had surprised you too, but you were glad it came out. "Okay. Let me just, uh, find my brain."

"You left it over there, on the floor. With your shirt." You smirked at him and his eyes narrowed at the playful teasing. He bent down to place both his hands on either side of you on the cart, caging you in as he leaned closer to you and pressed his forehead to yours. He gave a slight push of his hips against you, just to make you aware of how much you were affecting him, before cupping one of your breasts in his hand and letting out a breath. He took your nipple in his fingers and rolled it gently. You moaned at his touch, your thighs spreading a little wider.

The sound was affirmation enough for him to take your other nipple in his mouth, and you leaned into his touch as he circled his tongue around you. His teeth grazed over it, biting just slightly and making you whimper with need. You could feel him smirk against your skin, and he slid his free hand down to your stomach, then lower. His fingers grazed over your jeans and pressed firmly against you through the thick denim.

He paused with his hand right above your waistband and he lifted his head to look into your eyes. He was clearly trying to make sure that he wasn't overstepping any boundaries and was silently asking for permission to keep going.

"You can always say no." His voice was barely more than a whisper as his fingers played with the button of your pants, not wanting to rush you.

You didn't hesitate, just leaned into him and whispered, "Please touch me. Please."

He gave a low groan, pressing a hard kiss to your lips and biting down on your lower lip, before breaking away and dropping his gaze to your jeans. You watched, biting your lip as he flicked open the button, pulling down the zipper, and slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of both your jeans and your underwear. He dragged a single finger over the slick, swollen heat between your legs, and you let out a shaky breath. He sucked in a breath, clearly affected, and then dipped his finger lower to stroke along your entrance. You shivered, letting out a low moan and trying to pull him closer.

You felt his breath hot on your shoulder as his other hand moved to tug the rest of your pants off, giving him easier access to you.

"So wet already," he breathed, and the feel of his lips moving against the soft skin of your shoulder made your thighs twitch, the tension of anticipation nearly overwhelming. He traced circles around your entrance with one finger before pushing in slowly. His movements were cautious at first, gauging your reaction as he worked up a slow pace. But it wasn't enough, not when you'd been craving the release for what felt like forever. You spread your thighs, trying to pull him closer.

"More," you breathed, gripping his wrist to guide him deeper, faster, harder. Steve gave a low moan as his finger curled inside you, finding that one spot that made your whole body ache with pleasure. He added a second finger, pushing deep and pumping into you again and again as you ground your hips up to meet him, chasing the feeling, desperate for more. You looked up to find him watching you, his lips parted and his pupils blown wide.

He leaned down to kiss you again, and the change in angle sent a new wave of heat through your core, a whimper escaping you. His free hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you into him and holding you steady as he pressed his thumb to your clit. You cried out at the new sensation, and Steve broke the kiss to let you breathe, his lips still pressed against yours, your breath mingling in the space between. His eyes locked on yours, he curled his fingers again and began working them in earnest, the heel of his palm pressed hard against you as his fingers pushed deeper and deeper with every thrust.

The pleasure was building, every nerve on fire as your orgasm neared, every stroke of his hand, every graze of his thumb making the tension build higher. His fingers moved faster, and you moaned his name, clinging to his shoulder, his arm, your hips rising to meet his hand.

"You're like...way too good at this..." You breathed between whimpers. Steve grinned, slowing his movements and teasing you.

"Well, I do have a pretty decent reputation..."

You gave a frustrated growl at the sudden slow down.

"Steve," you whined.

He chuckled softly. "Mm-mm," he hummed against your ear, nipping at it as he slowly slid his fingers out. "Not so fast."

"Are you... you're really doing this? Now?" you panted, incredulous. You needed more of him, more of his touch, more of the release you had been so close to, but now he was denying you? You opened your eyes, watching as he grinned down at you while he began to unbutton his jeans, still wearing a smug expression as he slowly pushed them down over his hips and down his legs. Your eyes darted from his face to the obvious bulge in his boxers as you swallowed.

"You want to keep complaining?" He asked, pulling down the boxers a little before taking himself in his hand and slowly pumping once, twice. His eyes never left yours, the grin you were used to seeing every day coming back "Because we can stop."

You couldn't even pretend to be angry as your gaze flicked between his face and his cock.

"Oh. You are... that's..." you stammered, taking a second to drink in the sight of him, so close but still so far from where you needed him. The smug grin turned genuine at your reaction and he pumped himself a few more times as if he was putting on a show for you. He let go of himself to slide his boxers all the way down and then stepped out of them to kick them to the side. He put his hands on sides of the cart and gave it a small shove, testing its durability, which illicited a small laugh from you.

"What's wrong? Not confident that we can stay in one piece for a few more minutes?" You teased. He scoffed in mock offense, giving you a quick kiss that lingered as he pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth.

"It's just precaution. Don't want you complaining if I get too excited and end up breaking this thing." He pulled away slowly, looking at the cart for a moment, thinking. "Actually, maybe I can—"

You wrapped a leg around his waist before he could finish his thought, pulling him to you so he was nestled perfectly against your hips. "You could also start with taking these off me," you suggested, grabbing the sides of your panties and tugging at the fabric. Steve let out a breath, his hands immediately moving to help you, though his mind was clearly distracted by what he wanted to do next. You watched as he pulled down the fabric over your hips, then your thighs, before dropping it on top of your jeans. His eyes trailed over the newly exposed skin, a look of pure desire on his face, his gaze hungry.

"God," he breathed. "You are..."

But you never found out what he was going to say, because your impatient hands had found him again, and you were pumping him slowly, watching him shiver in anticipation. His fingers dug into your hips, his mouth dropping open slightly, his gaze locked on yours as you moved, letting the feeling of your touch overwhelm him for a moment before he pulled your hand away with a small chuckle.

"Fuck. I almost forgot..." He bent to find his jeans and fished around in his back pocket. When he pulled his wallet free, your eyes went wide as you realized what he was getting. He held the square, foil wrapper in front of him.

You raised an eyebrow at him as he went to open the wrapper with his teeth.

"You brought a condom to work with you? Why would you ever think you'd need it here? In Family Video?" You questioned as he opened the packet, spitting the excess foil to the side, before looking at you with a lopsided smile.

"What, you think I put it there just in case we ran out of videos to restock? I had it there for after work one day, just in case," he explained as if it was the most obvious thing. You rolled your eyes, smiling and giving a slight laugh. "I mean, not with you. Not like... I had it there just in case I went on a date." He paused to wince a little. "Wait, no, that doesn't sound any better, does it?"

"I get what you're trying to say," you reassured him as you laughed a little harder, before the conversation took a slightly serious turn.

You glanced between the condom he was holding in his hand, and him. He was hard, aching even, and he looked desperate for your touch. You felt a small wave of pride that you could turn him on so much, and that you had the opportunity to be with him like this. To touch him and be touched.

You licked your lips, then said, "Put it on."

You felt like a teenager again, waiting with bated breath while he carefully slipped on the condom, his own breath shuddering as his fingers moved along his cock. When he finished, he leaned over you, caging you against the shelf once again with his arms on either side of your waist.

"For the record, I was hoping to take you on a date before… this happened. After work some time. Y'know, really take you out. Watch a movie with you, get dinner, go back to my car," He whispered the last bit into your ear, before kissing it gently and adding, "maybe get you in the backseat. But we can save that for another night."

You were too caught up in the feel of him against you to fully process what he just implied. A second night. This wouldn't just be a one time thing, you'd get to do this again... and maybe more?

Before you could react to that, you felt Steve line up at your entrance and your brain seemed to go on autopilot, your focus shifting to how you were about to get exactly what you needed. Your legs parted a little more, your heels resting against the lower shelves for leverage, your back arching slightly so your chest pressed against his. He paused there, looking down at you for a moment. Your breath caught at his expression—he was watching you intently, his gaze fixed on your face, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed.

"You want this, right?" The genuine question took you aback. The vulnerability was back in his eyes, and it suddenly became clear to you how nervous he was. "I just want to be sure this isn't—"

"Steve," you said, cupping his face in your hand. "Yes. I want this."

His breath left him in a rush as his lips curled into a smile, his relief clear. Then he gave a slight push of his hips and began to slide into you. His cock started to stretch you out, his length filling you inch by inch, and you whimpered at the feeling, the sensation of him inside you so overwhelming after having gone so long without being with anyone yourself. Steve stopped, his head falling to your shoulder as he groaned.

"Oh, god... you feel... Jesus, you're—" he was breathing hard, his chest pressed to yours, his hands gripping the shelf. His cock pulsed inside you, and you were trembling from the tension of it, the sweet ache of being filled, the need to have him buried in you fully. You slid your hands up his back and wrapped your arms around him, holding him as close to you as possible. He let out a ragged breath, then pressed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck, just below your jaw.

"Are you okay? Is it too much? We can stop—"

"I'm okay, just please—"

"What? Anything, just say—"

"Please keep going. Please," you whimpered. Your thighs twitched around him and you tried to pull him deeper, your body aching for him, for release. The angle was different and new, and it felt incredible. "I need more... please, I want you, all of you... "

Your words spurred him on. His mouth found your neck, sucking lightly at the spot just below your ear as he slowly thrust deeper, and deeper, until he was buried inside you. You felt your inner muscles stretch to accommodate his size, the pressure making you gasp as your legs quivered and your body flushed. Steve groaned, his breathing ragged, his body taut as he waited for you to adjust, every muscle in his back tense.

"God, I don't know how long I can hold out," he whispered.

"Then don't," you said. Your nails dug into his skin and you clenched around his cock. Steve bit down on your shoulder as he began to thrust in long, hard strokes, the friction making your legs tremble as you tried to keep up.

He pressed you to him, his arm looped under your waist, pulling you down on his length, the slow slide making you see stars. His hand snaked down between you, finding your clit and stroking you as he began to pick up the pace, the pressure building with every thrust. His moans were quieter now, more breathy as he drove into you over and over, the rhythm steady as he fucked you in time to the thud of the shelf against the wall.

You could feel yourself approaching the edge, every nerve tingling, every inch of you burning for release. The pressure of his body on yours, the way he moved, his moans, his scent, his hands—everything was pushing you higher, faster. His cock twitched inside you and you moaned, your own orgasm building with every stroke, every thrust, every touch. His pace became more erratic as you moved against him, your legs spread, your back arched, the angle deep and intense.

"I'm... fuck, I'm going to..." he managed between pants. "I want you... to come first..."

The way his voice shook, his hips stuttering with the effort of holding himself back, made your chest swell. He wanted you to finish before him, he wanted you to feel good. And it did, it felt good—so good, too good. Your heart hammered in your chest, the pressure of it making you feel like it might burst. He pushed harder, his fingers moving faster on your clit.

"Steve—" His name escaped your lips, breathy, as your body started to unravel. The tension in your core built higher, your hips jerking, the shelf hitting the wall harder. Your vision blurred as a wave of pleasure rolled through you, and you gasped his name again as you came around him, your body shuddering. Your muscles clamped down hard, making his pace stutter as he tried to push through. Steve groaned, his forehead resting on yours, his fingers digging into your side. He kept his pace even, thrusting through the aftershocks and holding you through your release, his mouth hovering near yours as he panted and moaned. You slid your arms to his back and raked your nails down, dragging your hands across the planes of his body, reveling in how his muscles twitched as your touch moved along his spine and to his ass, and you pulled him in deeper.

The angle was different now, the pressure intense as his pace sped up and he started chasing his own orgasm, his cock filling you up completely and sliding against every inch of you, sending another wave of pleasure through you. He looked so beautiful above you, his hair disheveled and falling in front of his face, his expression pinched as his pace increased. You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull him closer and pressed a soft kiss to his neck. The tender touch made him shiver, and he pushed in hard and fast, his whole body going tense as his cock pulsed, the waves of his own release flooding through him. He moaned softly and your name tumbled from his lips.

For a moment you stayed there, his arms around you, his face pressed into your shoulder. Then, as the aftershocks ebbed away, he pulled out, giving you one last slow stroke as he did so. The loss of his touch made you whimper. You felt so empty now, aching for him, and you couldn't help but feel a little vulnerable at the thought of him pulling away from you. Steve stayed close for a moment longer, kissing you softly, tenderly, and you could feel your heart clench. He wasn't rushing off, he wasn't pushing you away. He was taking care of you.

Your body hummed with the lingering buzz of pleasure as Steve pulled off the condom, knotted the end, and threw it into the wastebasket in the corner, grinning proudly when it landed in the trash.

"Nice," he said, nodding as if impressed with himself. "And with my left hand, no less. Maybe I should have tried for pro basketball."

He was being a dingus again. A post-sex dingus, but still, a dingus. And it was such a relief.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, watching him carefully as he found his discarded clothing on the ground and began getting dressed. You had no idea what would come after, what the dynamic of things would be. What were the rules here? The guys you'd been with in the past didn't stick around to help you get dressed. You just put on your clothes, left the guys to clean up their mess, and went home.

"So," you said, taking your time to gather your own clothes from the bottom of the cart, putting your underwear on first. "Now what?"

He gave you a small grin, buttoning his pants as you grabbed your bra. "Now..." he trailed off, as if in thought. You slipped your bra over your arms, reaching back to do the clasps as best you could with limited reach. Steve noticed you struggling, and stepped towards you. He reached a hand up, motioning for you to turn around so that he could help you.

You did as he instructed, turning so that he had easy access to the hooks. His fingers grazed along the skin on your back as he slowly clasped each of them together. Once he finished, his hands slid up to your shoulders and he turned you around to face him again. You smiled up at him as you continued to put on your bra, adjusting yourself slightly. He didn't pull back right away. He kept his hands on you, running his thumbs across the fabric on your shoulders, a content smile on his face as he stared at you.

"What is it?" you asked, noticing that he seemed to be stuck in his head. He didn't answer you right away. His smile widened and he leaned down, kissing you gently. It was so soft and slow, that you forgot what you had asked him to begin with. All you could think about was his mouth on yours, and his hands on your waist, and the smell of his cologne and sweat, and the way his hair was completely messed up. He pulled away after a moment and you blinked, dazed.

"Nothing," he answered after what seemed like forever. "Just... this."

"This?" you asked. You could feel your heart racing again. He was still smiling, and he kissed you once more before pulling away and reaching down to pick up his shirt.

"This. You and me," he said, as if the answer was obvious. He pulled his shirt over his head and cocked his head at you as you began to put your jeans on, not answering. "Unless you didn't... I mean, I kind of assumed... unless you just wanted to forget this happened? That's not really my thing, but I mean, it's okay, we could pretend if—"

"I like you." It just blurted out of you and he froze, looking surprised. You realized you were holding your breath. He blinked.

"Really?"

"Really. But I mean... I know you like to take girls out, so maybe this was just a—"

"You really don't know me that well, do you?" he laughed. Your heart was hammering.

"What do you mean?" you asked cautiously. You'd said too much. He was going to take it back now. You knew he would.

"I mean..." he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, but he didn't look like he wanted to back down. "I'm not just gonna... y'know, get with you at work and then bail on you. I like you, I like... being around you. A lot. I wanna keep doing it. Just in other places. Like outside of this shithole. And definitely without my uniform on. I mean, unless you're into that. I could probably bring my uniform home."

Your mind was going in about twenty directions at once, and it took you a second to process what he'd just said. He'd never... he liked being around you. And he wanted to take you out. You realized your mouth was open slightly and you closed it, biting your lip and feeling a wave of relief.

"You like me?" you repeated. "Not... you actually want to be around me?"

Steve stared at you for a second, a mix of disbelief and concern on his face, like you were the biggest idiot in the world for doubting him. Then his eyes narrowed, like he'd suddenly understood. He grabbed your waist again and pulled you back into him, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Are you telling me I'm so bad at flirting you didn't realize I've had a crush on you for the past four months? Are you kidding me?" He laughed a little at that. "You're actually insane. I thought it was so obvious..."

"I... what?" you stammered. "No! I had no idea."

"I mean," Steve started, pulling away slightly as he began to run through the list of times he'd been blatantly obvious in his interest for you, "I'm always trying to spend more time with you, asking you about yourself, finding stupid ways to make you smile or laugh or just... you know... pay attention to you... and like, the way I talk about you. Robin constantly call me out on it." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up a little more, which somehow only added to how endearing he looked.

"Well..." you mumbled, feeling your cheeks redden, "I just thought it was, y'know. Steve Harrington being Steve Harrington. Being a flirt."

Steve stared at you in silence for a moment, looking slightly disappointed that you were that clueless.

"Wait... do you really not know? About—" he looked up to the ceiling, and let out a short huff of air, before he looked back at you with his eyebrows raised. "The flirting, the winking, the talking about my parents not being home? Like... is it actually not obvious?"

Your face fell as you thought back on all the interactions the two of you had over the past few months, trying to pick up on clues. Had you really missed every hint that he had been dropping? You wanted to bury your head in your hands. You wanted the ground to swallow you up. But... he was still here. Still smiling. Still standing close and looking at you with the same interest that he'd had the whole night, since you had walked through the front door.

"You argue with me about everything, though," you said with a laugh, thinking of the many debates that the two of you had over what was a good movie, what was a bad one, which character in a movie was the hottest, if the latest rom com was really that good (spoiler: it wasn't), or even over the smallest, dumbest things that didn't even matter. "If I hadn't known you, I'd think that we just didn't like each other."

"That's just the chemistry," Steve shrugged, "You think I argue with all my coworkers about every little thing? Please." He chuckled as you blushed and shook your head, before he took another step closer to you, closing the distance between the two of you. "I like getting a rise out of you. You get so annoyed when you're trying to argue your point but can't think of the words. It's really cute."

You playfully nudged him with your elbow, before you finally put on the last of your clothes. Steve did the same, and when you looked down, you were both fully dressed. There was no trace that either of you had just fucked each other senseless a few moments ago. You glanced back up at him as he adjusted his vest.

"Lets go finish that deposit and then get the hell out of here."

You followed him back to the register, and he took the deposit bag and signed it, passing it to you. He waited patiently as you double checked to make sure that the deposit slip and the money matched. Once everything was correct, he gave a nod.

"Looks good. Ready to lock up?" he asked.

You nodded, and you both went to the breakroom to punch out. He opened the door for you, and you punched out on your time clock and gathered your things. You put your vest in your locker and closed it, turning around to see that Steve had already waited for you, patiently leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. You walked past him and out of the door, flipping the light switch as you walked out.

Whe you were outside the store, Steve locked the doors, then took the key and tossed it up and caught it. He turned and started walking backwards in the direction of the parking lot, as you headed to the bike rack to unlock your bike. Steve turned around, thinking you were right behind him and when he saw you at the bike rack, he spoke again.

"What are you doing? Are you riding that?"

"Um. Yes?" you raised an eyebrow, giving him a strange look as if to question what his problem was. "That's the plan. It's how I usually get home from work."

"It's freezing and it's late and I'm not letting you ride that back." He was being insistent. "No."

"Um. Yeah? It's really not that bad. I have a coat."

"Get in the car, leave your bike chained up. I have a morning shift tomorrow, I'll make sure it's there" he insisted, "Please? It's already past ten."

"Steve."

"C'mon. Just get in." he shrugged, his keys jingling in his hands. He wasn't going to budge and you were starting to get annoyed.

"It's really not—"

"Get in the damn car already." He rolled his eyes at you, clearly not buying the argument that you could get home by yourself and in one piece. It was dark outside, and a bit chilly, but that wasn't exactly uncommon for Hawkins. You sighed. You knew you wouldn't win this battle and it wasn't worth it to continue to argue.

"Fine. But just for the record, it's not that cold and I would have been fine. You know that."

"Mhm. Sure." Steve grinned, leading the way to the parking lot. When you got there, you stopped and glanced at all the empty cars and he frowned, before he gave a laugh of relief when he saw his BMW in the back corner. He unlocked the doors, you both climbed inside and he started the engine. He drove out of the parking lot, turning right onto the main street. You leaned your head on the window, your mind still spinning with the events of the last hour. Steve Harrington wanted you. You wanted Steve Harrington. This wasn't a one time thing, you could do this again. It was really happening.

As your eyes closed, you thought about the conversation you'd just had and something clicked. Steve's comment about him having a crush on you for months finally sank in. Your head whipped towards Steve in the driver's seat and you stared at him, as if you hadn't seen him in this light before. You couldn't help but stare. He was... perfect. He was absolutely, flawlessly beautiful and you just couldn't believe that someone like him could be so infatuated with someone like you. You leaned back in your seat, watching him carefully as he drove. You felt like you were going to burst, or pass out. You'd never been more attracted to someone before, but there was something else there. It felt more intense, more intense than it had felt before with anyone else. You felt your face turn a few shades of pink again as you thought of him.

The ride to your house wasn't a long one. Hawkins wasn't exactly known for being large, after all, and you didn't live too far from the store. Before you knew it, you were parked on the side of the road right in front of your driveway. You smiled at the sight of the familiar streetlight flickering every now and then. Home.

"Thanks," you mumbled quietly, as Steve put the car in park. "I... I mean... um, yeah, just... thanks." You fidgeted a little with the seatbelt strap and he nodded at you. He didn't move to take his hand off the wheel.

"Yeah... so," Steve gave a slight sigh as he leaned back, finally looking away from the windshield and meeting your eyes again. "Can we go back to talking about the whole you having no clue thing, because... I gotta be honest with you. I don't think I've ever been this embarrassed in my life. You thought I was just..."

You stared at him for a second, watching the way he spoke, watching how animated he was as he explained his side of the story, as if it had actually been some huge deal that you didn't notice him pining over you. The thought of it was... sweet, and it was such a contrast from what you thought you knew about him before. He really cared about how you felt.

"You know that I would never use you, right?" Steve continued. "Like I really like you. I think I made that pretty clear at the store, but like, if I made you uncomfortable or—"

You reached forward and took his hand in yours. You took it gently at first, testing to see his reaction, before he took your hand in return. He glanced down at where your fingers laced together, as his thumb moved over your skin.

"Steve," you interrupted softly, and his head tilted up to look back at you again. He had been rambling.

"Hm?" He asked, clearly unsure of how to react to what you just said. He watched as you brought his hand up to your mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his hand. When your gaze met his again, you smiled, feeling the warmth of your breath on his hand, your nose brushing against him.

"Take me out." It was a request, a gentle demand, as if he didn't know that you would follow him anywhere at this point.

He grinned at that. The idea was definitely appealing. You saw the wheels turning in his head, imagining all the places that you could go on a date. What movies you could see, which ones would be worth sitting through for two hours with you, and which ones wouldn't. You were certain he had the entire month mapped out already.

"Can I pick you up at five on Saturday? There's this drive in theatre down the next town over." Steve offered, his eyes lit up with excitement.

"Yeah, I'm off on Saturday."

"I know. I've been staring at that calendar in the breakroom all week. I know all the dates you have off." Steve explained, as you looked at him in awe, with your mouth hanging open in surprise. "What? I wasn't lying back there. I had been planning to ask you out."

He didn't seem ashamed to admit it either, as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, then brushed his fingers over your cheek, as if to check that you were really there. You leaned into the touch and he smiled, letting out a content sigh. He took your hand and pulled you towards him, pressing his lips to your temple.

"I should get inside, my parents are probably wondering why I'm home from work so late." You whispered, looking up at Steve, whose face fell. He pulled you a little closer to him, leaning his head down to meet you, as if he didn't want you to leave.

"Saturday." He said it more to remind himself than to remind you. "I'll pick you up here."

"I'll be ready. Promise." you grinned, and he nodded in confirmation. With that, he gave you one final kiss, pressing his lips gently to yours for what felt like an eternity, but ended up only being about three seconds, before letting you go. He sat back up, putting the car back into drive, as you reached for the door handle.

"Have a good night."

"Yeah. You too." Steve smiled as he put the car back in drive.

---

extra lil bonus scene for the platonic!Stobin lovers:

The next morning at Family Video, Steve leaned lazily against the counter, flipping through a stack of tapes with all the enthusiasm of a kid forced to do summer homework. Robin, meanwhile, was loading the last of the returns into a cart, muttering about how she always got the worst tasks.

“You could at least pretend to help,” Robin said, giving him a pointed look as she pushed the cart toward the back.

“I’m on very important rewinder duty,” Steve replied, smirking as he leaned back against the counter.

Robin rolled her eyes. “You’re on very important doing nothing duty.”

She disappeared into the aisles, her voice carrying back to him as she headed toward the adult section. “Why do I always get stuck with the beaded curtain of doom? I didn’t sign up to alphabetize Hawkins’ finest porn collection !”

“Because you’re the captain, and I’m just a humble first mate,” Steve called after her, grinning to himself.

A moment later, Robin’s horrified yell shattered the calm.

“STEVE!”

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat as he sprinted toward the back, shoving through the beads to find Robin standing stock-still, staring at the trash can with a look of utter disgust.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, panting slightly.

Robin pointed at the trash can like it was radioactive. “There is a used condom in the trash can!”

Steve froze, his stomach dropping. “Uh…”

Robin turned to him, her expression a mix of shock and dawning realization. “Wait. Wait. Harrington. No. Tell me you didn’t—”

“I—it’s not what it looks like!” Steve stammered, raising his hands in defense. “I mean, technically, it is what it looks like, but it’s not like that!”

Robin’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Oh my God, you and—wait— you and her?! In the adult section?!”

“No! Well… yes. But it wasn’t—it was after close!” Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly panicking. “And it wasn’t planned ! It just… happened!”

Robin stared at him, blinking slowly. Then, she tilted her head. “So let me get this straight. You, Steve Harrington, had sex here, surrounded by titles like Butt Bandits 3 and Debbie Does Dallas? ”

Steve’s face turned bright red as he buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t say it like that.”

Robin then let out a bark of laughter. “Steve, do you have any idea how lucky you are that I found this and not Keith? Can you even imagine? He’d have a field day!”

Steve groaned again, his face still buried in his hands. “Please, don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m not joking!” Robin said, laughing harder now. “You’d never live it down. He’d probably give you some gross high-five and call you ‘stud’ every time he saw you.”

“God, please stop. I’m already dying of embarrassment.”

Robin folded her arms, a wicked grin on her face. “Oh, I’m not letting you off the hook that easily. Who even does this? At work, Steve? In the adult section? What, were you inspired by the ambiance?”

“It wasn’t planned!” Steve repeated, throwing his head back. “It just… happened!”

Robin smirked. “Oh, I’m sure it just happened. ”

“Robin,” Steve said, glaring at her. “Please. I’m begging you. Just pretend this didn’t happen.”

Robin pretended to consider it, then shrugged. “Fine. But you’re taking the trash out.”

“What? No way!”

“Oh, yes way,” she said, shoving the trash can toward him. “You made this mess. Literally. Now deal with it.”

Steve sighed dramatically, grabbing the trash can and stomping toward the back door as Robin’s laughter echoed behind him.

As he reached the exit, Robin called after him, her voice dripping with amusement. “Oh, and for the record? Since she clearly likes you back, maybe next time, take her somewhere that doesn’t smell like old popcorn and desperation!”

Steve froze mid-step, turning to glare at her. “Robin!”

She just grinned, wiggling her fingers in a wave. “Have fun with the trash, lover boy!”

Steve groaned loudly, stomping outside as Robin’s laughter rang through the store, the last thing he heard before the door slammed shut.

[suiana]

(yandere! co-actor x gn! co-actor reader) (theyre co-stars who act as lovers n have to act like they love each other but they actually don't)

"but oh, darling, how i adore your face in all its glory..."

"cut!"

your co-actor immediately pulls away from you, face scrunching up in disgust as he completely refuses to acknowledge your presence. you do the same, wiping your hand with a cloth as you walk to the opposite side of the set.

yes, the two of you were co-stars who secretly hated each other. shocking.

to be honest, it was shocking because you didn't hate him initially. you had actually admired him and even wanted to act together in a movie! he was once your idol after all.

and by some stroke of luck, your manager had gotten you the opportunity to be a co-star on a romance-horror movie that was predicted to be the biggest film of all time.

but now that you had achieved that dream... you really wish it hadn't come true. for people's facades come down once you get to know them.

you and him did not get along at all. constantly butting heads, fighting over the littlest of things... yet, you two manage to act out the roles of obsessed lovers who would die for one another.

the fact that the movie was about how you (the love interest) and him (the male lead) were dating and how he would go crazy and stuff-

ugh you can't believe you had to act this out! you're too annoyed to even think straight now! like, what kind of false reality is this?!

...

well i mean, it is kinda your job as an actor to sell a false reality but still! the way you two can pull a 180 each time you have to get on set is crazy!

"oi you, don't breath all up in my face next time. yoy are repulsive."

"we're literally supposed to stand close to one another! how am i not supposed to do that-"

"then don't breathe."

"you two stop it!"

the director barks at the two of you, shaking his head as the both of you roll your eyes. seriously, to everyone else it looks like little kids who are fighting over the smallest of things. how childish!

"we're gonna be filming the next scene. get in position!"

you begrudgingly walk over to the middle of the set at the familiar phrase, getting into place as your co-star unwillingly holds you in an intimate pose. with him pressed up against a wall and you pinning him up against said wall.

you shudder in disgust as the cameras begin rolling once more. ew, you really can't understand what you used to see in him. like he's so dramatic and sassy! what-

"ack!"

your eyes widen as you see him shiver fearfully, a spider crawling on his head. what the hell?! where did this spider come from?!

you wanted to back away from your co-star but the second you saw how his eyes started to water, the way his lower lip trembled... you knew you couldn't just leave him to suffer. even when you hated him.

"don't move..."

you mumble, eyebrows furrowing slightly as you use a shaky hand to approach the spider. hm... it's not like you were scared it's just... why's it so big?

you gulp nervously, eyes widening slightly as you watch the spide crawl up your arm. damn, if you were a bit more of a coward...

you set the spider on a nearby desk, humming softly as you let out a shaky sigh of relief. oh well, at least it's over.

as you were drinking some water, your co actor couldn't help but feel his heart race, cheeks flushed red as he tries to regulate his breathing. what the hell? why is he getting so flustered over you getting close to him?

his eyes drift to your figure, taking in your carefree attitude. he quickly looks away as your eyes glance at his staring. hiding his face in his hands, he huffs and turns around, grumbling something about you as he feels his heart rate spike even more.

all he can think about as the rest of the shoot goes on was whether you had looked this beautiful before.

[enchantresss97]

Here we go again...enjoy it

Characters: Bill Skarsgård x reader

Description: You two have been separated for a while now but was Alexander's new movie premiere and you both were invited. You know seeing him again is inevitable. Tension and jealousy simmers beneath the surface. When a heated argument turns into desire, restraint shatters. Will this be your closure or the reconciliation you both crave?

Warning: mature theme, SMUT, language, angst, sex, oral too (male receiving)...the usual warnings...

Word count: 3839

Reconciliation

gif @skarsgards-bill

This was a special night. Alexander had invited you to his new movie premiere, an event you couldn’t miss, not just because he was your friend, but because you were genuinely excited to see him on the big screen. The venue was grand, the atmosphere buzzing with anticipation, cameras flashing as guests arrived in their finest.

You had dressed for the occasion. A long black dress that hugged your figure, the high slit revealing glimpses of your leg as you moved. The long sleeves added a touch of elegance, while your high heels gave you just the right amount of height and poise. Your smoky eye makeup sharpened your gaze, making it impossible not to feel confident.

And then you saw him.

Bill.

You had known he would be here. You had prepared for it, convinced yourself you’d be able to handle it. But the moment your eyes met his across the room, everything else faded. He was impossible to ignore in that suit, perfectly tailored, the fabric clinging to his broad frame, accentuating his height, his presence. He looked striking, untouchable, but the way his gaze lingered on you betrayed him.

And those eyes, those big green eyes, the ones you used to know so well. The ones that could burn right through you, pull you in, leave you breathless. He was looking at you with them now, unwavering, unreadable, but undeniably focused.

The tension between you was immediate, suffocating. Stolen glances, lingering looks, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you.

You turned away, forcing yourself to smile, to focus on the conversation around you. Some of your friends were here, mutual ones, people who knew both of you, who had probably sensed the shift between you long before tonight. You laughed at something someone said, trying to immerse yourself in their company, in anything that wasn’t him.

But it was useless. Even as you spoke, even as you nodded at stories and sipped your drink, you could feel his presence like a phantom touch, his gaze heavy on you. He wasn’t approaching, but he wasn’t looking away either. And neither were you.

The premiere ended to thunderous applause, but you barely heard it. Your hands came together in polite claps, your smile practiced, distant. Alexander and the rest of the cast stood on stage, accepting praise, but your mind was elsewhere.

You didn’t look for him.

And yet, you felt him.

Bill was somewhere in the theatre, somewhere close, but you refused to acknowledge it. Just as he did. The two of you existed in the same space, yet it was as if an unspoken agreement had been made, to act as though you weren’t.

As the audience started filing out of the theatre, reporters and cameras gathered near the entrance, eager to capture reactions and interviews. You lingered nearby, chatting with a few familiar faces, when you heard his name.

Of course, they would want to speak with him. He is Alexander’s brother, and also I known figure in his own right. It was inevitable.

Bill stood in front of the cameras, answering questions with effortless charm. His voice was smooth, calm, carrying that low timbre that had always had a way of sinking under your skin. He spoke about the film, about Alexander’s performance, his expression unreadable yet so composed.

You hated how mesmerizing he was. The way he moved, the slight tilt of his head, the occasional flick of his gaze toward the reporter. His suit framed him perfectly, emphasizing his height, his broad shoulders. And those eyes...focused, sharp, so intensely green under the flashing lights.

He was a vision of control, but you knew better.

The moment passed, the interviews ended, and just like that, the crowd shifted toward the after-party. You followed, letting the hum of voices and the clink of glasses fill the void he left in your thoughts.

The venue was warm with low lighting, music humming softly in the background as drinks flowed freely. You found yourself among friends, people who had always been part of your shared world, people who had no idea of the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

He was across the room, laughing with a group of girls. His voice, smooth and flirtatious, hung in the air as he leaned toward one of them, his hand brushing against her arm, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. She leaned in closer, her fingers grazing his shoulder, and you hated how easily he seemed to slip into this effortless charm. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the wave of jealousy that surged within you. But it was hard, so damn hard to ignore when it felt like he was making sure you saw it.

You turned away quickly, trying to refocus on your conversation, but the image of him flirting with those girls burned in the back of your mind. The knot in your stomach twisted tighter with every passing second.

Then there he was.

He joined your group. Not next to you, not facing you, but close enough to make your pulse spike.

He greeted your...his friends... his voice smooth, effortless. Ignoring you completely. And so, you did the same, letting the conversation move around you like a current, pretending not to feel the heat of his presence pressing against your skin.

Time stretched.

And then, one by one, the group began to disperse.

A friend left to get another drink. Another was pulled into conversation across the room. Someone excused themselves for a phone call.

Until, finally, it was just the two of you.

The silence between you was deafening.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes flicking to yours over the rim of his glass.

“Still pretending I’m not here?”

His voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

And just like that, the air between you cracked, tension giving way to something sharp, something inevitable. Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass, a steadying anchor against the sudden shift in the air.

You could still pretend. You could lift your drink, let a slow sip buy you time, feign indifference. But what was the point?

Your gaze met his, steady, defiant. “You’re the one who walked in and acted like I wasn’t standing right here.”

A flicker of something crossed his face. Amusement, irritation, maybe both. He took another sip, the ice clinking softly against the glass. “Seemed like the game you wanted to play.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He exhaled a quiet, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “Right. My mistake.”

His eyes dragged over you, slow and deliberate, taking in the black dress hugging your frame, the slit teasing glimpses of skin when you shifted your weight. You knew exactly how you looked tonight. And so did he.

Your voice was quieter when you spoke again. “You had a few drinks.”

His lips curved slightly, the ghost of a smirk. “Observant.”

Your lips pressed together, willing yourself to remain unaffected. "Just wondering if you ever take anything seriously."

Bill exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was no real amusement in it. "I take plenty of things seriously."

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Like what? Flirting with every woman in sight?"

His jaw tightened, his gaze darkened, his fingers tightening around his glass, and for a moment, it almost looked like he wanted to grab you. Or say something that would shatter the thin line you were walking.

Instead, he took another sip of his drink.

He stepped closer, the scent of whiskey and expensive cologne filling the space between you. A muscle flickered in his jaw, his green eyes dark with frustration, longing, everything you didn’t want to acknowledge. “I saw you too. Flirting with those men. What, are we all just playing the same game?”

Your fingers curled into your palm. The tension between you was unbearable, a slow burn threatening to consume you both. You scoffed, tilting your chin up. "You always did know how to make a scene."

Bill’s lips parted, as if he had something to say, but instead, he ran a hand through his hair. "Really?" He said in a nonchalant tone, smirking at you.

You could feel the anger bubbling up, and you didn’t want to be near him. Without another word, you started walking away, trying to put distance between you and the storm that had just begun to boil.

But he followed.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he commanded, his voice rough.

“You know those men,” you snapped, ignoring what he just said, not stopping, still moving ahead.

“They’re our friends, Bill. Don’t try to play this like I’m doing the same thing you are.”

You didn’t hear him anymore. Didn’t need to. You kept walking and he was right behind you, shadowing your every step.

You saw an empty room at the end of the hallway. You reached the room thinking that will give you a little bit of privacy, the door clicking softly behind you as you both stepped inside, the noise of the party fading into an eerie stillness.

The moment you both crossed the threshold, everything changed.

You didn’t speak.

There was nothing but the raw fire between you, crackling in the space, demanding to be released.

The air in the dimly lit room felt thicker, almost electric. You could feel the heat radiating between you, a burning intensity that had been smouldering since the moment your eyes met across the crowded room.

He was too close. You could see the tension in his jaw, the muscles tightening as if he were fighting against something.

“I never touched any of them,” he said suddenly, his voice lower, a dark edge creeping in.

The tension between you was unbearable. The room, despite its softness, felt like it was closing in.

You were close now. Close enough to feel the heat of his breath on your skin. His body was a wall, unyielding and strong, his presence overwhelming.

Before you could take another breath, his lips were on yours. Hard. Demanding. His kiss was a promise, a wild, desperate thing that sent a shock through your body, waking something inside of you. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t gentle. It was everything, everything you’d been holding back.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get close enough. The tension, the passion. It all crashed together in that kiss. Fire. Heat. Desire.

You responded with the same intensity, your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him in. This wasn’t just anger anymore. It was something else, something raw, something that tore through you both with every touch, every kiss, every desperate movement.

He tasted like liquor and regret, and it only made you want him more. For that moment, there was nothing else. No arguments. No words. Just the two of you, entangled in something neither of you could escape.

He broke the kiss studdle. Both of breathless and dizzy. You stared at each other, his green eyes burned into yours, searching, demanding, as if trying to decipher whether you would run or stay. Your pulse pounded, and everything around you forgotten. There was no one else, nothing else. Just the two of you and the gravity pulling you back together.

His hand moved to his belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease, his eyes locked on yours as if daring you to look away. The sudden, quiet sound of his zipper echoes in the room, and you feel a surge of heat pool low in your stomach.

Without waiting a reaction from him, you lowered yourself in front of him, his breath hitched, chest tightening in response to the sheer intensity of the moment. His hands twitched; muscles tense as if every nerve in his body was aware of the connection building between you two. His eyes followed your movements, captivated by the slow, deliberate way you chose to lower yourself in front of him, oh, how sweet you took your time, making every second feel like an eternity.

You slowly moved his hands aside, lowering his pants and his underwear, releasing his shaft. The lushness of your tongue bedded his soft cock without warning, and you heard him letting out a husky gasp. 

Feeling the warm silky flesh swell and harden within your mouth, you sent your eyes up to peer at him, admiring the sight.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, almost hoarse. The cocky smirk that had once lingered on his lips now faltered as raw desire flooded him, replaced by something darker, something deeper.  You're dragging your mouth along the length of his shaft, your lips across ridges and thrumming veins, your jaw loosening until you felt him deep in the back of your throat. 

His chest rose and fell with every move of your mouth, the heat in his body increasing with each passing second.

He swallowed hard. "You’re going to ruin me." he breathed out, the words barely audible, more a raw gasp than anything coherent. His eyes darkened, and he clenched his jaw, almost as though he was trying to keep himself from doing something reckless. He could feel his body tightening, every part of him coming alive under your mouth.

You pulled, sucked, and pumped him in your warm mouth, using one of your hand at the same time. That was the moment when he began to rock his hips back and forth to fuck back into your mouth, his hands found your head, caressing lovingly and trying to take control and his head fell back with a moan. 

“Look at me, Bill,” you whispered, your voice steady, defiant. “You wanted this. Now I’m giving it to you.”

His breath hitched, and you saw the tightness in his jaw, the struggle in his eyes as he tried to keep control. But you were too close, and he was too deep into your mouth.

He clenched his fists into your hair, lowering his gaze, into your eyes. You sucked him even faster, harder. He chuckled darkly, his voice sending a shiver through you as he slowly pressed your head into him, making you gag around his cock. Every move of your lips on his cock was pulling him closer to the edge of madness. He thickened against your tongue, and you knew he was close, so fucking close, you were so prepared to feel his hot seed inside your mouth but instead he pushed you away.

Without hesitation and without warning , he grabbed you, his movements commanding as he pulled you back toward him.

Without a word, he turned you around, pushing your chest against the back of the sofa that was in the room, lifting the hem of your dress quickly. The fabric of the couch was cool against your skin, but the fire of his hands on your body made everything burn hotter.

You could feel him against you, the hardness of him pressing into your back as he positioned himself behind you. His breath was hot against the back of your neck, his lips grazing over your skin as he whispered, “I missed you,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, low and filled with a mixture of raw desire and desperation.

He pulled you further, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force, aligning himself against you. You could feel the tension winding tighter and tighter between you, pulling you both into a whirlpool of desire that neither of you could escape.

“I missed this. “He said with a rough growl.

In one swift motion, he was inside you, filling you with one powerful thrust that left you gasping, there was no gentleness in the way he entered you, no hesitation. It was raw, primal, a force that pushed everything else aside. The shock of it, the suddenness, sent your senses into overdrive. Every nerve in your body was on fire, each touch, each movement, sending waves of pleasure and tension crashing into you. He didn’t give you a chance to think. The mix of fire and passion igniting an intense connection between you both.

The anger, the pain, all of it was forgotten for a moment as you focused on the heat between you, the way he moved, the way he filled you.

“I miss being inside you...tell me you want it this,” he demanded, his voice harsh, needy. “Tell me you need this as much as I do.”

You couldn’t find words, not at first. You just felt, felt him, felt the way he moved inside you, felt the way your body responded to him. And then, you whispered, “I need this… I need you.”

That was all it took. The tension that had been building between you finally snapped, and Bill’s movements became more frantic, more desperate. The sound of his breath, the feel of his hands on your body, the way he pressed deeper, it was all consuming, overwhelming.

Each thrust sent shockwaves through you, every touch igniting something inside you that had been buried for so long. It wasn’t just about sex. It was about everything. About the anger, about the love, about the unspoken need that neither of you could deny.

You could hear the moans escaping from Bill’s lips, his grip tightening on you as he moved faster, harder. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. “I can’t get enough of you.”

And you couldn’t get enough of him either. You moved with him, your body responding to his, the tension between you shifting from anger to something deeper, something that neither of you could escape. It was messy, it was intense, and it was everything you both needed in that moment.

As the intensity built, as the fire between you grew stronger, you could feel the world around you fading, leaving nothing but the two of you, wrapped in the heat of the moment. Nothing else mattered, just the raw, desperate need to feel each other, to finally let go of everything that had been holding you back.

Bill’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer as he began to move in and out of you, each thrust deliberate, each one building in intensity. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned in your ear, his voice thick with need. “God, you’re driving me insane.”

You could barely hold on to yourself as you responded, your body moving with his, meeting him thrust for thrust. “I can’t stop. Please don’t stop,” you gasped, your words coming out in broken pieces as he pushed deeper into you.

“I won’t stop,” he growled, the sound of his voice dark and possessive. “You’re mine. All mine.” His hands were everywhere now gripping your hips, guiding you, holding you as his movements became more frantic, more desperate. You could feel the anger, the need, everything that had built up between you, coming to a head with each powerful stroke.

And then it hit. The pleasure, the release, the way your body exploded around him, you couldn’t even breathe. It was a wave of everything crashing over you, a culmination of everything that had led up to this moment. And Bill wasn’t far behind, his grip on you tightening as he followed you, his body shuddering with pleasure. He came with a low, guttural moan, his body shuddering against yours as he held you tightly, as if he feared you might slip away.

For a moment, there was silence. A quiet, heavy silence filled with the remnants of what had just happened, and both of you were left gasping, your bodies still tangled together, trying to process the raw emotions that had just exploded between you.

Bill’s chest heaved behind you, the sound of his breath ragged, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. His hands, still tightened around your waist from earlier, had loosened their grip. He wasn’t letting go of you, not emotionally, not physically. Not even for a second.

As you both stood there, catching your breath, the heat of the moment still lingering between you, Bill slowly pulled himself out from inside you. His hands moved to adjust his pants then the fabric of your dress, smoothing it out, making sure it was just right.

“You look perfect,” he murmured pulling you close, is voice low and affectionate, a stark contrast to the intensity that had just unfolded.

You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his chest against yours, his arms wrapping around you like a protective barrier, pulling you deeper into his embrace. The weight of everything, the tension, the anger, the passion, seemed to melt away in that moment.

He tilted your head up, his thumb gently brushing over your lips before he placed a soft kiss on your forehead and then on your lips. “Now let’s go home and don’t make me sleep alone in our bedroom ever again.”

His words were a perfect mix of tenderness and possessiveness, and they made something warm settle in your chest.

You nodded, burying your face in the crook of his neck, feeling safe and loved, a stark contrast to the storm that had just passed.

Bill kissed the top of your head, his fingers gently brushing through your hair. “Let’s go,” he whispered, his tone soft but still carrying that hint of cockiness, like he knew you were his now, and nothing was going to change that.

As you both stepped out of the quiet room and into the soft glow of the after-party, Alexander spotted you.

His eyes sparkled with knowing amusement, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to say much; the look was enough. “Finally,” he said with a grin, shaking his head at the two of you “I was looking for you everywhere “.

Bill glanced at him, then looked around the room as if confused. “Finally… what? Did they bring out dessert?” he asked, feigning innocence, ignoring the last part. “Because I swear, I’ve been waiting all night for something sweet.”

Alexander let out a short laugh, giving him a knowing look. “Right. That’s exactly what I meant.”

Bill just smirked, sliding his hand into yours like it was the most natural thing in the world, he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. His voice dropped, slow and deliberate, just for you. “Speaking of sweet,” he murmured, his fingers pressing into your waist, “I can't wait to taste you on my tongue.”

A shiver ran through you, heat flashing beneath your skin at his words.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart still racing from everything that had just happened.

The air between you and Bill had shifted, no more games, no more unspoken tension. Only the weight of what you had just shared and the promise of what was to come.

Bill’s hand tightened around yours as you walked back into the crowd, but this time, the weight of the world didn’t feel so heavy. You were together again, in more ways than one.

[clarkeybabey]

❝ we don't even fight anymore ❞

# summary; watching your relationship slowly end

# playlist; we don't fight anymore, Carly Pearce (ft Chris Stapleton)

# word count; 715

# note; i have three drafts w/ over 1k words i simply can't be asked to finish them omg, I love writing angst, u don't understand

Things were coming to a slow end. The weekend was winding down, and you had been out later than usual on both Saturday and Sunday. When you finally returned home, Harry hadn't even awakened at the sound of your footsteps in the bathroom or the movement in the bed when you snuggled under the duvet next to him. The silence was deafening, the absence of his usual reaction weighing heavily on you as you lay there, lost in your thoughts.

Once upon a time, if you were out past the time he had decided to turn in for the night your phone would be flooded with messages asking if you needed a ride or if you'd be home soon, but now there was nothing but radio silence, not even a message to see if you were coming home.

On days he was filming for the Sidemen channels he would shoot for them to end at the same time so he could make it home in time to make dinner with you, this time he was home three hours late, especially when you needed him here to hopefully take care of you even a little, "Where've you been, kinda needed that medicine," you mumble stirring some milk into the tea you'd made for your sore throat.

"Went for dinner with the boys," his eyes attempt to meet yours and he hopes they will for the first time in a while, but you're too busy staring a hole into the space on the counter where your mug sits.

You nod, nearly biting a hole through your cheek, praying he can't see the hurt in your face at the obvious lack of invitation. You turn your back to him completely as you rummage through the fridge to find your own dinner, "I brought you that pasta you like," he speaks up realizing what you're doing, you hum as he slides the plastic takeaway box toward you, across the top is the name of your favorite restaurant and that makes it hurt ten times worse.

Later that evening you lay in bed with your book in hand and a reading lamp above you, he's lying just next to you, but also somehow feels continents away on his phone scrolling through Instagram. You can't help but swallow hard as you notice he seems to be stalking some model you both had met at a video shoot not too long ago.

For your own sanity, you shut your book and slide it into your bedside table drawer, giving it a nudge with your knee letting it slam shut. As you tug your phone off the charger you see his brows knit together in stupid confusion, that you refuse to acknowledge. The air conditioning has goosebumps rising on your bare legs when you head for the bathroom.

"I just don't see an issue," he says, walking you in circles and speaking so calmly about something that nearly broke you, making you nauseous. Not caring a little about your mental state, you mistakenly decided to speak up about seeing what he had been doing on his phone last night, but he seemed to be completely lost on that topic.

Suppressing a scoff you shrug, doing your best to even out your breathing, "If you don't, I don't either," you want to scream in his face about how it made you feel, maybe even beg for him to call you beautiful because he used to make you feel like the only woman to ever grace this planet.

But you don't; instead deciding to keep the same stoic expression you have sported so very often.

God, you wish upon every star that you could be blessed with the strength to either fight for this, curse his name and let him know how this silence made you feel, or end this with hatred in your heart.

You can't hate him, you wouldn't have made it through university without his encouragement, and you wouldn't have been able to make nearly as much of a name for yourself without being featured on his channel occasionally all those years ago. There's no way you'd be here today without all of it. You don't care enough about anything with how numb you are to waste time hating him.

[lemotmo]

Celebrate good times come on 🎉🎉🎉

Q. Ryan's interview! The stills! What a day to be alive! So much seems to be happening in a single episode. How are they going to fit everything in? I'm so excited I can't stand myself! What are we about to see?!??

A. Haha, I feel this completely. I have deadlines for work, imminent deadlines and everything came to a complete halt yesterday so I could listen to Ryan's interview. Yes, it was filmed in December, but people were already spiraling then, and I am obsessed with how he always knows what people are saying about him and Eddie (seriously what's his Tumblr handle 👀) and uses his interviews as a way to correct the nonsense. I love that he does this. Will it stop the nonsense? Nope because some people are just innately miserable human beings and refuse to acknowledge anything that isn't horrible. And other people are just assholes looking to make other people miserable. So while it won't stop any of those people, he said what he said and they all heard him say it. As for the episode remember that it's a two part episode. So my guess is 8x9 will mostly be Maddie taking the calls from the killer and trying to figure things out while the Buck and Eddie angst plays out alongside it. They're clearly going to fight. Oliver mentioned conflict between characters we don't normally see it with, and Buck in those stills is not a Buck who is going to be able to fake it. Eddie looks not at all pleased in the still from the shelter rescue with Buck and the dog, so Buck likely did a reckless thing. It's also clear from the stills that Eddie doesn't want to go, and is probably unsure of his decision (hello callbacks to him leaving in season 5!). But he's decided he should go so he's probably not going to be receptive to someone voicing his uncertainty out loud, which Buck will most likely do. So they're going to fight. I think Eddie is supposed to leave at the end of 9, so we will see his goodbye to the 118 that we saw in the stills, but the Buddie rain goodbye is for 8x10 so 9 probably ends with Maddie being taken and Eddie deciding to postpone his leaving until they know something more. Which means 8x10 will be Maddie during the abduction and Eddie being there for Buck. That's really the only way you can tell both of those stories at the same time. Because Buck flipping out over Eddie while Maddie (and possibly Jee?) is missing would not be a good look at all so supportive, comforting Eddie is probably what we're going to get in episode 10. Then that leaves their goodbye rain scene as the last scene in episode 10. I don't really see any other way to tell both of those stories within the same episodes. And then HELLO MUTUAL PINNING MY LOVE! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Thank you Nonny!

Yeah I agree with the timeline of 8x09 and 8x10 here. I can see it playing out like this as well.

I'm so excited at this point that I'm feeling like I'm going to vibrate out of my skin. How am I supposed to sleep like this? And I have to wait until Friday to see the new episode, because it airs in the middle of the night and I really do need my sleep to survive my days. 😫

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[lurkingshan]

Theory of Love Episode 9: The Last Moment

I was very excited to get to another Thai movie on this list, but things took an unfortunate turn because this film is heteromisogynist trash that does not actually tie very closely to this week's episode. In brief:

CW: violent sexual assault Payu, Fah, and Num are college friends. Fah is physically ill with a pretend drama ailment and is coming off a breakup with a terrible violent boyfriend. Payu has been pining after her, while Num has been pining after him. A series of increasingly melodramatic and violent events occur that victimize the women, but the film is mostly interested in how these events make Payu feel. Payu briefly dates Fah before she dumps him after learning Num likes him, Num gets violently raped by a coworker for no good fucking reason, they all cry a lot and then Fah dies while asking Payu to be with Num, and Num goes away to England to have her rapist's baby before coming home to reunite with Payu in a truly horrific final confession scene.

I hated it, if you can't tell! I don't recommend that anyone not doing this project watch this film. And similar to last week, it's connections to the episode are tenuous. There is the vague notion of the love triangle, but the nature of it is very different from the alleged triangle at the heart of this episode of TOL. There is also just the use of melodrama tropes in general; this episode features the aftermath of Khai's motorbike accident, an apology while dramatically injured, and a big messy confession scene. The episode also has some tiny nods to the film like the inclusion of chicken feet soup. But the thematic parallels are weak and it feels like the team just picked a film with a triangle and didn't look to connect them on a deeper level.

In this episode, after an initial dumb scheme to investigate Third's feelings for Un flops, Khai mirrors Third from a few episodes back by giving up on his crush and trying to go back to being his friend. The awkwardness is palpable, but Khai is trying to move past his feelings and leave Third be so that he can pursue his (supposed) feelings for Un. Khai keeps it together when Third brings Un around, generally tries not to ask too much of him as he recovers from his injury, and continues expressing regret for his mistakes in how he's treated Third in the past (though Third changes the subject every time he tries).

For Third's part, he is definitely not missing Khai's behavior and its implications, but he is refusing to engage with it and definitely doesn't believe it's real. They are back to getting along better after Third airing out some of his anger, but you can see a wall go up whenever Khai tries to talk to him about their relationship. He's been hurt too much at this point and he's not willing to listen. And while Khai's regret in this episode feels genuine, as does his uncertainty about how to act around Third, it doesn't take long for him to forget his resolve to keep things friendly and stay out of Third's business. Once his jealousy over Un is reactivated at a party where everyone is acting a fool, he makes a public spectacle of "defending" Third by wailing on Un and delivers the worst confession of all time.

Third’s face says it all. He's been trying to avoid acknowledging the change in Khai's behavior for weeks, and now Khai has forced him to confront it in the worst possible way in front of a bunch of onlookers. He has always wanted to hear these words from Khai, but not like this and not at this time when he is trying to move on from him. Their path to getting on the same page continues to be rough.

[comfortzonequeen]

Hi!! Queen, can you write something about Austin cheating on Kaia with reader while they were working together on something and add a little extra something idk like drama and jealousy and happily ever after. No hate to Kaia but like there's not a lot of work about JUST Austin you know?!

I saw that you were taking request so maybe you can write this or not its kool.

Thank you!!

Hiii love, your not wrong. So here you have it. BTW no hate to Kaia but... yh. Enjoy it as much as i did.

Summary: Austin falls for reader while working on a film and reader feels the same but refuses to act on her feelings because he is in a relationship so he takes matters into his own hands, consequences be damned.

Warning: Mentions of cheating, Break up, some online hate, slightly famous reader, fluff.

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

Y/N L/N wasn’t exactly prepared for how quickly her life would change when she landed a screenwriting gig for a new, high-profile film. As a writer, she was used to the quiet, creative solitude that came with her work, but when she was asked to join the set of a romantic comedy she had co-written, everything shifted. She found herself surrounded by A-listers, and one in particular stood out—Austin Butler.

Austin was one of Hollywood’s most sought-after leading men, especially after his breakout role in Elvis. He had this magnetic charm, a quiet confidence, and a smile that made Y/N’s stomach flip every time he looked her way. He was dating model Kaia Gerber, and their relationship was constantly splashed across tabloids and social media. Despite this, Y/N couldn't help but notice how much time they started spending together, especially when working on the project.

It started innocently enough—late nights revising scripts together, grabbing coffee in between scenes, and shared laughs during downtime. But as the days turned into weeks, Y/N found herself drawn to him in ways she hadn’t expected. He made her feel seen, appreciated. And when they shared ideas, their connection seemed effortless, like they were in sync with each other’s thoughts. Austin, for his part, began to notice things about Y/N that he couldn’t ignore. The way her face lit up when she talked about her work, her laugh that was contagious, and the way she was always thinking of others. Slowly but surely, he found himself captivated by her, his feelings growing stronger each day.

But there was always Kaia. She was the shadow that loomed over their budding connection, and it made Y/N uncomfortable. Kaia wasn’t just some random girl—she was someone Austin had been with for a while, someone he publicly adored. Despite how close she and Austin were getting, Y/N wasn’t about to cross that line. She valued herself and knew she couldn't be part of something messy. However, Austin wasn’t so sure anymore.

 One day, after a long day of filming, Austin and Y/N sat together in a quiet corner of the set, away from the hustle and bustle. It was one of those moments where everything felt more intimate than it should’ve been. Austin turned to Y/N, his blue eyes searching hers, and said, “You know, working with you has been the highlight of this whole project.” Y/N laughed, trying to deflect. “You’re just saying that because I keep giving you the best lines.” Austin shook his head, his gaze lingering on her. “No, I mean it. I’ve never connected with someone the way I do with you.” Y/N’s heart raced.

She could feel the pull between them, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Not yet. “Austin…” she began, trying to keep her tone light, “you’re dating someone. You and Kaia—” Austin cut her off, his voice soft but firm. “It’s complicated with Kaia. I haven’t been honest with myself, or with her.” Y/N stared at him, her stomach twisting in knots. “You can’t just—” “I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N,” Austin interrupted, his voice tinged with frustration.

“I don’t want to lie to you, or to myself. I’ve tried to push these feelings away, but they won’t go.” Y/N looked away, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to believe him, but the guilt gnawed at her. “This isn’t right, Austin. You’re with someone.” “I know,” he admitted, his tone full of regret. “But I can’t keep pretending that what I feel for you isn’t real. It’s stronger than anything I’ve felt in a long time.”  

 Y/N managed to avoid Austin’s advances for a while, but it became harder each day. Every time she saw him, her resolve weakened. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel the same—she did, but the weight of guilt and the fear of hurting someone else held her back. One evening, after filming wrapped for the day, Austin showed up at her trailer. His eyes were filled with determination, his jaw set in a way that told Y/N he wasn’t going to let this go. “Y/N, we need to talk,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She sighed, closing her laptop and standing up. “Austin, I’ve told you—”

“No, hear me out,” he insisted, his voice full of emotion. “I can’t keep pretending, Y/N. I broke up with Kaia.” Her heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“I told her the truth. That my feelings have changed. That I have feelings for someone else.” Y/N’s breath hitched. She hadn’t expected him to actually do it. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. “You… you broke up with her because of me?” Austin stepped closer, his eyes pleading. “Because of us. I want to be with you, Y/N. I can’t keep living a lie.” Y/N’s head was spinning. This was too much, too fast. She backed away, shaking her head. “Austin, you can’t just—”

“I need you to understand,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m willing to fight for this. For you. I don’t want to hurt Kaia, but I can’t keep denying what I feel.” Y/N felt her walls crumbling. She had been so strong, so sure of keeping her distance, but now it felt impossible. Austin was standing in front of her, pouring his heart out, and she was powerless against it. “I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Austin stepped even closer, gently taking her hands in his. “I do. Please, Y/N. Don’t push me away.” And in that moment, Y/N’s resolve shattered. She couldn’t deny it anymore. The way she felt for him was undeniable, and as much as she hated the circumstances, she couldn’t fight it any longer. “I… okay,” she whispered, her heart heavy with both guilt and relief.

 For a few months, Y/N and Austin kept their relationship private, not wanting to stir up any drama, especially with Kaia so fresh out of the picture. But the secrecy didn’t last long. One afternoon, Y/N and Austin met up with three of his friends for a casual lunch. It was meant to be low-key, just the five them, but paparazzi had a knack for finding them, especially since Austin was constantly under the spotlight. As Y/N and Austin walked side by side, their fingers brushing against each other, a paparazzi snapped a photo. The image quickly spread like wildfire on social media— Y/N and Austin looking cozy, with their bodies leaning in closer than two "friends" should be.

The rumors exploded. Headlines blared: "Austin Butler Moves On From Kaia Gerber—Spotted With New Girlfriend Y/N L/N ". The internet was divided. Some people were thrilled, shipping the new couple, while others were furious on Kaia’s behalf. Fans took sides, with some calling Y/N a homewrecker, others applauding Austin for following his heart. It wasn’t long before Y/N found herself the target of online hate. Her social media was flooded with comments, some cruel, others supportive, but it was overwhelming nonetheless.

Austin did his best to shield her from it, but there was only so much he could do. “We need to address this,” he told her one evening as they sat in her apartment, his arm draped over her shoulders. “The rumors are out of control. We have to make a statement.” Y/N sighed, leaning her head against his chest. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.” “You don’t have to go through this alone,” Austin assured her. “We’ll do it together.”

 After days of deliberation, Y/N and Austin finally decided to go public with their relationship. They posted a picture of themselves together on Instagram, captioned simply: “Sometimes love happens in unexpected ways. We’re happy. That’s all that matters.” The internet exploded once again, but this time, Y/N felt more prepared. Austin was by her side, and despite the backlash, she knew that what they had was real. But as the months passed, Y/N couldn’t shake the lingering guilt that came with how their relationship started. She had fallen for Austin, but she couldn’t forget the way it had all begun—with a breakup, and with her hesitations clouded by his persistence.

Still, as she sat next to him, watching the sunset from their balcony, she couldn’t deny the love she felt. The journey had been messy, complicated, and full of challenges, but for now, they had each other. And that, Y/N hoped, would be enough.

 It wasn’t long before Kaia Gerber made her feelings about the situation known. After weeks of radio silence, she finally sat down for a highly-anticipated interview with a prominent entertainment magazine. It was no secret that the breakup had been hard on her, and the timing of Austin’s new relationship with Y/N L/N didn’t go unnoticed.

The world had seen Austin move on almost immediately, and now, Kaia had the opportunity to share her side. Sitting across from the interviewer, Kaia looked poised and composed. Her eyes, however, told a different story—they were full of pain and bitterness, remnants of a heartbreak that was still fresh.

"First of all, I want to say that I have no ill will toward Austin. He’s an amazing person, and I’ll always cherish the time we had together," she began, her voice soft but firm. "But the way everything happened… it was unexpected."

The interviewer leaned forward, eager for more. “You mean Austin moving on so quickly?” Kaia nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. I think it’s hard for anyone when someone you care about moves on so fast. We had our issues, like any couple, but I didn’t expect things to end the way they did.” She paused, clearly measuring her words carefully.

"When Austin and I were together, I thought we were on the same page. I really believed in us, but I started noticing things changing, especially during the time he was working on that movie with Y/N." Kaia looked down, as if reliving painful memories. "I didn’t want to believe it at first, but it became clear that his feelings were shifting. There was a lot of time spent on set, and I trusted him, you know? I thought it was just work, but clearly, it wasn’t." The interviewer’s eyes widened.

“So, you’re saying something was going on between Austin and Y/N while you were still together?” Kaia hesitated, then gave a sad smile. “I don’t know for sure, but let’s just say the timeline is… suspicious. You don’t go from being in love with someone to suddenly being with someone else overnight. I think there was more going on than I realized.” 

 As the interview went on, Kaia started to tweak the narrative, blurring the lines between fact and fiction. She knew she was walking a fine line, but bitterness had a way of distorting things, and she wanted the world to understand her side, even if it meant bending the truth.

"Look, I’m not saying that Y/N was the reason for our breakup," she said, her tone careful. "But I do think her presence in Austin’s life played a role in how quickly things fell apart. It’s hard not to feel like you were replaced." She sighed, her voice growing softer, more vulnerable. “I wasn’t just losing Austin; I was losing a part of myself. We shared so much, and then suddenly, it was like I didn’t matter anymore.” The interviewer nodded sympathetically, clearly hooked by Kaia’s version of events.

"That must have been incredibly difficult, especially since Austin and Y/N have been so public with their relationship now." Kaia’s smile turned bitter. "Yeah, it’s been hard seeing them together, especially when everything happened so fast. It makes you question a lot of things about your relationship, and yourself." And then came the final blow—the part where Kaia really let her bitterness seep through.

“I just hope they’re being honest with themselves. Relationships that start the way theirs did don’t always last. I wish them the best, but… well, time will tell.”

 The interview hit the internet like a storm. Kaia’s words were everywhere, from entertainment blogs to social media, and the public quickly took sides once again. Fans who had already been critical of Y/N and Austin’s relationship now had more fuel for their fire. Some took to Twitter, accusing KC of being a "homewrecker," while others praised Kaia for her grace in handling the situation. The comments poured in, dissecting every word of Kaia’s interview, with some even speculating that there had been an emotional affair between Austin and Y/N long before he broke up with Kaia.

But there were also those who defended Y/N, pointing out that Kaia was twisting the narrative to paint herself as the victim. "If Austin wasn’t happy, that’s not Y/N’s fault," one user tweeted. "Kaia needs to move on and stop playing the blame game." The gossip sites ran wild with the story, plastering headlines like: “Kaia Gerber Hints at Emotional Affair Between Austin Butler and Y/N L/N” and “Kaia Gerber Shades Austin and Y/N in Emotional Interview—Truth or Jealousy?” Y/N tried to stay away from the noise, but it was impossible to avoid. Every time she opened her phone, there it was—articles, comments, and endless speculation.

It hurt, more than she wanted to admit. She had always been careful, trying to do the right thing, and now she was being dragged through the mud. Austin, on the other hand, was furious. He couldn’t believe that Kaia would go on record and twist things to make Y/N look bad. He hated that Y/N was being blamed for something that was never her fault.

“We need to set the record straight,” Austin told Y/N one night, pacing the floor of her apartment. “This is getting out of hand.” Y/N shook her head, tired and overwhelmed. “I don’t know if it’s worth it, Austin. People are going to believe what they want to believe.”

“I don’t care what they believe,” he shot back, his voice full of frustration. “You don’t deserve this. I can’t let her get away with making you look like the bad guy.” Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. “I knew this would happen. I knew people would blame me, no matter what.” Austin stopped pacing and sat down beside her, taking her hands in his. “This isn’t your fault, Y/N/N. I was the one who ended things with Kaia because it wasn’t working anymore. You and I… this didn’t happen the way she’s making it sound.” Y/N leaned into him, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her.

“I just don’t want to make things worse.”

 Despite Y/N’s reluctance, Austin couldn’t stay silent. A few days after Kaia’s interview, he posted a lengthy message on Instagram, addressing the rumors head-on.

"I’ve always tried to keep my personal life private, but recent events have made it necessary for me to speak out. I want to clarify that my relationship with Kaia ended because we were no longer in a place where we could grow together. There was no overlap, no betrayal. I care deeply for Kaia and always will, but the narrative that’s being pushed is unfair and inaccurate. Y/N L/N has been nothing but kind, respectful, and supportive throughout this entire process. Our relationship started after my breakup with Kaia, and it’s important to me that people understand this. Please respect both Y/N and Kaia’s privacy as we all move forward." The post received mixed reactions, as expected.

Some applauded Austin for defending Y/N, while others continued to criticize the situation. Kaia, for her part, didn’t respond directly, but her silence was telling.

As the weeks passed, the frenzy around Y/N and Austin’s relationship slowly began to die down, though the scars of the public scrutiny lingered. Y/N had learned to navigate the storm, leaning on Austin for support, but the shadow of Kaia’s words still followed her.

One day, as Y/N and Austin sat in a quiet café, far away from the flashing lights of Hollywood, she looked at him and asked, “Do you think this will ever stop?” Austin smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’ll die down. People always move on to the next story.” Y/N nodded, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. But as she looked into Austin’s eyes, she realized that despite everything—the rumors, the backlash, the guilt—she had found something real. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was theirs.

 The constant noise was finally too much for Y/N to bear. She had tried to remain quiet, hoping that the rumors and gossip would fade away on their own. But the endless comments, the judgment, and Kaia’s twisting of the truth were beginning to affect not only her relationship with Austin but her own peace of mind. After Austin’s public statement, things had calmed down, but they hadn’t disappeared completely. Kaia’s fans continued to twist the narrative, casting Y/N as the villain in a story she had never wanted to be part of.

Y/N sat at her desk one evening, scrolling through another flood of messages and articles about her relationship. Her heart felt heavy, and she knew it was time. Time to set the record straight. Time to speak up, not just for herself, but for Austin, for their relationship, and for the truth. She opened her laptop, took a deep breath, and began to write.

Y/N’s Post The next day, Y/N’s post went live on Instagram. It was a simple black-and-white photo of her and Austin, standing side by side, holding hands. But it wasn’t the picture that caught everyone’s attention—it was the caption.

"I’ve always been someone who believes in keeping my personal life private, but recent events have made it necessary for me to address some of the rumors and false narratives that have been circulating. First and foremost, I want to say that I have the utmost respect for everyone involved, including Kaia. However, there has been a lot said about my relationship with Austin that isn’t true, and I feel it’s important to clarify what really happened. When Austin and I began working together, we developed a friendship—a genuine, supportive friendship. At the time, Austin was still in a relationship, and I respected that. I had no intention of coming between anyone. Our connection was professional and nothing more. When Austin made the decision to end his relationship with Kaia, it was because they were no longer in a place where they could grow together. I had nothing to do with that decision, nor did I interfere in their relationship.

Austin and I only began dating after his breakup. I understand that it’s easy for people to create a narrative based on timing, but I want to be clear: there was no overlap, no betrayal, no dishonesty. I respect Kaia, but I also need to respectfully address the fact that the narrative she shared was not entirely accurate. It’s difficult when emotions are involved, and I understand that breakups are hard. But it’s unfair to paint a picture that isn’t true. I hope this clears things up and allows everyone to move forward in a way that’s respectful and kind. Relationships are complicated, and none of us are perfect, but the truth is important. Thank you to everyone who has supported us through this, and I hope that we can all move on from here with understanding and empathy.”

The Internet’s Reaction Y/N’s post was met with an immediate wave of responses. Her words were calm, measured, and respectful, but they cut through the noise with precision. For the first time, the internet seemed to pause and take notice of the truth, rather than the sensationalized version of events.

Fans flooded the comments, praising Y/N for her honesty and grace.

“Finally, someone said it with class. Respect to you, Y/N.”

“You didn’t owe anyone this, but thank you for clearing things up. People need to stop making assumptions.”

 “Kaia needs to let go. This isn’t Y/N’s fault, and she handled it with so much respect.”

Even those who had been skeptical before started to shift their perspectives. The overwhelming consensus was that Y/N had done the right thing by speaking up and that her respectful call-out of Kaia’s skewed narrative was the final word on the matter. On Twitter, the hashtags #Team Y/N and #RespectTheTruth began trending, and even gossip sites that had fueled the drama started to backtrack, running stories about how Y/N had handled the situation with dignity. The internet had finally shifted, and the storm that had been swirling around Y/N and Austin began to die down. People moved on, and the relationship that had been under such intense scrutiny was finally given space to breathe.

 Austin couldn’t have been prouder of Y/N. When he read her post, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief and admiration. She had handled everything with such poise, and now the world could see her for who she truly was—a strong, kind, and honest person who had simply fallen in love.

Later that evening, they sat together on the couch in Y/N’s apartment, the quiet of the moment a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few months. Austin wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, his heart full of gratitude. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, kissing her temple softly. “You didn’t have to do that, but you did it with so much grace.” Y/N smiled, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I just couldn’t let the lies keep going. I wanted people to understand what really happened, without all the drama.”

“And they do now,” Austin said, his voice full of conviction. “You’ve always been strong, Y/N, but this… this was something else.” She looked up at him with love in her eyes. “We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?” Austin nodded, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Yeah, we have. But we’re still here. And that’s what matters.” As they sat in the peaceful quiet of the evening, Y/N felt a sense of closure wash over her. The public drama, the whispers, the judgment—it was all behind them now. They had made it through the storm, and they were stronger for it. Austin’s hand found hers, and they sat there, side by side, knowing that no matter what came next, they were in this together.

A/N: Hope y'all liked it. Again no hate to Kaia she's gorgeous and all her glory and one lucky girlie. Feel free to comment, like and reblog. I'm taking request so don't be shy 😘💋.

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[bthehufflepuff208]

So with all the 'anti Tony' posts flooding the 'Tony Stark Defense Squad' tag and other pro-Tony tags, I have to once again post my feelings.

It is absolute insanity how so many MCU fans (especially Team Cap fans and Anti-Tony people) see everything in black and white.

So many refuse to accept that things are in shades of gray; that characters and situations are complicated and that character development actually can exist.

So with the the 'anti Tony' posts flooding the specific tags for Tony fans (trying to piss Tony fans off because they feel like morally superior for hating Tony), I need to post my own thoughts on some of the main issues being constantly mentioned. But unlike these "morally superior" anti-Tony/Team Cap fans, I will not use tags that would have my posts show up in their favorited tags, as I don't feel it necessary to ruin other people's enjoyment of characters based on their opinion to feel better than them.

So first argument I'm constantly seeing:

"Tony fans are fine/happy with Tony killing Bucky and don't care what Bucky's been through."

I'm pretty sure I talked about this before, but I've seen many Tony fans (definitely not all, I'm sure there are a bunch who would disagree with me) acknowledge what Bucky's been through and and understand he had absolutely no control.

Because saying "Tony's reaction to attacking Bucky is understandable" is not the same as saying "Bucky deserved to die by Tony's hand."

Tony just watched his father's head being bashed in and then his mother being strangled to death. And to top it all off, someone he trusted knew and purposely kept it from him. Tony antis constantly argue "he refused to to realize that Bucky was brainwashed!"

I'm pretty sure Tony couldn't think rationally at all at the time, with the whole watching his parents be brutally murdered while the man who murdered them is standing feet away from him and a finding our a trusted friend knew and purposely kept it from him.

And when this is said, Tony antis go, "so you think Bucky deserves to be brutally murdered?! Hypocrite!!!"

Tony's reaction to what has happened is understandable, but no, if Tony had indeed murdered Bucky, it would have been horrible. Bucky had been through immense torture and had absolutely no control of what happened. If Tony had ended up murdering Bucky, no justice would have truly been served; a tortured man would have been murdered for the actions of a Nazi organization controlling him.

Because things aren't in black and white; understanding one thing doesn't mean that you need to agree with everything that happens afterwords. Understanding Tony's reaction isn't saying Bucky deserved to die. There are layers to everything that happens, especially in fictional stories.

But this main belief of everything is in black and white seems to come back to Tony's character overall, which I've been seeing in these recent anti Tony posts:

"Tony Stark is a narcissist, so every single thing he does is to make himself feel better and/or because he's forced to do the right thing."

I......uh.......

Seriously?! Like, are you unable to think critically?! Or you took 'Textbook Narcissim" from Iron Man 2 and stuck with it throught the entire Infinity Saga because he's a white, male, heterosexual billionaire?

This is fiction, and even though Jon Favreau and RDJ said when filming Iron Man 1 that their Tony was based on Elon Musk in 2008, the fictional Tony Stark isn't the actual psychopath Elon Musk!

Like the argument I saw for Endgame was "Tony only sacrificed himself because Dr. Strange made him; he wouldn't have done anything if he wasn't forced."

Well no, I don't think he was all that thrilled to sacrifice himself and leave his wife and daughter, but what you refuse to accept, is that THINGS AREN'T IN BLACK AND WHITE. He can still choose to sacrifice himself because he truly wants to help the universe and destroy Thanos and his army all the while being terrified/heartbroken about leaving his wife and child behind. Emotions and actions are complicated! One emotion doesn't negate everything else. You can feel conflicting emotions at one time!!

And even if anti Tony people see this, they'll say "but if Strange didn't reiterate to Tony they only won in 1 out of 14 million possibilities, he would have just focused on saving himself." Yes, fighting Thanos was solely to make himself the hero and save himself only(this is sarcasm, but I'm sure Tony antis will be like "Yes! That's exactly right!").

There is so much more I can say about things not being black and white, but the fact that this belief is still pretty popular nowadays is absolutely wild for me. So many just cling to the black and white general characterizations of these characters and absolutely refuse to accept that characters, like people, are complicated.

That characters and situations aren't black and white.

They are shades of gray, and being shades of gray is what makes us able to sympathize and understand a characters actions and beliefs.

[nanaten]

i love one-sided lloydten …. i think, for me to like a ship, i need to have alot to say about it. but when it comes to lloydten the only time i have alot to say about it is when lloyd is sad and pining because that is the most fascinating angle to me. case in point:

ninten is,, y’know, the cool neighbors kid type, the teenager from across the street that you only hear about via your parents gossiping i.e “did you hear? that little brat vandalised the mayors’ portrait again!” and lloyd envies him SO much. he wants to be him so bad. in his eyes ninten is a tried and true hero, a fearless fighter who stands for what’s right— whilst also being edgier, a teenager who does cool and scary things like smoke (he doesn’t actually) and watch 18 rated films (he doesn’t do that either. caught a glimpse of his parents watching nightmare on elm street and had nightmares about it for weeks) and commits crimes (he does do this one actually.)

he feels theres this inherit distance between them, because ninten is so much cooler than him (no he isn’t) and is so much stronger then him, but he desperately wants to close that distance and become someone who ninten views as an equal. he puts ninten on a pedestal and yearns to reach the same heights ninten is on; failing to realize there’s never been a point in their lives where ninten hasn’t already seen him as an equal.

ninten sees him as his most reliable, if not slightly meek and fun to mess with, best friend. he loves him dearly, and wouldn’t trade him for the world. he just wishes Lloyd wouldn’t always make things complicated. he doesn’t understand why lloyd has created such a complex about himself; he’s never had feelings like that before, so hell, he can’t understand it. it hurts slightly, even, that lloyd refuses to believe ninten when he tells him they’re friends, it hurts that lloyd believes he must become better to be worth him as a friend.

and putting a one-sided romance on top of this sort of dynamic? soul-crushing. gut-wrenching. sorry ninten your right hand man hates himself but also loves you. he is desperate to prove himself to you romantically and platonically and you have to try and tell him how much he matters to you but also not in a romantic way. hell. hell on earth. sorry man. also your friend will be romantically pining after you quietly on his own forever upon acknowledging this because he respects you and your feelings and your comfort so much. he’ll never bring it up again to you so you never feel uncomfortable but in turn it’s eating him up inside every time he wakes up in the morning to the moment he goes to bed. you are everything he’s ever wanted and you are everything he’s ever wanted to be and you can do nothing but be his friend because the only thing that would be worse than that is trapping him into a relationship with you that would be a lie. he deserves to experience being loved as he loves so you wait and support him as a friend in the hopes he can one day love anew but to him that feels impossible. incorrigible, even, as if loving another would be some form of betrayal to you. sorry man. sorry

[imsodishy]

Take a Step That is New

another episode of Four's Company (a series on ao3)

this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience

May 1987 

The cheery chimes above the door at Dot's Dinner ting-a-ling as Steve walks in and he almost throws his stupid briefcase at it. He settles at the last minute for telling it to, “Shut the hell up,” and heads for the counter. 

“Whoa, buddy, rough day?” Robin's already saddled up on a stool, Billy’s just serving up her burger and onion rings. 

The boxy fan they’ve set up on the counter does nothing to dispel the muggy heat that’s settled over the city, just moves the humid air around. It also does nothing to improve Steve’s mood, sweltering in his stupid suit, he yanks at his tie until he can breathe again. 

Steve claims the stool next to Robin, peels off his stuffy jacket and slams it down on the teal formica counter top with zero thought for whatever grease or condiments it might find there, then he plonks his head down next to it without acknowledging Robin, and groans like a dying seal, “I hate my fucking life.” 

It’s not true, Steve likes his life. Mostly. 

What he fucking hates is his job. Which makes up… some way too big percentage of his life; 9 to 5, Monday to Friday is a big chunk of the week. The heat doesn’t help. 

Robin pat-pats his shoulder consolingly. He hears Billy huff at his dramatics before walking away from the sad spectacle of Steve’s life. Off in the corner Seymour, a grumpy old regular who basically lives at his booth, frowns. He’s always frowning at something though. Mostly at Steve, though not exclusively. Eddie earns his fair share of stink-eye. 

Robin's hand is still on Steve’s shoulder when he can sense her lean in closer and– “Don't fucking sniff me, dude!” He snaps upright, leaning as far away from her as he can without toppling off the stool. “It's so weird.” 

“Sorry! Sorry,” she says, “You seem stressed is all, and I was just checking you didn’t go crawling back to sweet lady nicotine's disgusting embrace.” 

Robin’s been rabid lately on her bid to get all three of them to quit smoking. It started with a not in the house rule, and has quickly progressed to all out war on the cancer sticks. Steve's the only one who's buckled so far. He's on an almost two month streak right now, and she's been playing hard defense to keep him on it. He draws the line at the sniffing though. That is simply unacceptable. 

Steve rolls his eyes, and grumbles, “I didn’t smoke,” God, he could really go for one right now though, “If I bring a lighter to work I’ll end up burning the building down.”  

A strawberry milkshake clonks down on the counter in front of him as Billy basically drops it like a bomb, “Oh my God. Quit! Just quit your stupid fucking job that you hate!” he explodes, “I cannot listen to your sad-sack, bitch-baby, whining about it anymore.“ 

Steve pulls his milkshake in close just in case Billy tries to confiscate it for bitch-baby behavior. “I can’t just quit,” he whines. 

Billy just rolls his eyes and doesn’t try to take Steve’s one joy away from him. “Why? Because your Dad got it for you?” 

And like, yeah, but Billy doesn’t have to be such a dickhead about it. 

Billy landed his job at Dot’s Diner like some kind of magic. Seriously, their first day in New York, they hadn’t even unpacked any of the boxes they'd schlepped into the house when Billy dusted off his hands and said, “I'm gonna get the lay of the land,” and walked out the front door. 

He came back six hours later with a job and a peanut butter milkshake. It took him a month after that to tell them where he worked, and he tells them frequently that he's regretted it everyday since he caved. They do spend a lot of time there bothering him, despite the fact he refuses to give them freebies. His boss, Sal (who reminds Steve a lot of Benny from the diner back home, if he had about two dozen extra tattoos, like they both rolled off a big, gruff, diner proprietor assembly line somewhere), is actually way more likely to sling them a free coke or some fries once in a while. 

“We could find you another job,” Robin says, as she’s been saying for months, “One that makes you at least sixty percent less arson-y, guaranteed!” 

Robin got her job at the campus bookstore through student services, (obviously not an option for Steve), although, with the first year under her belt, she's talking about looking elsewhere for employment, since the school pays them peanuts anyway, and she thinks she'll be able to balance her schedule better now on her own. 

The door chimes jangle crazily as Eddie bursts into the diner, “Outstanding news chums!” he booms, ignoring Seymour scowling in his direction. 

“Easy on the door, Munson,” Billy warns. 

Eddie shuts the door with exaggerated care, before he hustles over to the counter and hops up on the stool on Robins other side. He gives himself a drumroll, rattling all the flatware on the counter. Old Seymour’s glare intensifies. 

“I have news,” he repeats, flipping his cup right-side-up for Billy to fill with coffee he doesn’t need, upcoming nightshift at the bar or no. 

Robin takes a guess, “You talked to you boss about getting the time off for the Hawkins trip?” she doesn’t sound that hopeful. 

And for good reason. “What? No,” Eddie dismisses her with a flapping hand, “I have an audition with a band!” 

“Gasp,” Robin says flatly. The only news Eddie gets this excited about is when he's auditioning, or sitting in, or has a lead on some new band seeking a guitarist. 

Eddie, by his own account, got his so-called day job (it’s nights, bar-backing) by just hanging around the bar/music venue he frequents all the time, bothering the bartenders (and selling them weed) until one of them slapped a rag in his hand and told him to make himself useful. Which suits him just fine to fill time while he chases his music dream. 

“Look, I'm going to Hawkins either way,” Eddie tells her with a carefree shrug, “If Rosco won't give me the time off I'll just quit and get a new job when we get back.” 

“See!” Billy says, slamming the coffee pot back into it's cradle, “You see how easy that is, Harrington? You lose a job, then you get another one. C'est la fucking vie.” 

Eddie leans around Robin to look at Steve, “Oh-ho. Did the little Lord Harrington finally break free from the yuppie rat race?”  

“No,” Steve says, and slurps a big sip of his milkshake. 

Steve didn’t get his own job at all, obviously. It was already lined up for him before they even rented the moving truck. It came pre-approved for him courtesy of his father and his father’s business connections. Steve's been working there for almost a year now, but he's still not entirely clear what they do. 

It's real-estate... kind of? The company buys properties, but they do it by selling shares in the properties to other companies, then they use that money to pay construction companies to tear down those properties and build new ones on the land. Those construction companies use that money to buy steel and other building shit from Steve’s dad’s plants back in Indiana (and Michigan). Then Steve's bosses sell the whole shebang for several butt-loads of money for them and their investors to start the game all over again. 

Steve’s job largely seems to involve standing around, insuring their side of the boardroom has the most men in suits at all times, and occasionally kissing investor ass. He’s a Junior Account Associate somehow. 

It’s soul crushing. 

“Aw, cheer up, Stevie,” Eddie says, slapping him on the back, “Look on the bright side, at least you can always keep our beer fridge stocked with that fat paycheck of yours.” 

Robin does Steve the favor of smacking Eddie upside the head. 

Steve decides to change the subject, “What’s the band called, Ed?” he asks, because that’s always good for a laugh at least. 

Eddie holds his hands in front of his face like he's framing a marquee, “ God of Gore ,” he announces in a theatrical growl. 

Steve snorts to himself. Yeah, that’s good shit. 

“And,” he goes on, voice rising in pitch as he gets more hyped up, “Get this, their last guitarist up and moved to Indiana! How's that for kismet? It's fate, I tells ya!” 

“Who would willingly move to Indiana,” Billy wonders, “The whole state's a toilet.” 

Not at all bothered by the shit talking of their home state, Eddie hops down of his stool and announces, “Speaking of which, gotta drain the snake.” 

While Robin is busy grimacing at that, Eddie wiggles incredibly unsubtle eyebrows at Billy. He gets a, much more subtle, jerk of the chin back, so Eddie slips right past the bathrooms and into the kitchen, and doubtless out the back door to smoke in peace, away from Robin’s judgmental gaze. He’s made vague, placating noises at her about cutting back, but he’s just been sneaking around behind her back, with Billy as an accomplice. 

Billy might be smoking more out of spite. 

Eddie's whirlwind act really made Steve feel like the sad-sack Billy accused him of being, and he’s sick of that feeling, gets more than enough of it everyday at work.  

All the silverware rattles as he slams a decisive hand down on the counter, much to Seymour’s ire. “You know what I think would make me feel better?” Steve asks loudly and rhetorically. 

He shoves away from the counter and heads straight for the jukebox. 

“No!” Billy booms, pointing at Steve like he’s a cat on the counter. 

Steve backs slowly down the aisle, facing Billy the whole way with big, guileless eyes. “What's that?” 

“You’re still banned for Bryan Adams crimes.” Honestly, Steve’s probably got a couple bans stacked at the moment. Billy doles them out liberally.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hargrove,” Steve bumps into the jukebox because he still won’t turn away from Billy’s impotent glare. It's great, his ears are going red.  

“I call the shots here,” he tries, fruitlessly. 

“No you don‘t, Sal does,” Steve snorts, “And, anyway, I am a private citizen, this is a free country! My dime is as good as anybody’s!” He's been spending too much time with Eddie. 

Billy throws a spoon at him. 

Steve cackles as he plugs the jukebox. There’s a couple beats of bassy synthesizer. 

Billy tells him, “You’re a monster,” with feeling.  

Then— “ Watching every motion in my foolish lover’s game.”  

Steve slow dances back towards the counter, swaying to the dreamy beat of the bum-bum-bum-bubums, high on the joy of being deeply annoying. He slides back onto his stool just in time to dramatically sing along to, “ Take my breath awaaaaay,” right in Billy’s face. It's gone all red now, like the cherry on Steve's shake, which he happily pops between his grinning teeth. 

“It’s not my fault Sal won’t put Mötley Crüe in there,” Steve says, munching happily on his cherry. 

Billy storms off into the kitchen. 

“Someday,” Robin muses through he mouthful of fried onions, “he’s going to feed you a floor burger, and I’m not going to stop him. This song is sincerely awful.” 

“I like it,” Steve declares. 

“Of course you do.” Robin pats his hand condescendingly. 

She swivels on her stool to face him, a concerned little furrow in her brow, and ketchup on her cheek. “Seriously though, Steve, we could find you a different job. No problem. You got the job at Family Video, and Scoops before that.” Robin got him the job at Family Video, and he only got the job at Scoops because the first guy they hired showed up to the training stoned, but it’s nice of her to say. “You don’t need to stick it out because of your dad, you don’t need his help. It’s not your only option or whatever bullshit you’re worried about. You can get a different job. And, okay, no it wouldn’t pay as much, but you'd get by.” 

Robin wasn’t Steve’s first real friend or anything like that, he wouldn’t even say she’s his first good friend . But she’s definitely his best friend. Steve lays a hand over her slightly greasy one on the counter, and furrows his brow right back at her, “But then, Robin, who would keep the beer fridge stocked?” 

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her burger, “So we'd have to bid goodbye to Daddy Beer-bucks, we'd survive.” 

They would. Robin, Billy, and Eddie are resourceful, and smart, and self-sufficient, they’d figure out a way get by, even with Steve hanging like an anchor around their necks. But Steve hates the idea of dragging them down. Actually can’t stand it. He literally gets a stomach ache if he thinks too hard about it. When he can hear future Robin, somewhere down the line, when she’s sick of his shit, saying You can’t expect us to handle every little issue for you, dingus, in his head, except sometimes the ‘dingus’ morphs into ‘darling’ and imaginary-Robin sounds disturbingly like his mother (which doesn’t help the stomach ache problem at all). So he needs to keep bringing in enough money to pay his way. 

Steve just smiles at her. 

Billy reemerges from the kitchen to make a round of his tables, giving Steve the evil eye as he goes, before settling behind the counter to concentrate on glaring at Steve despite the fact that the song is long over by now, Eddie Money is playing now. Steve raises his eyebrows at his glare, “Don’t look at me, I’m all out of dimes.” 

Robin, perhaps prompted by Mr. Money asks, “Where'd Eddie go? He’s taking forever in there.” 

Billy silently points over her shoulder to where they can clearly see Eddie’s hunched form cowering miserably under the diner's awning from the unpleasantly warm rain that’s finally broken after threatening all day. He’s sucking down smoke like his life depends on it. Must not have been enough shelter in the alley when the rain started. 

“No!” Robin shouts, much like Billy had shouted at Steve earlier, and dashes out the door, bells cheerfully chiming her exit. Eddie takes a couple more panicked puffs before Robin gets to him and he has to start playing keep away with the butt. 

Steve watches them through the window for a couple seconds like a real life version of those weird old puppet shows, “What are those puppets that–“ 

“Punch and Judy,” Billy answers the unfinished question. 

He flicks a dime that bounces off Steve's forehead and drops to the counter with a ring-a-ting-ting. “Go put on some Springsteen, Bambi,” he says, smiling at him like he’s still a sad-sack, sure, but at least he’s one Billy’s kinda fond of, then he goes to top off Seymour’s coffee down at the far end of the other end of the diner. 

For Billy alone, Seymour’s got a great big smile.

Steve has stapled his tie to his desk. Which seems like the kind of thing most people would only do by accident. Not Steve, though. No, he simply got so bored that when the thought, I wonder if I could staple my tie to this desk right now, breezed through his head he went ahead and did it. 

Turns out he could, so he added a couple more staples for no better reason than the first one. 

Steve feels like his brain is melting out his ears which is maybe half boredom, half the heat. The AC has been in and out all week, something about the grid according to maintenance. Turns out a cracked window and a fan isn’t any more effective on the 10th floor of a Manhattan office building than it is in a ground level diner in the Bronx. 

“Harrington.” All the staples explode off his tie, flying all over his little hot-box of an office, when he jerks upright as Connor Michaels walks in to his office. The guy definitely notices the staples too, judging by the shitty little smirk on his face. 

The thing about all of Steve’s coworkers is that they hate him, because he’s clearly just a doofus nepotism hire who has no business working here. They all hide it behind a veneer of polite condescension while trying to use him as a connection since his last name is Harrington, though. It’s all so pathetically exactly like high school Steve can hardly stand it. 

Connor chuckles, “Tgif, am I right? Listen, I asked Laura to pull the permits for the Hell’s Kitchen property for me, but she’s on the rag or something and flipped out at me.” 

The other thing about Steve’s coworkers is that they’re all douchebags. 

“Okay,” Steve says to avoid stapling his smug face. 

“I know she does shit like that for you all the time, so think you could work your magic?” Connor wiggles his fingers vaguely that reminds Steve of how his mom would talk about his sport’s things any time it came up. 

Laura is the only exception to the douchebag rule. She’s smart, and competent, and the only woman at Steve’s level of management. She also hates Steve, but she doesn't try to hide it. She’s got integrity about it. The only reason she helps Steve with things like permits and filings is that she knows she’s the one who will have to clean up the mess if he royally screws it. She reminds him a lot of Robin in the early days of working at Scoops, just completely unimpressed by and uninterested in his King Steve bullshit. 

Steve does frequently throw himself on her mercy, she’s the only reason he hasn’t caused any serious problems so far. Which is maybe the other reason she keeps helping him, because he unreservedly admits that it’s a joke that they’re on the same level professionally. And not a funny one. 

Steve starts sweeping the staples that landed on his desk and not the floor into a pile, “Sure,” he says to Connor, hoping that’ll get him to leave. 

No luck. Instead he tucks his hand in his pockets and settles into a slouches against Steve’s wall, “How do you manage that anyway?” he asks lightly, “You tapping that?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, “No.” 

Connor hums, “Yeah, not surprising. I bet she’s a dyke.” 

And maybe, on a different day, when Steve wasn’t already at his boiling point both figuratively and literally, he would have responded more... diplomatically.

“I quit my job,” Steve announces as he walks through the front door of his house.  

All three of his roommates turn to gape at him from the living room. 

They were all lounging around in the bare minimum of clothes required for the living room with two opposing fans pointed at them in an attempt at a cross breeze when Steve arrived home with his briefcase in a cardboard box with shockingly little else in the way of personal effects in it. He really hadn’t built up much of a presence at the office over the nearly a year he worked there. 

“What?” Robin exclaims, as she mutes the TV, “What happened?” 

“I threw a stapler at a guy’s head.” Steve answers. 

“A stapler?” Billy asks, baffled, “Why?” 

Steve shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, I also said a lot of shit, but the stapler was probably the button on it.” Steve drops his things, steps out of his wingtips, and starts tugging at his tie as he makes his way across the room, “It wasn’t even- Like, I mean, it was business as usual, really. It wasn’t anything new, and I just... lost it.” He’s down to his undershirt and boxershorts by the time he collapses between Robin and Billy on the couch with a massive sigh like a slowly deflating raft. 

“Right on man,” Eddie says from his spot on the armchair, leaning over to slap Steve’s knee, “I bet that guy had a stapler to the face coming.” 

He really did, Steve must concede. 

“Shit, I can’t believe I quit.” 

Robin makes a questioning noise, “Did you actually quit, or did they fire you? For the stapler thing?” 

“Who gives shit,” Billy says before Steve can tell them he’s not actually sure technically, “It’s done and dusted either way. Which calls for a celebration!” 

Billy bounces up off the couch and goes to the kitchen to collect a round of beers for everyone, he’s the only one who’s foregone a shirt so far, which is unsurprising. He pops the caps of with his ring before doling out the bottles. 

 “To casting off the corporate shackles!” Eddie toasts, Billy and Robin here-hereing it. 

Steve takes a big gulp of his beer. “What the hell am I gonna do?” he wonders aloud. 

“Celebrate!” Robin says, she’s also in a t-shirt and boxershorts, which she stole from Steve a while back for loungewear, “Like the man said.” 

Steve huffs, “I meant like, longer term. The rent and stuff.” 

“Don't worry, Stevie my boy,” Eddie says, clapping him on the back, “Once we find you a real person job you'll do just fine. After all, the rest of us plebs cover our fair shares with our piddly little paychecks, right?” 

Steve, caught out, hesitates a beat too long (long enough for Billy's bullshit radar to ping), before saying, “Right. Sure. Yeah,” in a way that clearly doesn’t cover for him. 

Billy squints at him, “We have all been covering our fair share of the rent, right, Harrington?” 

Steve nods but he can’t maintain eye contact when he answers, “Right. Fair shares.” 

Robin, catching on immediately, groans, “Oh god, Steve, tell me you haven’t been doing something outstandingly stupid, like paying half the rent, this whole freaking time.” When Steve doesn’t answer right away she screeches, “Steven!” 

“Not half! I haven’t, okay?” he rushes to explain, “Just, like,” he holds up his fingers pinched so close together, “A little more, than you guys.” 

“How much more,” Billy demands through clenched teeth. 

“Well,” Steve tries to think of how best to phrase it, “Imagine we had a fifth roommate, who's rent I have also been paying.” 

“So, double,” Billy’s basically growling now, “You've been paying double what the rest of us have. This whole goddamn time!” Steve hadn’t thought of it that way, but the math does check out. He thinks. 

“And... also the utilities,” he admits reluctantly. 

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says, shaking his head sadly. 

“Fuck!” Billy shouts and storms off, stomping his way upstairs without anyone trying to stop him. When Billy removes himself from a situation, it’s best to let him. 

“I can probably still get the job back,” Steve offers, even though the thought makes him nauseous. He’ll eat shit if he needs to, “If I tell them I was on coke or something they might actually respect me more.” 

Eddie’s still shaking his head, but more decisively, “No way, man. We’re not letting you go crawling back to those corporate shitbags now, not a chance in hell.” 

“No other job I can get for myself is going to pay a quarter as well, though.” 

Robin backs Eddie up though, “You were miserable, Steve. None of us wants you to be miserable like that, not for any amount of money.” 

Steve still can’t just let it go, though, “But without that money- 

“There’s no need to panic, all we need is a plan. You’ve got savings, yeah? That’ll give us a cushion until you get a new job- we need to do a comprehensive household budget,” Robin says, like she’s already running numbers in her head, “We’ve been way too loosey-goosey about it, anyway.” Because they’ve been relying on Steve to smooth over any gaps. Not that they necessarily knew that. They’d just hit him up for beer and pizza sometimes and called it a Shill tax. 

“I don’t know how to do a budget,” Steve admits with an apologetic grimace. 

Eddie slings an arm over his shoulders and tries to pull him into some kind of wonky headlock while Steve resists him easily, “Don’t you fret, for you are a very lucky boy, with three wonderful roommates, whose collars are all extremely blue. We’ll show you the ropes.” 

“You know what the easiest expense to cut is?” Robin says brightly, “Cigarettes.” 

“You know what!” Eddie wheels on her, suddenly apparently at his limit on the whole smoking thing. 

Steve watches them bicker back and forth for a couple minutes. Even though it’s clear that this has been building for a while, and of course the inescapable heat doesn’t help, Steve can’t help but feel like it’s his fault for dropping a stress bomb on their heads. Or at least it feels very reminiscent of watching his parents fight about the wallpaper when what they really want to fight about is their miserable marriage. What’s the word for that? Displacement? 

Eventually he slips out, leaving Robin and Eddie to their squabbles he can’t really contribute to one way or the other and heads upstairs.

Billy's not in his room, but Steve didn’t really expect him to be. 

Halfway up the flight of stairs from the second floor to the third there's a window, and outside the window is a strip of roof, about five feet wide by ten feet long, and gently sloped, covering their porch below. Billy likes to sulk out there, especially since the weather turned, though not quite so much since it turned mean.  

Sure enough, the window is ajar and Steve can smell smoke. 

He sticks his hands out the window, palms out, he comes in peace, “I’m coming out,” he says, “Please don’t hurl me off the roof.” 

Billy doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t bite Steve’s head off either, which from him is basically an engraved invitation. 

Steve hauls himself up onto the little stretch of roof, crab walking over ‘til he can plant his butt next to Billy. Even though the sun is sinking fast the heat hasn’t broken at all. 

He snags the cigarette right out of Billy’s mouth as he settles next to him and takes a long, indulgent drag. He only grimaces a little at the taste, Billy and his fucking Marlboros. 

“Ooooh,” Billy deigns to speak to him, snatching his smoke back, “Robin's gonna be mad at you,”  

“More or less mad than when I tell her I'm not going to Hawkins this summer?” 

Billy's hand freezes with the cigarette just about back to his mouth. His lips, already parted to accept it, now just hanging slack pointlessly. “Seriously?” 

Steve shrugs, shooting for nonchalance, missing by a mile probably. “Figure I can do without getting the full rundown on what an embarrassing disappointment I am in person. I’m sure I’ll get the CliffsNotes from our answering machine anyway. Those were always more my speed.” 

He figures they'll share a laugh at that, but when he looks over Billy's not laughing. In fact, he's not even smiling, he just takes a rough drag off the cigarette and then hands it back to Steve without prompting. “If your dad leaves any blowhard message on our machine, I’m deleting them.” 

Steve’s not sure what to say to that so for a while they just pass the butt back and forth in silence until he screws up his courage to ask, "What about you? You mad at me?” with a wince, “About the rent thing.” 

“Well I’m not fucking thrilled about it, Harrington.” 

Yeah, that was obvious. 

Billy runs an agitated hand through his hair leaving his curls, already frizzy from the humidity, even more messed up. “Thought- it felt like we were making it. Doing it for real, you know? Standing on my own two feet like a man,” he scoffs to himself, “ Stupid.” 

Billy’s got a very specific tone he does when he’s quoting his dad, and Steve fucking hates it. 

“You are,” Steve insists. Billy quirks an eyebrow at him, and Steve scrambles to clarify, “Making it. Not stupid. You’re making it.” 

“Not without a heaping helping of charity apparently. I can’t-” 

“It wasn’t charity, dickhead!” Billy’s mouth snaps shut, and thank god for that, because Steve has no more interest in hearing what Neil Hargrove would have to say about his son than Billy does in suffering through phone messages from Richard Harrington. “It just made sense. I took that stupid job from my dad, and the paycheck was the only good goddamn thing about it. And you guys have all this other stuff going on. You and Robin have school, and Eddie’s trying to do his whole music thing. I mean, what the hell else was I supposed to do with all that stupidly easy money I was barely really earning? Other than use it to buy you guys food, and beer, and, yeah, pay the fucking rent!” He’s worked up a good head of steam, but he deflates immediately in the wake of his outburst, “I mean, what the hell else am I bringing to the table here?” 

Suddenly self-conscious in the silence that follows, and way too aware that he’s breathing a little heavy, Steve snatches the cigarette from Billy’s hand. Takes a huffy little puff, like someone who doesn’t know how to inhale, then takes a slower, more measured one. 

“You sell yourself short, you know,” Billy says, uncharacteristically quiet. Steve looks over at him, but Billy's not looking back, he's gazing out across their neighborhood instead. 

“Look,” he goes on, slow and awkward, “I don’t exactly know where I'd be right now, if not for you. But, I know I wouldn’t be here .” He throws his arms out wide to encompass all of New York City, and their whole life here. 

It's not like they have a spectacular view or anything, they're not up remotely high enough for that. Their sagging little strip of roof, on their rundown building, isn’t even facing the glittering Manhattan skyline. Down below them a taxi driver is shouting at a truck that’s blocking a cross street. The humidity is oppressive and the heat makes the streets stink like garbage, and it’s not like it’s any cooler in the house. 

Their whole life here? It doesn’t actually look like very much from the outside. 

Steve gets it though. 

He jostles their shoulders together, “You would have gotten out. You would have made it anyway.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Billy plucks the cigarette out of Steve’s grasp, kills the last of it and pitches the butt to the street below. Steve watches the glowing trail of the cherry as it falls. 

“You know,” Billy says after a long stretch of mostly comfortable silence, “If you don’t go to Hawkins, you’re gonna have to let Eddie drive the beemer.” 

“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” He waves off the thought, “Can’t be helped. I need to start the job search anyway.” 

Steve thinks about that process for all of thirty seconds before he groans, “Man, my resume is gonna be so fucking weird.” Steve lists his employment record out on his fingers, “Scoops Ahoy, burned down. Family Video... I don’t think I gave notice at Family Video, I think I just left and didn’t come back. Kensington Group Limited, assaulted a co-worker with stationary.” 

“Well, if all else fails, you know Eddie would love to fake some references for you,” Billy says, “Bet he’ll do voices and everything.” 

“Just what I need. A reference from Gondelf.” 

Billy snorts a laughs, “It’s Gandalf, you know it’s Gandalf.” He’s right, Steve knows that, because Eddie never shuts up about that book. 

“Mmm, pretty sure it’s Gondelf. I mean, he’s an elf, right?” Billy just rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, and listing a little towards Steve. 

“Billy,” Steve speaks softly, earnestly. Billy hums back a question, “Would you... get me a job at the diner?” 

Billy explodes with laughter, “Fuck no!” 

“C’mon,” he wheedles, through his own laughter, “We can commute together! Sal loves you. Be a pal, put in a good word for me!” 

Billy punches him in the shoulder, “Sure, I’ll tell him you’re a chronic masturbator and that I’ve never seen you wash your hands.” 

“Thanks, buddy. I really appreciate that.” 

Billy grabs the shoulder of Steve’s shirt and rattles him around a bit like a dog with a squeaky toy, “I’m going to shove you off this roof,” he threatens through laughter. 

They lapse into giggly silence and then just silent silence. Billy keeps his grip on Steve’s shirt like he’s worried he might actually go toppling over the edge after all if Billy doesn’t keep a tight hold. 

Or maybe he’s just forgotten that his hand is there. 

“Hey,” Steve says after a while, just to get Billy to look him in the eye, “We’re gonna be fine,” he reassures him once he has. 

Billy’s undivided attention is always intense, eyes like blue lasers locked on to a target. It used to freak Steve out in high school, but he’s gotten used to it. It’s just how Billy is. Sharp like that. 

Sharp enough that he reads Steve like a goddamn book and knows that as much as Steve really was trying to reassure him, he was also, maybe just a bit, fishing for reassurance too. 

“We’re gonna be fine,” Billy parrots. 

They stare at each other, probably for too long, sitting in a little loop of comforting and being comforted. And Steve, he believes it. They’re gonna be fine. 

They have each other.

[gayson-voorhees]

If I’m being serious I think sharpie probably has insane gay feelings for crewel but has no idea what they are and it pisses him off real bad and also they’re under like 20 separate layers of other emotions he doesn’t want to acknowledge.. sharpay evans our number 1 comphet warrior, sufferer of liking a boy because he’s popular and the objectively correct choice whilst also not giving a fuck about anything to do with him… we know what you are. I think it’s pretty bad for sharpie tho bc there’s the forced straightness, he’s probably been fighting the allegations his entire life Let’s Be Honest denying anything is ingrained is his soul at this point even before he has the chance to really feel anything of the sort, but the feelings are mixed with a deep sense of shame that- hold on have I talked about crewel’s hazing punishments before? Ok I read all my sharpie posts I don’t think I have I must’ve just thought about it. So Crewel breaks these boys by making them feel shame and giving them tasks they can never complete and having them come grovelling back to him. He is well known for this. But sharpie already has a deep buried sense of shame and humiliation about everything they do anyway because of *waves hand* *vague gesture towards the films* *even vaguer gesture towards nrc* and that’s a big reason why he never backs down about anything, but being set up to fail like that is going to taint all of their interactions going forward no matter how well Crewel thinks he has managed to train sharpie just because he’s no longer snapping at everyone’s heels. But Crewel admittedly and obviously is a man the rewards just as much as he chastises, “carrot and stick” or whatever he says, and sharpie will get the brunt of both and it’s weird and confusing and it feels good when he’s nice to him (that’s the point) but it feels better than it probably should.. and he’s just so embarrassed and ashamed about every single step in the process. and I kinda fear all of that has turned him into an absolute shell of the stubborn proud loser he once was.. he’s still all of those things actually but not in a fun way, in a way that’s just kinda self destructive and sad. Like yeh yeh he’s mad he never got his big break and now his life is over (in his 20s btw) and he’s screaming crying into his pillow every night if he thinks about it too hard, but Worse. He actually does have all the skills needed to succeed and got more out of his time at nrc than 90% of the other students ever would have but he just refuses to put himself out there to even try because he’s scared. Scared of humiliation but for some fucking reason that he doesn’t understand he’s also scared of looking bad in the eyes of this stupid fucking teacher he hates. Someone could discover him and try to give him his big break and he just wouldn’t jump at it like he once would. The idea of it happening upsets him just as much as the fact it’s never happened. I mean obviously it’s not all about him but I’m not thinking about all that I’m busy chewing on my freaks like a dog toy rn. One must imagine sharpie waking up in a cold sweat after 8 years because he’s stuck having homoerotic nightmares where that man is mean to him or whatever

[wot-tidbits]

why do you hate the series? i have not watched it.

Hello, anon Thank you for the question.

The answer is complicated though. Yes, as a bookcloak I should give an easy answer. But being a bookcloak is only given label which doesn’t care for specifics. So as a Wheel of Time fan I can give more detailed answer.

First, I have to establish what I hate. Because I do not “hate” the series out of context. There are reasons. Several.

I hate the division in the fandom inflicted by the series. Of course every adaptation has its own split among fans. It is nothing new. But very, very, very few of them caused such severe damage in the fandom’s psychology.

How many fandoms, like LoTR, Harry Potter or Game of Thrones for example, can say that they got into intense Internet war filled with hatred, gaslighting, blind manipulation and heavy censorship and a ton of deliberate refusal to acknowledge that the other side is allowed to criticize. Not many, I guess.

I hate that people decided that it is open to use everything forbidden to justify their thirst for moral supremacy. Weren’t “the bad guys” supposed to be the idiots who use censorship en masse?

I hate the gaslighting to tell people how they are wrong to point certain criticisms when it turned that the same people can be factually right.

One famous example is one tweet back in 2019 where someone threated Rafe in fear that he will start turning characters gay. He responded with “jokingly” enforcing that he is the boss and can do whatever he feels like. In 2025 Judkins sat down in an interview and finally admitted that he was reading the books through his personal lens and his goals was to “turn subtext into text” (to make characters gay in the case of question). Ergo the threat motivated by certain fear, which action of threat is still morally wrong, happens to be factually right. Rafe Judkins did try to turn characters gay because he is the boss. For years people pointed that he was trying to do that and they were silenced as “homophobes”. I hate that we cannot have this conversation without getting being accused.

And to be clear I am not saying that such thing to be done in adaption is bad by default. I am not saying that I do not agree characters to be gay. What I am saying is that the production was never honest with the book fans. The production only deflected and mocked such criticisms instead of embracing the consequence of their decisions. Who knows otherwise - it could be successful but people weren’t given a chance to come in terms with it, they were told they were imaging things because they were very horrible.

I hate this dishonesty to people without giving them a chance. The production demanded open mind without any preparation of the audience. Yeah, sure, buddy, that won’t turn people mad at all.

I hate the “1 to 1 adaptation” and the “you do not know how adaptations work” manipulations that treat so many fans as suffering from mass amnesia and to not remember what other adaptations look like.

Second, you ask me for the TV series and for that I can tell what I do not like about it. Notice the difference that I do not use the label “hate”.

What I do not like is that the TV series strays too far from the established lore and character arcs from the books. I think that too many of the changes are confusing or illogical, even for people who are not familiar with the books. I do not like that the characters in the show are not as compelling or well-developed as their book counterparts. I do not like the show's tone for lacking the humor and complexity of the books. I do not like the writing as being clunky, with dialogue that feels unnatural or forced in too many scenes. I am disappointed by the changes made from the source material, the character development, and the show's overall quality.

But there is something that I hate. That there was no one to supervise the script. Brandon Sanderson explained the process of writing in the show – how they write at the same time and filming at the same time and this approach turned to be a disaster. I am easily accused of “nitpicking” and caring for “stupid details”. But this kind of nitpicking only shows how nobody wants to do their job there. My stupid nitpicking can be so easily dealt with if there was someone who look over the scripts and ask questions. I thought that such is the job of Sarah Nakamura as book consultant, but nope, her job was to deflect, gaslight and give false answers to fair critical points on the Internet. So many mistakes in the script could be easily avoided.

For example we have two similar scenes in two episodes about how two non-Aiel characters forgive toh towards Aiel. In one case the character is being praised (despite that such answer is disaster for the Aiel culture and ji'e'toh system but it is not like a hired book consultant was right there to point it out) but in the next scene another character was told that the very same thing is offensive and unacceptable. No one professional in multimillion production was capable to catch these two scenes on the spot? You get the picture I won’t continue too much with examples. But I can play this game loooong time.

Also the writers often try to push the production’s agenda without thinking of consequence – there is a specific line how the Women’s Circle and only the women dig a tunnel through stone. While the healthy strong men are right there in the village. We have to assume that the men were incapable of doing such extremely harsh labour, I guess. The writers do not want to think.

This is getting long. I hope that I was coherent enough to make the distinction.

tldr What I mostly hate in the TV series is the production was acting dishonest, big part of the fandom played as gods of censorship and I didn’t like that the writers were completely incompetent to tell a coherent story (with good help by having no supervision on scripts).

Let the Light keep you safe. LightOne

[prac-ticalproblems]

No one asked for this but I must do what I was born to do for my people.

MERC MOVIE GENRE FAVS + do they cry at movies?

[ Semi/Partial Historical, 1930’s - 1950’s movie picks! ]

Medic - documentary type, specifically medical/horror + no he’s too busy smiling ear to ear. His favorite film is Panic in the Streets! He will not explain why or where his enjoyment lies. (He just likes projecting on doctor characters.)

Heavy - action movies! ESPECIALLY BIG GUN. loves big gun. Someone pulls out a Tommy gun in the movie and he is now whispering quietly about the model, and it’s cons and pros while telling you the casing size and its rpm for 10 min + maybe a little bit. he won’t say anything if no one else says anything.

Pyro - Hates movies. Sitting still? No colors? No fire? He would just be bored. And a bored pyro is a Dangerous thing. - you looked away and the theater is on fire and everyone’s being evacuated. So that’s a no.

Scout - drama/comedy or just comedy, would have loved american pie with his heart and soul. Favorite movie is Monkey Business - yes, refuses to acknowledge it, will probably rat someone out so he’s not alone if he was asked about it.

Demo - commentary about society/drama movies. Favorite films are The Grapes Of Wrath, Boom Town, Gone with the Wind - YES, but that’s because he’s got his flask shoved down his throat. He will be kicked out before anything sad even happens. But the movies where he does get to finish them through? Oh hes talking about them for years down the line.

Soldier- war films and anti war films. Exclusively. Favorite film is A Matter of Life And Death. - pretty much but the only way he can cry is fully standing at attention in a salute. He needs to sit in the back or he will get kicked out.

Spy - ironically, I think he hates romance movies. They made him dream for something more. A better life where love wasn’t hard to stay with. Favorite film is obviously Casablanca. - no but he would brood and that’s worse.

Sniper - slow detective movies. Favorite director is Alfred Hitchcock. It’s partially do to his name alone. - no, he just thinks he’s too cool for it. (Cries about sad movie scene when he gets home, thinks the scene over 20 times, over analyzing it)

Engineer - westerns. This isn’t a surprise. ANYTHING with Gary Cooper in it. - very much no, but because he expresses himself too much for it to build up. the guy that talks the whole movie, and gasps when something happens. Not to the whole theater but at least 2 rows all hate him at any given time.

[joandfriedrich]

This is something I have been wondering about for a while, how in the 1994 film Laurie saying he knew he belonged in the March family, and the implication he married Amy only for this reason. I understand people for not liking what this implies, but I have been wondering, did Laurie really mean it and why would he say it? All these observations I will be making are wholly based on the 1994 film.

In order to understand why he could possibly say such a thing, we need to acknowledge that Laurie was a very lonely kid. He has no family other than a grandfather who is a bit emotionally stinted, is new in town and he is seen hiding at a party, showing he is a bit shy. The first people who really welcome into town are the Marches, they become a second family to him, the parents he lost and sisters he never had, so it’s not surprising that he would never want to be separated from them, want to keep them as close as he could. It has been said before, but one of the reasons why Laurie believes himself to be so in love with Jo is because he doesn’t want to lose the family he had gained over the years, so there is some truth in to what he says.

Do I think that his belief he belongs with the March family his only reason to be with Amy? No, because if this was his goal, why hadn’t he tried with the other sisters? Before Meg got to know John, he could have tried to win her, but it would appear that he didn’t think about marriage until they got married, so Meg is out. But he had plenty of opportunities to get with Beth, especially when Jo left for New York. While we don’t know exactly when Laurie leaves for Europe, we know Jo leaves before him, and there is ample time for Laurie to try to make moves on Beth without Jo stopping him. If this truly was his goal, why was he so stuck on Jo, certain he loved only her, and why would he admit this “plan” to Amy, which would have only turned her off to him?

My theory is that Laurie was in defense mood, that he is clearly still hurt over Jo’s rejection and doesn’t want to admit that, so he says this as a way to shift his feelings away from the hurt. Let’s look at his wording in that moment.

Amy: I do not wish to be courted by someone who is still in love with my sister.

Laurie: I’m not in love with Jo.

Amy: Then how do you explain your jealousy?

Laurie: I envy her happiness. I envy his happiness. I envy John Brooke for marrying Meg. I hate Fred Vaughn, and if Beth had a lover I would despise him too. Just as you knew you would never marry a pauper, I have always known, I should be part of the March family.

On the surface it does look pretty damning, but here’s two details that are overlooked when people complain about this moment. Firstly, he already has an in with the family, by being their neighbor and friend to all the girls, having been there years before Friedrich, and sometime before John. He is their honorary brother, that is as close to being practically adopted into the family as one could back then, and to be called a friend of the family back then was not just some throw away title like we use today, it was pretty damn important. Also, he notably says, “I envy her happiness” referring to Jo. Which leads me to think that he’s not entirely upset with not legally being part of the family, but that he is unlucky with love. Jo rejected him, and rather than wallowing in her refusal, she found someone else. He’s angry that she could find happiness, angry at John and Meg could be so happy, that Fred seemingly makes Amy happy. Laurie, no matter what version you see or read, has always been a romantic, and I think he was so ready to be in love and be loved by someone that it hurts to see the people around him having what he wants. It’s kind of like a single person seeing couples on Valentine’s day, saddened that they don’t have someone like that.

After their conversation, he writes a letter to explain how he has left to England to prove himself to her, and be worthy of her love. For someone who complained about having to do serious work, why would he make himself go to please someone that he didn’t love? He might as well have just given up and be miserable for the rest of his life, wallow in the pain of losing Jo and becoming the embittered old man Mr. Laurence had threatened to have been. Instead, he decided to work for his grandfather’s firm, which was not something he had wanted to do at first, to prove his worth to someone that he claimed to not be in love with.  Also, he had a great opportunity to get Jo back when she wrote the letter explaining Beth’s passing and asking him to come home (it should be noted too that he leaves as soon as he read that Amy was still in Europe unable to leave, not even finishing the letter where Jo asks him to come back home), but he doesn’t, he goes immediately to Amy, who expressed her displeasure of his plan to marry into the March family. This only proves that Laurie marrying Amy is only because he loves her, and not because he saw a way in.

In the end, I do not think that 1994 Laurie only married Amy as a means to get closer to the March family. His feelings for Amy are genuine, and his comment I do not believe had any bearing on his ultimate reason as to why he married Amy, but rather showed how hurt and immature he was at the time before having Amy knock sense into him and down the path of realizing who it was he truly loved.

[annonforme]

LoTR film 1 ½ simplified

Welcome, and buckle up, for this is my take on The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings as someone who is new to the fandom.

Here I will be describing all I know, and all my shitty little smooth brain has taken in, so there will be a lot of jumping back and forth.

so there's a gaggle of Gods, right?

Some of them have beef. One God gets a little lonely and creates Dwarves. Other races are made and decided to say fuck the Dwarves because they're not natural (more natural than that hair line Elvin bi-). So there's Lore Racism™ despite the author not being racist himself.

Hobbits just kind of exist. But the Rivermen(?) existed before Hobbits did. But where did hobbits come from? No one knows (I don't know, so apparently that translates to everyone).

Regardless, hobbits love weed. Like loveeeeee weed, like would have an existential crisis without it. Bilbo baggins hates one of his family members for 'stealing' silver spoons ((it was an auction) I agree with Bilbo). Bilbo baggins becomes a certified Master Robber.

Everyone is British or Scottish for some reason.

Bilbo leaves home to follow his destined lover because he fell in love with Thorin Oakenshields lovely locks and braids.

Dwarves take pride in history and origins. They have secret names, secret language. Dwarves like their beards, like their braids, as they have meanings. Im not Dwarven Certified™ to give the meanings.

Bilbo and Thorin are gay. Hella gay.

Something something dragon sickness and reclaiming the old Dwarven home of Lonely Mountains

Something something 'bilbo my love' something death

The hobbits seriously love gandalf, but he looks like Dumbledore :(

Anything gandalf says (actor/character) is cannon.

Gods have servants. Servants sing. Bad singing is punished by sending them down to middle earth in the dorm of a washed down demigod old man wizard.

(naughty wizards get sent to middle earth)

No one like the dragon. Everyone pities gollum. (@yourlocalgremlin96024 looks like gollum)

The hobbits smoking weed is what makes them resilient to dark magic from Mordor. The more they smoke, the less magic effects them because their big brains tell the magic to get help. As shown: in the books(?) there's some old couple constantly high on shrooms(?) who can see Bilbo(might be frodo) despite wearing the ring. I refuse to acknowledge that they are wizards.

That one Man with Greasy Hair and a monobrow deserves death, and is mainly there as a Dramatic Wet Sock to give us a strictly black (black/white moral) coded character. (Don't even get me started on clothing analysis as a Performing Arts fanatic-)

There's a Dwarven with an axe head? Axe gets removed after the triple war(?).

There's a shapeshifter. He's traumatized.

Everyone hates orcs more than Dwarves, so we'll help the Dwarves on this one occasion. Goblins exist (good goblins get to brush their teeth with bones)

Fuck elves. Apart from the Fair Lady, that One Archer, and that girls that loves that Dead Dwarve.

Bilbo doesn't smoke enough weed in the Lord of the rings, so now he's corrupted by it. Gandalf forces him to give the ring to frodo, his adopted son (second cousin), and frodo is livid.

(I LOOK LIKE FRODO WHEN IM CONCENTRATING-)

Frodo has a bromance with a friend called Sam.

There are two dumbasses that share half a braincell as part of the Took family(?).

YOU SHALL NOT PASS -Shadow and Flame

Something about frodo and the eye.

Frodo and Sam hold gollum for ransom.

Gollum is a certified Tour Guide to Mordor.