#but then talks to her again ONLY to try to get her to break up with ruka.

[sinstear]

happy valentines 🍫💐💌

vi notices the way you’ve been distant for the last couple of days with her, barely talking to her, glancing in her direction when she practically wraps herself around your body when you’re in the kitchen making breakfast, or doesn’t even let her on your phone. you never had a problem with that before, but that’s suddenly changed. she doesn’t even get a smile from you. at first she assumed you had enough, maybe you didn’t love her anymore, found someone new, someone else to be obsessed and utterly in love with. then she tried to recall the last week, had something happened and you were just figuring it out? did she say something that made you upset? if so, why weren’t you talking to her.

she doesn’t have much time to figure out why, not when there’s an abrupt groan and scuffle at the front door then a loud bang that has her sitting up on the couch, blinking repeatedly until she can hear you cursing under your breath. “stupid fuckin’ thing,” or something like that. if she didn’t feel so upset over something that had she no idea about, then she would have laughed, ran to help you, but she didn’t, she just sat there in; clad in one of your hoodies and slumped deeper into the couch. 

pathetically, like a lost puppy, she perks up at the sound of your voice again. “vi, baby, are you awake?” 

“yes,” she mumbled back, more like scoffed but you weren’t paying attention. “m’in here.”

“okay, uh, can you close your eyes for a second, please?”

doing as you asked, vi closes her eyes, takes her hands out of her lap and nervously fumbles with her fingers. the sound of you cursing and grumbling got louder yet closer the longer she sits here and waits for you to do whatever it was that you were doing, and it’s only when you stumbled, almost tripping over your own feet, into the living room, you find her slumped there, chewing at her bottom lip and sniffling. “don’t open them, just give me like 2 minutes, don’t peek, i know what you’re like.” you warned playfully.

she has no idea what you’re doing, but her only thought in her mind right now was that you’re breaking up with her, this is it. you’re going through all of this just to tell her you’re not in love with her anymore, that you’ve found someone else, that she doesn’t make you happy and maybe she could handle that, but not when she loves you so much—

“you can open them now.” you murmured exactly 2 minutes later.

when her eyes flutter open, violet finds you standing in the doorway, looking somewhat nervous, the living room covered with dark and light pink balloons, rose petals scattered over the floor, a huge bouquet of red roses sit on the coffee table, accompanied by a big box of chocolates, ones you know she loves, one of those giant teddy bears, looking at her like it was trying to read all her secrets, and a gift bag on her lap. light pink with a card taped to the side. “happy valentines day!” 

“y…you’re not breaking up with me?” is what comes out her mouth first, blinking. taking in the sight before her. had she gotten all her worries wrong?

the question catches you off guard and you blinked too, then frowned and shook your head quickly. “no! my god, why would i break up with you?” you rushed over to her and sat beside her before taking her hands into yours. “hey, no, don’t cry, why would i break up with you?”

“you’ve been distant, so i thought—”

“it’s very hard to keep surprises from you, you know?” you laughed softly and wiped away the tears that ran down her cheek. “but no, m’not breaking up with you, you’re my world, and i love you, so much.”

“i’ve never had valentines before” vi admits sadly. 

“i know, i wanted your first to be special,” you admitted softly and smiled. “if it’s too much, we don’t have to open them yet, we can just leave them until—”

“no! i just, i haven’t gotten you anything yet so,” vi suddenly becomes quiet and fumbles with the gift tag nervously. “m’sorry—”

“i have you, don’t i? that’s all i ever need. if i have you, i don’t need anything else,” you admitted and kissed her temple. “it’s your first valentines, it’s not about me, it’s about you, and i want you to know how much i love you, and how much you mean to me. even if there is a creepy teddy bear looking at me.”

vi giggles and wipes away her tears, a blush creeping up on her face. “how did you even get that in here?”

“i carried that thing up 7 flights of stairs, it was a struggle, i admit.”

looking up at you, vi smiles shyly and is quick to bury her face in the crook of your neck. “thank you,” she sniffled and gripped your arm tightly. “i love you so much.”

“i love you more, baby,” you smiled and kissed the top of her head. “how about we make breakfast, take a walk, and when we’ll sit down and you can open your gifts? when you’re not as overwhelmed?”

“i’d like that, but that teddy needs to be turned around, as much as i love it, it’s creeping me out”

“agreed. remind me to not bring it into the bedroom tonight.”

[leaderwonim]

THE WORLD NEVER ENDED | JACK HUGHES

pairing. jack hughes x fem!reader (ft. platonic quinn & luke hughes x fem!reader + male!oc x fem!reader)

genre. childhood best friends to lovers, ANGST, fluff, hurt to comfort, reader & jack are both 18-19 in this!

synopsis: Y/N and Jack Hughes have been inseparable since childhood, spending every summer at his family’s lake house—until his hockey career takes off and leaves her behind. As Jack’s life moves forward and Y/N tries to do the same, the distance between them grows in ways neither of them expected. But when their paths cross again at a breaking point, they’re forced to confront everything they never said and the feelings that never really went away.

The lake house never changes. It still smells like pine and sunscreen, the same old dock creaking under your feet, the same late summer breeze curling through the trees. But this time, you’re the only one here.

You let the beer bottle dangle from your fingers, the glass sweating against your palm as you stare at the still water. It’s late. Too late to be out here alone, and your mom would probably kill you if she found out you were underage drinking, but you’ve been doing this since you were kids—sneaking down to the dock past midnight, toes dipping into the water, whispering about everything and nothing at all.

Except this time, Jack isn’t here. Not really. Not anymore.

The last time you saw him was months ago, after another whirlwind season, after Team USA, after everything. He’d come back, same easy smile, same stupidly messy hair, same Jack. And yet, he wasn’t.

He moved too fast, talked too much about things you weren’t a part of, laughed at jokes from teammates you didn’t know. He had an entire life outside of this town, this lake, this dock. A life that didn’t include you.

It wasn’t his fault though, you couldn’t blame Jack for being excited about this whole new chapter in his life, not when he’s worked his ass off so he could secure a spot in the NHL in the future.

You took a shaky breath, watching as the wind blew the waters back and forth, your thought raced with Jack, Jack, Jack. It wasn’t anything new; you had been in love with him since you had learned what the word love even was, when Ellen and your mom teased you two endlessly after your eighth birthday, declaring that you’d two get married when you were older.

And then he left, at age fourteen to go train at some hockey camp over the summer and you started seeing him less and less. Then he left again for USA Hockey, and all that was left of him was the little times he’d pop up on your screen for a FaceTime, or a quick selfie.

You never told him that it felt like the world had ended whenever he left.

❥

The first time you met Jack Hughes, he was seven years old, standing knee-deep in the lake, grinning like he had owned the world.

“You scared to jump in?” he teases, squinting up at you from where he’s splashing around.

You cross your arms, standing barefoot on the dock, the sun burning hot against your skin. “I just don’t wanna get my hair wet.”

Jack laughs like you just said the funniest thing in the world, and before you can react, he launches a handful of water in your direction. It splashes against your legs, cool and shocking, and you gasp.

“You jerk!” you shriek, but Jack’s already laughing, already diving into the water, swimming just far enough out of reach that you can’t get him back.

You don’t know it then, but that’s how it starts.

The Hughes family’s lake house becomes your second home. Your parents are close friends with Ellen and Jim, and summers are spent tangled in sunburns, mosquito bites, and the smell of bonfires. Jack, being just a few months older, quickly becomes your shadow—or maybe you become his.

You race bikes down dirt paths, climb trees until your hands are covered in splinters, and stay up late whispering under blanket forts in the Hughes’ living room, trying not to wake Luke and Quinn.

“You think we’ll still be best friends when we’re older?” you ask one night, voice sleepy, cheek smushed against your arm.

Jack frowns at you, like you just said something ridiculous. “Duh. Who else am I supposed to hang out with? My brothers?”

You grin brightly, shoving him. “You promise?”

He holds out his pinky. “Promise.”

And that’s that.

As you both get older, things don’t really change. Not at first.

Winters are spent at the Hughes’ house in Michigan, watching Jack skate for hours at the rink, your fingers numb from gripping a hot chocolate too tight. Summers are still for the lake house, where the days blur together in a haze of sun, water, and laughter.

Jack is your best friend. The one who sneaks you extra s’mores when the adults say no. The one who ties your skates when your fingers are too cold. The one who always picks you first for street hockey, even when Luke complains about it. The one who knows everything about you.

And you know everything about him, too.

That he gets grumpy when he’s hungry. That he has to listen to music before every game, or else he feels off. That he’s already dreaming about the NHL, about Team USA, about everything that seems so far away but somehow already feels like it’s coming too fast.

You don’t realize when things do start changing.

Maybe it’s when Jack turns fourteen and starts spending more time away at tournaments. Maybe it’s when you turn fourteen and realize your heart speeds up whenever he looks at you a certain way.

Maybe it’s the summer you turn fifteen and see him talking to a girl from town, and something ugly coils in your stomach. You don’t say anything, though. You can’t.

Jack is your best friend. That’s all. Even if you wish it wasn’t.

When Jack is sixteen, everything does change.

It’s the Fourth of July. The lake house is packed, fireworks already popping in the distance. You and Jack sneak away from the party like you always do, climbing onto the dock and lying side by side, watching the sky.

“You excited for the USA team?” you ask, your voice light, like the thought of him leaving doesn’t make your chest ache.

Jack turns his head to look at you. “Yeah,” he says. “Kinda nervous, though.”

You smile a little, the same smile that had reassured Jack every time he saw it. “You’ll be fine.”

He shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. “You think so?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “You’re Jack Hughes.”

He laughs, but it’s softer this time, almost hesitant. The air between you feels different, thicker, heavier. His fingers twitch on the dock beside yours, and for a second, you swear he’s about to reach for your hand.

But then he exhales sharply, sits up. “We should get back.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

You stare at the fireworks exploding in the sky, feeling like something inside you is breaking.

Jack leaves for Team USA at the end of the summer.

And you don’t know it yet, but nothing will ever be the same again.

❥

At first, you still talk all the time. He calls after practices, FaceTimes you from hotel rooms, sends you stupid selfies from road trips. And for a while, it almost feels normal. Almost.

But then the calls get shorter. The messages come slower.

You see his name on headlines, hear people at school talking about him like he’s some distant star instead of the boy you grew up with. And suddenly, he feels… far away.

Not just in distance. In everything.

And then one day, you realize you don’t remember the last time he called.

You don’t text him, either. You figured he was too busy anyways—too busy with hockey, with interviews, too busy for you.

His absence leaves a hollow space inside you, one you don’t know how to fill. So you try.

That’s how you end up with him.

Aiden West. Star quarterback. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy smile and dimples that should make your heart flutter.

You meet at a party—one you only went to because your friends dragged you out of your house, tired of you spending your nights holed up in your room, pretending you weren’t waiting for a text that never came.

Aidan’s nice. He’s funny. He buys you drinks and calls you baby and kisses you like he means it.

You tell yourself this is good. That this is what you need.

But when he holds your hand, it doesn’t feel the same. When he kisses you, you don’t melt the way you think you should. And when you close your eyes, it’s not Aidan you see.

It’s Jack. Always Jack.

Quinn comes home in December.

You’re not expecting to see him, not really. Ever since he was drafted, he spent all his time in Vancouver, busy with his own life, his own team. But one night, you walk into the Hughes’ house, and there he is, sprawled on the couch like he never left.

“Quinn?” you blink.

He smirks, sitting up. “Hey, kid.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “You’re, like, a few years older than me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” he teases, but then his expression softens. “How’ve you been?”

You shrug. “Good.”

He gives you a look, like he can see right through you. Because of course he can.

Quinn has always been quieter than Jack, more observant. He was the one who bandaged your scraped knees when you and Jack were too reckless, the one who ruffled your hair when you had a bad day, the one who watched you grow up and somehow always knew what you were feeling before you even said it.

And right now, you can tell he knows you’re lying.

“You still talk to Jack?” he asks casually.

You stiffen. “Not really.”

Quinn nods, like that’s what he expected. “He’s been busy.”

“I know,” you say quickly, too quickly. “It’s fine.”

He studies you for a moment. Then, his eyebrows furrow. “You dating that football guy?”

You hesitate. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Quinn tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “You like him?”

You swallow. “He’s… nice.”

Quinn leans back, crossing his arms. “You know, I’ve seen you happy before.”

You furrow your brows. “And?”

“And that’s not what you look like right now.”

The words hit deeper than you want them to. You look away, staring at your hands.

Quinn sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. If you like the guy, great. But don’t force something that isn’t real just because—” He pauses.

You glance up. “Just because what?”

Quinn meets your eyes, and for the first time, his voice is gentle. “Just because Jack hurt you.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say.

Because he’s right. And maybe that’s the worst part of all.

❥

Aidan is kind when he breaks up with you.

That almost makes it worse.

You can tell he’s been thinking about it for a while. The way he exhales before he starts speaking, the way his hands stay tucked into the pocket of his hoodie like he’s afraid if he moves too much, you’ll see how much this is bothering him.

“You’re not really here, Y/N,” he says, voice steady but laced with something bitter, something tired.

You don’t argue, because you know he’s right.

He sighs, shaking his head. “I like you. I really do. But I deserve someone who looks at me like I’m the only one they’re thinking about.”

Your stomach twists.

“Aidan—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in, forcing a small smile. “I knew. I think I always did.” He swallows, glancing away before meeting your eyes again. “It was never gonna be me, was it?”

You want to tell him you tried. That you wanted to feel something more, something real. But the truth is, no matter how hard you tried, he was never Jack.

And that was never fair to him.

So instead, you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He nods, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Yeah. Me too.”

A few days pass, and you still feel hollow, like you’re floating through life without really being in it.

You don’t know why you still go to the Hughes’ house. Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s because it still feels like home, even when things don’t feel the same anymore.

Maybe it’s because, deep down, you just need someone who knows you.

Luke opens the door, and before you can even say anything, his face twists in concern.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

You pause. “What?”

Luke steps aside to let you in, closing the door behind you. “You have your sad face on.”

You frown. “Luke Hughes, I do not have a—”

“You totally do,” he interrupts, flopping onto the couch. He gestures for you to sit next to him, and after a moment, you do.

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “Quinn told me everything.”

You freeze. “Everything?”

Luke gives you a knowing look. “Yeah. And I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at Jack since we were kids.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Luke sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Look, I know he messed up. Jack is kind of known for that. And I know you’re hurt. But…” He hesitates. “You still love him, don’t you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Luke—”

“Just be honest,” he says gently.

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

Luke nods like he already knew that was coming. Then he pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

You frown. “What’s this?”

“Tickets,” he says simply.

You blink. “Tickets?”

“To Jack’s game against Finland.” His voice is casual, but there’s something behind it—something careful, like he knows he’s walking a fine line. “I was gonna go, but I think you should instead.”

Your heart stops.

“Luke…”

“Don’t overthink it,” he says quickly. “Just go. See him. Talk to him.”

You stare at the tickets in his hand, your pulse pounding in your ears.

This is a choice. A chance.

And to be completely honest, you aren’t sure if you’re ready.

❥

You end up deciding not to go until the last minute.

The plane ticket burns in your hands, Luke’s voice echoing in your head: Just go. See him. Talk to him.

So you do. You land in Finland, stomach in knots, trying not to think about what you’ll even say to him. If he’ll even want to see you.

But then the game happens. And Jack loses.

The scoreboard tells you everything—3-2, Finland. A brutal, heartbreaking end.

Jack stays on the ice, shoulders hunched, wiping his face as the Finnish players celebrate around him. You can see the way he’s blinking rapidly, how hard he’s trying to hold it together.

It doesn’t work.

By the time he’s in the tunnel for postgame interviews, it’s like the weight of everything finally crashes over him. The cameras capture everything; his red-rimmed eyes, the way his lips tremble when he speaks, the way his voice wavers when he says, “I feel like I let everyone down.”

Your heart cracks wide open. You don’t think. You just go.

You push through the lingering crowd, through the halls of the arena, heart racing. And then—there he is.

Jack is leaning against the wall, head bowed, gripping a water bottle so tightly his knuckles are white. His shoulders shake slightly, like he’s trying to get a grip, but he’s losing the battle.

You inhale sharply, willing yourself forward.

“Jack.”

His head snaps up, eyes widening. And for a second, he just stares.

Like he doesn’t believe you’re real.

“Y/N?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You nod, stepping closer. But before you can say anything else, Jack clears his throat and quickly swipes at his face, straightening up like he’s trying to compose himself.

Then he blurts out, “How’s Aidan?”

You freeze.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, looking down. “Quinn told me you had a boyfriend,” he mutters, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I—uh, I’m happy for you. You deserve that.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening. “Jack—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, still not looking at you. “I always wanted you to be happy.”

He sniffles, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. He looks exhausted. Worn down in a way you’ve never seen before.

And suddenly, it’s too much.

The space between you. The months of silence. The fact that he still doesn’t know the truth.

You move before you can stop yourself, closing the gap and wrapping your arms around him.

Jack stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath.

But then—slowly, so slowly—it’s like something inside him gives in.

His hands grip your back, his face pressing into your shoulder, and he melts.

You feel his shaky exhale against your neck. The way his fingers curl into the jersey you’re wearing with his name on the back, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel whole again.

“I don’t—” Jack’s voice cracks. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Your throat tightens. “Then don’t. Just just let me be here.”

Jack exhales shakily, nodding against you. “Okay.”

Despite your reassurance, he still feels like he’s falling.

The weight of the loss, the pressure, the expectations, it’s all crashing over him, relentless and suffocating. But in the middle of it all, there’s you.

And when you pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, he realizes you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

Your hands stay on his face, thumbs brushing against his damp skin, and there’s something in your expression, something soft and certain that makes his chest ache.

Then you move closer, tilting your head, and suddenly, suddenly��your lips press against his.

Jack stills.

Then, all at once, he melts into you.

His hands slide to your waist, gripping onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing. Your lips are soft, warm, familiar, but new at the same time, like something that was always supposed to happen but never did.

It feels like breathing again. Like finally getting it right.

But then, Jack realizes and he blinks, something clicking in his mind as he pulls back abruptly, still holding onto you but panting slightly.

“Wait,” he says, voice hoarse. “Aidan.”

You shake your head quickly. “We broke up.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You exhale, your hands sliding from his face to his wrists, squeezing lightly. “Jack, I tried to move on. I tried so hard.” Your voice wavers. “But it was never him. It was always you.”

Jack’s lips part slightly, his breath hitching.

Then, suddenly, he laughs—a broken, disbelieving sound before his face crumples, his eyes shining again.

And just like that, he’s crying.

He presses his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut as his grip on your waist tightens.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you to say that,” he whispers, his voice shaking.

You smile softly, brushing his hair back. “I think I do.”

Jack lets out a shaky exhale, his hands fisting the fabric of your jersey, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. But you don’t.

Because after everything—after the distance, the silence, the missed chances—you’re still here.

He sniffles, pulling you into another tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder.

❥

Later, when the chaos dies down and the arena empties, you end up in Jack’s car.

The heater hums softly, filling the silence, the city lights casting faint shadows across the dashboard.

Jack sits in the driver’s seat, head tilted against the headrest, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. You’re next to him, legs curled up on the seat, leaning against his shoulder.

It’s quiet.

Not awkward. Not heavy. Just comfortable.

Jack sighs, nudging his cheek against your hair. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

You smile faintly, reaching for his hand. “Me neither.”

He squeezes your fingers, his grip warm and sure. “I thought I lost you.”

You shake your head, squeezing back. “You never did.”

Jack exhales, his body relaxing against yours, and for the first time in a long time, hfeels whole again.

❥

The lake house feels the same the next summer.

The scent of pine and sunscreen still lingers in the air, the dock still creaks under your feet, and the water still glistens under the late afternoon sun. But this time, Jack is here. And this time, he’s yours.

He had turned freshly nineteen last month, but still was the same annoying boy you had known since you were seven.

You sit on the old wooden dock, legs stretched out, the warm breeze tangling your hair. Jack is lying beside you, one arm draped lazily over his forehead, his other hand resting on your knee, tracing absentminded patterns over your skin.

It’s quiet, just the sound of the water lapping against the shore and the occasional laughter from inside the house, where Quinn and Luke are probably chirping each other over something stupid.

Jack sighs, turning his head to look at you. “I missed this.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his. “Me too.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes soft, warm, completely yours. Then, without a word, he tugs you down so you’re lying next to him, your head resting on his chest.

“You know,” he muses, fingers trailing up and down your back, “last summer, I thought I’d never get this back.”

You inhale slowly, letting his heartbeat ground you. “Me too.”

Jack tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But we made it.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, smiling. “We did.”

He grins, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat, then flips you onto your back, hovering over you with that look—the one that reminds you he’s still the same Jack, the same boy who used to splash you in the lake, who used to steal your s’mores when you weren’t looking, who used to be your best friend before he was everything.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Luke’s voice echoes from the house, and you both groan.

Jack turns his head, scowling. “Luke, I swear—”

Quinn’s voice cuts in. “Let them be, Luke. They suffered enough.”

You laugh as Jack rolls his eyes. “I hate that he’s right.”

You shake your head, pulling Jack back down. “Just kiss me already.”

He smirks. “Gladly.”

And as his lips meet yours, the sun dips below the horizon and the lake glistens around you, making you realize everything is exactly the way it’s meant to be.

It isn’t until Luke pretends to fake barf that Jack removes himself away from you, opting to chase down his little brother.

“Boys, am I right?” Quinn says, giving you a grin.

You wrap your arms around him, never feeling as whole as you did now.

[teambyler]

The Strange Postponement of Mike and Will's relationship

If Mike and Will had remained as close as they were in Season 2 in the subsequent seasons, the "are they gay?" rumors absolutely would have spread among the General Audience, as they entered their official teen/dating/sexual awakening years.

There have been peculiar writing choices that seem to have no other explanation but to postpone romantic rumors about these two.

The show does it's damnedest to keep these best-friends-since-kindergarten apart once they enter puberty. The only interaction that possibly hints at romance in Season 3 is their virtual double date with Lumax where Mike is concerned for Will's well-being one time. This was necessary to reestablish their "good friendness" at the start of the season to set-up their breakup during the Rain Fight.

Then, of course, the Rain Fight happens. Mike says "It's not my fault you don't like girls." They effectively "break up."

But then there is the strange, interesting choice that there is never a resolution of the Rain Fight. The apology for ignoring Will's D&D game comes from Lucas instead of Mike:

Will had his blow-up with MIKE, not Lucas! And we know that Mike absolutely was DRIVEN to apologize to Will, but we don't see it. Maybe he actually did, but it was offscreen. But why not have it ON screen? Why not clear the air on whether Mike thought Will was gay and was being homophobic to Will? Why not clarify THEN that Mike is a straight ally who supports his gay best friend, setting things up for Will to have a coming-out arc where he finds a love interest who is not Mike?

Instead, the writers made sure they had NO conversations for nearly all the rest of the season. They made sure Mike was focused on trying to repair things with El and blurting out "I love her." These two things together also kept the Gay Rumors(TM) in check.

Season 4 then dramatizes how they'd GROWN APART -- specifically, how they don't seem to have stayed in touch and Mike seems to be ignoring Will.

What a strange thing for the writers to do! Mike and Will had been on good terms. That's because it was the start-of-season set-up for an ARC where they become close again.

Alright, so they soon repair things. But for what?

The Will Counseling Hour:

They literally have no conversations with each other where Will isn't comforting Mike and/or talking about El. To the extent that the GA was annoyed that Mike was "useless" and the California plotline was a "waste of time."

(Either the Duffers were bad writers or had a reason to spend so much time on the California plot. Hmm...)

The show was putting Byler in a holding pattern. The show established that Mike and Will were close again, but with a "beard" on Mike: his relationship with El. Will's attempt to talk about anything ELSE -- like playing Nintendo and D&D -- was ignored as Mike worried about El.

The Will Counseling Hour ends only with their very LAST conversation of season 4, when Will shares that he can still feel Vecna. Mike becomes the Counselor: he resolves that they will beat Vecna. The bringing of these two together, along with signs that Mike and El are drifting apart, lays the trajectory for Season 5.

Season 5 will be the first season with Unfiltered Byler(TM) since Season 2.

EVERYTHING that kept the GA from thinking about the possibility of Byler, (1) how young they were in Season 2, (2) their being kept artificially apart and (3) Mike's focus on his relationship with El, will have fallen away.

For the first time since Season 2, the A Plot and Mike and Will being close ("a team") will mesh.

Meanwhile, we'll get Season 2 Mike because Will will also be the center of the story and IN DANGER. It's impossible to imagine Mike being his aloof start-of-Season-4 self. Add to all this Season 4 hormones: we're likely to see the heart-eyes romantic, Will-Voice-speaking boy in love we Bylers see in the 2nd half of Season 4.

And there's the Painting Lie, which the Duffers have told Finn Wolfhard will "pay off in the end." Mike WILL KNOW Will loves him, and loved him so much as to sacrifice himself for him.

Even if one doesn't accept Byler, one can't deny that there has to be a DIRECT RECKONING over whether Mike returns Will's feelings.

The entire structure of how the show has presented their relationship is building up toward this. The Strange Postponement of Byler had a purpose.

-teambyler

EDIT: You might enjoy my s5 speculations in "How the Duffers likely will make the general audience AWARE of Byler and CHEER for Byler" =D

[seijorhi]

Bite

Selkie Miya Osamu x female reader

tw: blood and gore, yandere, hard vore (not reader), noncon, nsfw-ish

Fairy & Rhi's Big Bad Valentines Event ~ Here there be monsters

“Are you ever going to come in?”

Kana shrugs, hunched over on the edge of the pier, knees pulled to her chest. She doesn’t look at you when she speaks – her attention’s wholly fixed on the male figure lazily gliding through the water a few feet away. “I’m good here.”

Slate-brown eyes peer back, flitting between you. Appraising you both. 

A twitch of his lips and he ducks below the surface. Kana stiffens, but you, you know this game. Like a bullet, he shoots his lean, streamlined body towards you, mouth open wide, sharp teeth bared – your heart stutters instinctively, breath caught in your chest – only to divert at the last second, curling to loop around. 

Not for the first time, you reach a hand out as he glides past, let your fingers stroke along the soft, spotted fur of his tail. Softer than it has any right to be. You shiver, a smile lighting your face, and in turn you’re rewarded with a trilling warble as he circles you again and rises to the surface, this time belly up, one arm stretched back behind his head, the other resting over his pale stomach – an oddly human pose. 

“Leopard seals have killed humans before, I googled it,” your cousin says. “They’re dangerous and aggressive. The smart thing to do would be to leave it and give him a wide berth, not play together in the ocean like it’s a dolphin at SeaWorld.”

He glides closer, nudging himself against you and grabbing your hand in his to place it on his belly, just above his fur. 

“One, he’s not a leopard seal, and two, it’s been over a week, don’t you think that if felt threatened by us or wanted to attack, he would’ve by now?” A light nip at your shoulder and you laugh, snatching your hand back. “Osamu’s friendly.”

Kana’s eyes narrow, sparking with irritation. “Just because you gave it a name, doesn’t make it human,” she mutters, like she thinks you’re an idiot. “We don’t know enough for you to be making any kind of a judgement call over whether it’s docile or not. I just don’t want you getting hurt. Animals turn on people all the time.”

“He’s not an animal.” But it’s pointless, because you’ve had this talk before. She’ll tell you you’re being reckless and stupid, you’ll tell her she’s being a buzzkill. “And Samu’s a he, not an it. I think he’s beautiful.”

As if he can understand you, his chest rumbles in agreement, chuffing. You fight back a grin. 

From the navel up, he could pass for human. A lithe, lean torso. Hooded, dark eyes that glimmer with intelligence, a strong jaw. Silvery-brown hair that matches the sleek fur on the top-side of his tail. Even his teeth, too sharp and jagged, breaking the illusion when he grins, send a strange sort of thrill through you. He’s always careful with them when you play – nipping, never biting. 

“We should at the very least tell someone,” she scowls, rolling her eyes.

You won’t, though, and she knows that. They’d hunt him down and take him away, lock him up somewhere to study, never to swim free again, and if they somehow don’t manage to catch him, you can’t imagine he’ll ever come back. Selfishly, you don’t want that either. 

“Kana–”

But you don’t get more than that before his hand snares your wrist and you’re yanked underwater.

The world turns hazy blue, a burst of bubbles – a cry of surprise – rushing from your lips. You blink rapidly against the sting of saltwater, trying to reorient yourself, to fight your way back to the surface, but Osamu’s there, his other arm curled around your waist, pulling you to him, keeping you from rising.

The two of you spin, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes open, boring into you as you slowly, desperately, run out of air, thrashing in his arms. The edges of your vision begin to darken, your body screaming for fresh air. There’s a splash nearby, a noise that warbles underwater, but your head’s pounding, the lack of oxygen becoming critical. 

And still, you and Osamu dance. 

Without conscious thought, your lips parts, ready to force a mouthful of seawater into your lungs when his mouth crashes against yours. Osamu exhales, and you breathe, greedily gulping it down.

For what feels like a lifetime, he holds you there, mouth melded to his, breathing for you.

And then, his hold loosens. He catches your lower lip between his teeth and gently nips at it, smirking as you struggle against him, but he doesn’t stop you from shoving your way out of his arms and kicking for the surface. 

The first breath of fresh air is dizzying in its rush. 

You choke on it, halfway to a sob, and spin frantically to get your bearings. The pier is less than thirty feet away, but that might as well be a mile. Your energy’s sapped, limbs leaden and heavy. You’re going to need help to the shore, you need–

The pier’s empty. 

Kana.

Panic rips through you.

You dive before you can think better of it, before your tired muscles can scream in protest. You’re met with a haze of red. Blood.

Osamu had always been so careful with his teeth around you. They’re sharp. Jagged. Designed to cut through flesh and tear muscle from bone. A blur of grey darts through the water, and you watch as his mouth opens, jaw stretched wide like he does when he’s playing with you.

This time, he doesn’t swerve from the flailing body in his path. . 

His teeth sink in, hands grabbing her by the shoulders for better leverage, and you watch through horrified eyes as he rips a chunk from her neck and chews.

—

You’re lying on something smooth. Silky. Furry?Warm, despite the cool air licking at your damp skin. Outside, you think. On a beach? The air smells of salt, and if you focus, you think you can hear the waves lapping at the shore.

And you’re moving. Rocking back and forth in little jolts, a pain between your legs like a dull ache. Your neck throbs, pounding with every thud of your heart.

You’re so tired. Your whole body hurts.  

You should open your eyes, but that feels like too much effort. A whimper slips past your lips and there’s a brush of something soft against your forehead, a weird cooing noise you’re too out of it to place.

Your fingers twitch. The darkness coaxes, warm and soft and gentle. 

A problem for later, you think.

[nakylvr]

— BACK TO ME

daniela avanzini x fem!reader

summary જ⁀➴ after an argument breaks out and hurtful things are thrown, you leave for a few days, and daniela realizes just how much she needs you

warnings/tags જ⁀➴ angst with happy ending, language, established relationship, dealer!dani au, arguments

now playing જ⁀➴ back to me by the rose

things had been straining recently. with tax season coming up you spent most of your days after work trying to figure out how to not get completely fucked over and get a ton of money taken out. you also got promoted at your job, which was both a blessing and a curse. more money was always a good thing, but your patience was already wearing thin when the argument started.

you had just gotten home, wanting nothing more than to relax when you realized daniela wasn't in the apartment. too tired, you shrug it off and lay down on the couch, still in your work clothes, not bothering to change. you ended up falling asleep faster than you anticipated.

when the front door opened, it was dark outside. you could hear it, but you couldn't find it in you to get up.

"yn?" daniela's voice is heard quietly. "what are you doing on the couch?"

you hum, opening your eyes groggily and looking up at her. "where were you?" you mumble.

"had to run out real quick," she answers. "come on, let's go to bed."

"for hours?" you say before you can think.

daniela's expression changes at your words, but you don't notice past the dark in the room. "i needed to do some stuff," she responds. "i'm sorry." she doesn't know why she's saying it. most likely out of fear that this conversation will spiral out of control after all the bullshit that happened earlier in the year. she doesn't want a fight right now, and she's trying to keep it from happening.

"who were you with?" you ask, slowly sitting up.

"minji," daniela answers truthfully. "she needed some help getting a gift for hanni, then she came with me for a deal that i had to do on the way back."

your eyebrows furrowed together, looking back at her. "you let her go along with you?" you inquired.

"yeah?" dani replies, but it comes out unsure. "i knew you were getting off work late and i didn't want to bother you."

"but you let minji go with you?" you press. "you told me i was the only one."

"well, yes. but minji's my close friend, i–"

"didn't see anything wrong with it?" you cut her off. "cause it looks a little weird when all your clients know me and then you show up with some other girl that's not me? let me guess, you saw keeho?"

"how did you–" daniela gets cut off again by you talking over her.

"he texted me," you tell her. "asking, and i quote 'who this random chick' is with you instead of me. so it's not just me thinking i'm crazy."

"i didn't say you were crazy," daniela quickly says, shaking her head. "baby, please, this isn't that serious. you know minji."

"but other people don't," you respond. "what if it wasn't keeho?"

"i-" daniela stops herself, taking a breath. "this is the only time i've brought someone other than you."

"but why?" you stand up from the couch, making daniela take a few steps backwards. "you're the one who tells me that you don't let anyone go because you don't want them to see, but minji is just a different story or something?"

"it's one time!" daniela says, her voice raising slightly. "why does it matter?"

"why does it matter?" you repeat. "you tell me, daniela. you tell me." you cross your arms over your chest.

daniela is quiet for a minute, trying to think of the right thing to say to not upset you more. "i know what you're thinking, but this isn't a big deal. i let her come along because it was keeho. nothing else, no other reason," she tells you. "i promise."

"not a big deal, you keep saying that," your voice turns sharp. "what's not a big deal? that i'm reasonably concerned when you're out hours past when i got back and tell me you were doing some stuff, helping minji get a gift for hanni, and do a deal? because those are multiple different answers."

"oh my god," daniela mumbles, looking around before back at you. "yn, seriously, it's nothing."

"give me your phone," you demand.

"what?" she looks at you confused.

"consider this a phone check. give it to me." you hold your hand out.

"you're serious?" daniela asks. when you don't answer, just stare at her, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and hands it to you. "jesus christ," she grumbles under her breath, crossing her arms over her chest.

looking through the recent messages, your fingers hover over one specifically, and when you glance up from the phone to look at daniela, she feels her heart drop to her stomach at the expression on your face.

"so what? you have clients wanting to get you shit for valentines day? is that the excuse you're going to give?" you say seriously, tilting your head to the side.

"what?" daniela lets out. "no one has–"

"what's this about then?" you hold the phone towards her, showing a thread of messages.

"that's jaehyun!" daniela exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. "he's my friend!"

"and you know i don't like how close he is with you!" you retort, your voice raising. "every time we go to his place it's like i don't even exist! he's obviously hitting on you!"

"he literally isn't! he's gay!" daniela scoffs, shaking her head. "plus, he literally has a boyfriend!"

"well that didn't stop you the first time, did it?" the words come out faster than you could think.

"right," daniela scoffs again, nodding her head. "right, because it's always my fault, isn't it? i'm always the one fucking up, right?"

"yeah!" you nod. "you're the one who says you can pull anyone, and then you act like i'm fucking crazy when people are all over you and i don't like it! like it's not right for me to feel upset even though i'm your girlfriend!"

"i've never called you crazy! when have i once said that?!" daniela's voice starts getting louder, nearing the edge of yelling.

"but you look at me like it!" you end up yelling first. "like-like it's a problem that i get jealous! you're allowed to have your hands all over me when i'm with my friends when you're jealous but when you have three different girls who give you thousands of dollars each month all over you it's weird when i get defensive and jealous!? that's not fair, daniela!"

"so what? i'm supposed to just sit there while girls eye-fuck you or try to get all close?!" daniela retorts. "you don't even know! you're so fuckin' naive that you think everyone just wants to be friends!"

"naive? i'm naive?" you let out a laugh, shaking your head. "right, sorry for being nice enough to make friends who don't just want to fuck me for some shit!"

"they still want to fuck you!" daniela yells. "look at sophia! you ran to her when shit got hard and look what happened! who's telling me that you won't go run off to some other 'friend' of yours only for them to fuck you while you were still mine!"

you stop once sophia's name is spoken. daniela knew better than to bring her up after the events that happened, knowing how much you regretted your stupid decision and how bad you felt about it afterwards. but in the heat of the argument, the second the words leave daniela's mouth you're standing there in silence.

"you know what," you eventually speak up. "maybe i will."

"will what?" daniela asks, seemingly not realizing what she said and how you took it.

you shake your head, letting out a scoff. you toss her phone on the couch and walk into the bedroom, not saying another word.

"yn?" daniela sighs. "yn! what are you doing?"

a few minutes later you walk back out with a bag in your hands, making daniela's eyes go wide.

"what're you doing?" she asks.

"i'm going to jungwon's for the night," you answer simply. "or, the rest of the night, i guess."

"what?" daniela looks at you confused. "why?"

you stare at her with a deadpan expression, waiting to see if she'll notice what she said. when she clearly doesn't, you shake your head again. "because he's a friend who won't fuck me while i'm still yours. those are your words," you tell her before starting to walk to the front door.

your words make daniela realize what she said, and she immediately starts following after you to the door. "yn? yn, baby, don't be like this! i didn't mean to bring her up!"

"but you did." you swiftly turn around, causing her to abruptly stop. "you did even though we talked about it and you knew how fucked up i felt afterwards. but if this is what comes out of your mouth when we argue, then i know you're still pissed about it. so, i'm leaving for the night, or maybe a few days, i don't know." you shrug. "i know i fucked up with what i did. i regret it. but you told me it was okay. when apparently it isn't if you're bringing it up. so while i'm gone, you think about what you want, daniela. because you are on thin ice, and it's cracking. so figure it the fuck out."

you leave the apartment before daniela can get a word out, the door slamming behind you echoing through the place. she stands there for a few minutes, waiting to hear you come back, but you never do.

"god damnit," she sighs, dragging her hands over her face.

the whole remainder of the night daniela kept texting you, telling you to come back, that she was sorry and didn't mean it. but, that's how she always was whenever you two fought. and you were tired of everything right now.

when you got to jungwon's, he was surprised to see you, but when you explained the situation he immediately brought you inside and talked with you about the whole thing. he was always good with comforting others and advice. plus, he could tell you were straining yourself recently.

while daniela sat inside the apartment, moping around waiting for you to come back, still texting you as the day passed and you didn't return or respond. she knew you were upset with what she said, that was obvious. and she couldn't lie and say that the event didn't gnaw at her every fiber since she found out, even if sophia got what she deserved in the end, because it did. she knew it shouldn't. that it was a moment of vulnerability for you, that you had no one else to go to. it all spirals back to her regretting what she did in the first place to start it all.

for the whole day daniela thought of what to do, how to fix this. she sat on the couch for hours thinking of what will make you not mad at her anymore. when she got an idea.

it was day three and you still weren't responding, so daniela took matters into her own hands and texting jungwon asking if you were there. he answered truthfully, saying that he wanted her to figure it out with you so he was trying to help the most he could. so she drove over to his place.

standing in front of the door, daniela shifts her weight from one foot to the other anxiously, biting her lip in hopes that this would work. the door opens and jungwon is revealed, who smiles at her.

"hey, dani," he says. "she's in the guest room."

"thanks," daniela replies, walking past him when he opens the door wider for her.

approaching the guest room, daniela knocks on the door a few times, hearing you hum on the other end. she slowly opens the door, making you turn and see it was her. your expression hardens, and dani notices, knowing she's still in deep shit.

"hey," she says awkwardly, pulling the flowers from behind her back. "i got you these." she holds them out, looking at the ground.

you can't help the way your eyes soften at the tone in her voice, quiet and hesitant compared to the confident loudness you were used to. she looks like a kicked puppy staring at the ground, and you let out a short sigh before getting off the bed, walking over to her and taking the bouquet from her.

"i'm sorry for what i said," daniela mumbles. "i didn't mean to say it i just...i still think about it sometimes and i don't know why. i know you didn't do it to hurt me on purpose but sometimes i...i worry that you're going to leave once you realize i'm not the best for you."

her words shock you as she still stares at the ground, finally speaking the thoughts that had been eating her up inside. "dani..."

"i-i know i'm not the best," she quickly adds. "i know you can find someone who will treat you better like it's nothing. but i don't– i can't lose you. i love you so much, so fucking much, and it scares me so much when we fight because i know every time it's another tick gone and that eventually you'll get tired of me and leave. i don't want you to leave. we fight, we have our ups and downs, but you always stay. you always stay and i know one day y-you won't." daniela's voice cracks at the end, tears filling her eyes the longer she talks. "i'm sorry." a few tears fall.

carefully setting the flowers on the bed, you take another step towards her and cup her face in your hands, making her look at you finally. "it's okay," you tell her softly. "you're right, i always stay. i always stay because i love you. i wouldn't if i didn't. dani, i don't think you know that you are the best relationship i've had. all of the other ones ended like shit. you prove to me time and time again that even if you fuck up, you own up to it and you don't run away. i won't ever get tired of you, i promise." you wipe away the tears falling from her eyes. "i love you, and i love the flowers. you always know what to get me."

"i try," daniela responds quietly, nodding slightly.

"i know." you nod. "and i love that about you." you lean in, pressing a soft kiss against her lips.

parting from the kiss, daniela's arms snake around your waist and pull you close to her as she puts her face in the crook of your neck. "i love you," she murmurs against your skin.

"i love you too," you reply, petting her head gently.

[hazydoe]

Buffalo 66

Warning +18 only kidnapping, non-consensual situations,sexual content,emotional manipulation,sex lol,extortion, jail,daddy kink , age-gap.

Note:I was inspired by Buffalo 66, it's one of my favorite movies, and one of the ones I talk about the most in my classes as a film student n Happy Valentine's Day ❤️

English is not my first language so I apologize in advance if I make a mistake

Joel wasn’t good with words. He never had been. But now, more than ever, he needed someone—and above all, he needed money to start over. And there you were, at the wrong time, or perhaps the right one. He saw you leaving the store, wearing that light blue dress and carrying a brown paper bag in your hand, a faint smile on your lips. He didn’t know why he chose you. Maybe it was because you seemed kind, or maybe because you were the first person he saw. It didn’t matter. Joel needed something, someone, and you were there.

He approached you with quick steps, his breathing uneven from the anxiety consuming him. He didn’t have a weapon, not even a convincing threat. All he had were his clumsy, desperate words.

“I need you to come with me,” he said, his voice rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in days.

You stopped, looking at him with a mix of surprise and fear. Your eyes widened slightly, and you took a step back, clutching the bag to your chest like a shield.

“What? No, I’m not going with you,” you said, your voice trembling but firm.

Joel felt a knot in his stomach. He hadn’t expected you to resist. He hadn’t thought about that. But he couldn’t give up. Not now. He had just gotten out of prison, and he needed money.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I just need… I need you to come with me. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Your eyes scrutinized him, searching for any sign of a lie, of danger. Joel didn’t know what you were seeing, but he hoped it was something that would make you change your mind. For a moment, he thought you’d leave, that you’d scream for help or just run away. But you didn’t. Instead, you stayed there, looking at him, as if you were trying to understand him.

“Why?” you finally asked, your voice soft but cautious. “Why me?”

Joel didn’t have a good answer. He didn’t have any answer, really. He just knew he couldn’t be alone. Not again.

“Because… because I don’t have anyone else, and I need something,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

There was an uncomfortable silence as you studied him. Joel didn’t know what you were thinking, but he was sure you’d leave, that you’d decide it wasn’t worth risking yourself for a stranger. But you didn’t. Instead, you nodded slowly, as if you’d decided to give him a chance.

“I don’t have money,” you said. “I work as a waitress and barely make ends meet.” Joel’s anxiety spiked—it was worse than kidnapping a defenseless girl, kidnapping her and getting nothing in return.

Joel nodded, thinking of the quickest solution: getting rid of you or finding some way to profit from you. He didn’t know if you were incredibly brave or just naive, but it didn’t matter. He led you to his car, an old sedan that smelled like cigarettes and desperation. He didn’t say a word as he drove, his hands gripping the wheel as if it were the only thing keeping him sane. You didn’t speak either, but you didn’t seem comfortable. You sat there, staring out the window, your hands clenched in your lap, as if you were ready to bolt at any moment.

“Where are we going?” you finally asked, breaking the silence.

“To a motel,” Joel replied evasively. “I just… need a place to think.”

It wasn’t an answer, but you didn’t press further. Instead, you leaned back in the seat, as if trying to calm yourself. Joel couldn’t understand you. Why weren’t you screaming? Why weren’t you trying to escape? It was as if you’d decided to trust him, even if just a little.

They arrived at the motel, a cheap, rundown place on the outskirts of the city. Joel parked the car and looked at you, as if expecting you to resist again. But you simply got out of the car and followed him to the room, a mix of fear and determination in your eyes.

The room was as depressing as he was: an unmade bed, a flickering lamp, and a musty smell that clung to the air. Joel sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands over his face. He didn’t know what to do now. He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t planned anything.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked, standing near the door, as if ready to run at any moment.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling, the desperation consuming him, the need to have someone, anyone, by his side.

“I needed someone,” he finally murmured, his voice barely audible. “And you were there.”

There was another silence, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if both of you understood that this didn’t make sense, but it didn’t matter. Joel looked at you, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something other than emptiness.

“What now?” you asked, a mix of fear and curiosity in your voice.

Joel thought for a moment before speaking. “Do you have family?” he asked.

“They live outside the city and don’t have much money. They live off government checks,” you replied.

Joel stood up in frustration. It had all been for nothing. He could go back to prison for kidnapping a girl, even if only for a short time.

You approached him slowly, as if trying not to scare him. Joel looked at you, confused but grateful. He didn’t know what you were doing, but he didn’t want you to stop. You sat on the bed, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just there, in silence, sharing the weight of the world.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Joel murmured, his voice breaking. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, his patience wearing thin.

“Yes, but I don’t think he’d pay much for me,” you replied, placing a hand on his.

Joel looked at your hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it. But then, slowly, his fingers intertwined with yours. His hand was cold, but there was a spark of warmth in his touch, as if something in him was still alive.

“Call him,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you leaned closer to him, until your lips met his in a soft but meaningful kiss. Joel didn’t know if this was real, if you were real, but in that moment, he didn’t care. Because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone. And that was enough.

Joel couldn’t believe what he was about to do. The line between desperation and madness had blurred completely, and now, there you were, sitting on the motel bed, phone in hand, with your boyfriend on the other end of the line. He watched you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of guilt and desire, as he approached slowly, like a predator who knew he had his prey exactly where he wanted it.

“Tell him I have you,” Joel whispered, his voice rough but laced with an intensity that made you shiver. “Tell him if he wants to see you again, he’ll have to pay.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, Joel thought you might refuse. But then, you nodded slowly, bringing the phone to your ear. Your hands trembled slightly as you dialed the number, and Joel couldn’t help but notice how you bit your lower lip, a gesture that betrayed your nervousness.

“Hi,” you said into the phone, your voice soft but clear. ���It’s me. I’m… I’m okay, but I need you to do something for me.”

Joel moved closer, his hands finding your waist as you spoke to your boyfriend. You felt your body tense under his touch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you kept talking, your voice trembling but firm.

“Yes, he wants money,” you continued, your eyes fixed on Joel. “I don’t know how much, but… please, do it. I don’t want him to hurt me.”

Joel felt a knot in his stomach as he heard your words, but he didn’t stop. His hands slid over your body, exploring every curve with a mix of desire and possessiveness. He looked at you, searching for some sign of rejection, but he didn’t find it. Instead, he saw something in your eyes that made him keep going: a surrender, an acceptance of what was about to happen.

“Tell him how much,” Joel murmured, his lips brushing your ear as you spoke. “Tell him he has an hour.”

Your words faltered slightly as Joel began to slide his hands under your dress, his fingers finding the soft skin of your thighs. You felt your breathing quicken, your body responding to his touch despite the situation. Joel wasn’t giving you a choice, but you didn’t seem to want to stop him either.

“Yes, one hour,” you repeated into the phone, your voice now more shaky. “Please, hurry.”

When you hung up the phone, Joel didn’t give you time to think. His lips found yours in a slow but passionate kiss, his hands exploring every inch of your body as if they were territories to conquer. You let yourself go, your own hands finding his chest, unbuttoning his shirt as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Don’t resist,” Joel murmured, his voice heavy with desire. “You know you don’t want to.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you gave in to the sensation, to the intensity of the moment. Joel explored you with his hands, every touch filled with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed. Your soft moans urged him on, driving him to lose himself in you, in the feeling that, for a moment, he wasn’t alone.

Joel sat near the head of the bed, his gaze lifting to meet yours. He looked at you the way a hunter looks at his prey. “Take off that dress,” he said, watching you intently.

You pulled at the sleeves of your light blue dress and slowly slid it down, stepping out of your silver ballet flats. All you had on was a simple blue lingerie set, a gift from your boyfriend for Valentine’s Day.

“Come here, doll. Sit on daddy’s lap,” he said. You moved closer and sat on his lap, feeling how hard he was beneath you.

He grabbed your waist and unhooked your bra, cupping your breasts in his rough hands. “Your breasts are beautiful, so soft. Your boyfriend’s an idiot. He’s paying for me to fuck you, and here you are, taking off the dress and lingerie he probably gave you for Valentine’s Day.”

He slid your panties off, and you unzipped his worn-out jeans. He pulled down his boxers, and you saw his hard member—it was big and thick. You’d never been with anyone but your boyfriend.

“Ride me, sweetheart,” he said, noticing your hesitation. “Come on, do it, baby. Ride me.”

You climbed onto him, feeling the coarse hair on his legs and his rough hands gripping your waist.

You moved on him, your eyes locked on his face—weathered by time and age, his beard, every detail of him. You could see the pleasure in his expression. He had chosen you. He could have kidnapped any other girl, but he chose you. (I don’t know why, but this made me laugh.)

You moved as best as you could, his size making it challenging. You could feel your breaths quickening.

“Come on, baby, I know you can do better than that. I haven’t been bad to you. I think I deserve it,” Joel said, his words only motivating you to move more. He watched you from below, occasionally spanking you and smiling.

You let out a loud moan of pleasure as you rode him more recklessly. After a moment, you felt him grip your waist tightly and release inside you.

“You’re such a good girl for daddy. You made me come so good,” Joel said as he lifted you off him. His seed dripped out of you.

Joel held you, his strong arms wrapping around you in an embrace that seemed to say more than his words ever could. He didn’t know how he had gotten to this point, but in that moment, he didn’t care. Because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

“Don’t go,” he murmured, his voice heavy with vulnerability. “I don’t want to let you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, curling up against him. “I’m here.”

But reality soon caught up with them. The phone rang, and Joel knew it was time to collect his reward. He dressed quickly, avoiding your gaze as he left the room. He didn’t want to see you go, but he knew he had no other choice.

When he returned, money in hand, he found you sitting on the bed, looking at him with those eyes that seemed to see him for who he truly was: a broken man, lost in his own despair.

“What are you going to do now?” you asked, your voice soft but filled with concern.

Joel didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t have a plan, no place to go. But for the first time in a long time, he felt that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, sitting down beside you.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you took his hand and squeezed it firmly, as if you were trying to tell him that, despite everything, he wasn’t alone.

[x-aefx]

Hi. Can I request Billie watching y/n perform at the Grammy’s after their breakup. During the performance, she realizes how much she miss y/n, so she goes backstage to talk. And they get back together? Thanks

Back To You - Billie Eilish x fem!reader

This is such a cute request🤍

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

"You ok?"

You looked up from your phone at the sound of your assistants voice, feeling her hand on the back of your arm. Wordlessly, you nodded your head, not trusting your voice to speak.

She glanced down at your phone then back up to you, smiling sympathetically.

"She's just after arriving." Your assistant spoke, answering the question she knew was running through your head. "We should go. We don't want to keep them waiting."

You said nothing, only staring back down at your phone where a picture of you and Billie was displayed. It was from the night she officially asked you to be her girlfriend, the two of you were wrapped in eachothers arms on her couch.

"Why did you two ever break up?" Your assistant muttered sadly to herself, shaking her head as she left to attend to some last minute duties.

You sighed, turning off your phone and putting it in your bag. You stared at your reflection in the mirror of the hotel room, all dressed up for the Grammys with a loneliness that clung to you like armour.

"You ok?"

Billie's eyes snapped to her brother Finneas, forcing herself out of her trance by the sound of his voice.

"Yeah." Billie gave him a tight lipped smile, not wanting him to worry about her. Finneas didn't look convinced, though he didn't question it further.

"We should go, don't want to keep them waiting." Finneas encouraged his sister to follow behind him onto the carpet where paparazzi and journalists eagerly awaited them.

Billie said nothing but followed after him. Whilst they walked and the shouts of her name got louder, her eyes scanned the crowd and people around her, clinging on to hope that maybe, just maybe, you would be there.

"Billie!"

"Billie over here!"

"Billie! Look this way!"

Camera lights flashed harshly and bright, but she had gotten used to it.

Once her pictures were taken she walked the remainder of the carpet. She could hear journalists calling her name, trying to beckon her over for an interview. She didn't stop to talk to them this time, knowing what questions they would ask.

She walked past the final one with her head bowed down slightly.

"Looks like Billie Eilish isn't in the mood to talk." The reporter announced, turning back to the camera when Billie walked past her swiftly.

"The singer made a quick escape! Leaving us all with the same question as before, 'why did those two ever break up?"

As the award ceremony came to an end there was one final performance to be had. Yours.

What started out as a thrilling, fun and loud performance, with dancers fuled by adrenaline and your vocals catching everyone's attention, turned into a more intimate, calmer one for your final song.

You stood in the centre of the stage, just you, your eyes kept either closed or towards the very back of the room as you sang. You knew if you didn't do this, if you let your eyes stray, they would find hers. Infact, you were sure you could tell where she was sitting even though you hadn't looked once. You could always find her in a room full of people.

You couldn't, however, stop your mind from wondering. Memories flashed in your mind as you sung the lyrics, lyrics you had written about her. Then you made the mistake of opening your eyes again and not stopping them from finding those blue ones you were all too familiar with.

Your eyes stung, tears prickled as you couldn't look away from her. You could hear her laugh in your head, her voice, her words. Your chest tightened as you neared the end of the song, the song you had written for her. It was her favourite song, she always reminded you, always asking you to sing it for her.

Billie was transfixed. She couldn't look away from you, enorumed by your voice and how beautiful you looked in that dress, how the lights made you look ethereal as you stood up there on that stage before her. Finneas, who sat beside her, had tried to get her attention but still, Billie couldn't look away from you.

And then your eyes met hers, for the first time the entire night you finally looked at her. Billie didn't realise how much she needed that simple action.

The familiar lyrics of the song rung in her ears as she watched you, memories of the two of you together flashed in her mind. Her favourite being the night you sang this song for her, when it was just the two of you alone in her bed In the early hours of the morning.

Billie tried blinking them away, she really did, but the tears eventually began. Her eyes were glossy as she wiped her cheeks, still watching you. Her heart sank when she noticed you were crying too.

Regret, guilt, anger, loneliness, it all consumed Billie at once.

When the performance ended Billie didn't hesitate to get out of her seat and follow you backstage. Her mind was made up, she knew what she was going to to, had to do.

You hurried off the stage, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you kept your head down. You missed her. You always had that feeling buried deep inside you, but there was no denying it when your eyes locked with hers and you were finally seeing her again.

"Y/N!"

You thought you were imagining it.

Billie pushed past people, muttering quick apologies as she strode towards you, desperate to catch up to you.

You were surrounded by security, your assistant and other people, who all stopped and turned around at the sound of Billie's voice. Then you turned to and Billie lost her voice.

You had this look of shock on your face, but Billie could see the hope in your eyes no matter what facade you put up.

"Billie?" You whispered, confused, upset.

The people surrounding you took the hint and decided to leave the two of you alone, so that it was just Billie and you standing in the now empty corridor.

Billie couldn't help, even now, to marvel at your beauty.

"I fucked up-im sorry, can we talk?" Billie rushed the words out, her voice sounding hurt and weak.

You nodded your head. "Yeah." You said weakly, "are you OK?" You asked in concern, noticing her glossy eyes.

Billie nodded her head, taking a deep breath in. "Yeah, are you?" She exhaled.

You hummed in confirmation.

Your chest tightened seeing her, wounds that had previously began their healing journey were opening again.

Billie took a step closer, then another until she was right Infront of you, until you could feel her breath on your skin and her scent was the only air you Inhaled.

She slowly intertwined your hands with hers, looking down at them with nothing but guilt.

"I've missed you so much." A cry threatened to leave her. "All I've done since that night was regret it all." She shook her head in frustration at herself.

You looked at her sympathetically. "Oh Bils.."

Billie looked back up at you, teary eyed.

"Why did we ever break up?" Her voice cracked and tears were now falling.

Your breathing was shaky as you forced your sobs down. You shrugged helplessly. In truth, you didn't know. It was a mistake. That much was clear.

"I don't know." You quietly admitted.

Then it went quiet.

Your eyes burned as the tears fell. You were sure Billie felt the same.

You looked down at your interlocked hands, your eyes tracing the fine lines of her hand tattoo. You smiled sadly as you remembered the day she got them done. You remembered how Billie was nervous, in an excited kind of way. She had held your hand, with the one not getting tattooed, for the entirety of the appointment. Most of all you membered her bright, genuine smile when the tattoo was finished and she was looking at it completed for the first time.

"What's got you smiling?" Billie asked in a teasing way, but her small sniffles gave her true emotions away.

You looked up at her. "Us." Was all you answered with.

She looked at you, and you looked at her. Your hands stayed intertwined as you stood in close proximity. It was the first time the two of you had been in the same room in months let alone this close.

"I never should have let you go, I should have fought harder for you to stay." Billie mumbled, looking between your eyes that she loved so dearly.

"I should have never left in the first place." You argued quietly.

Your forehead fell gently against Billie's, your eyes drifting closed tiredly.

Billies hands pulled away from yours. At first, your heart dropped at the loss of her touch, the sadness returning until you felt her hold your waist, pulling you closer to her. You opened your eyes slowly to look at her.

"Come back to me." Billie whispered, her forehead resting against yours and her eyes trained on your lips, her own mouth hovering over yours desperate to close the distance.

You looked into her pleading eyes and then down to her lips. Your heart sped up at the sound of the words you begged to hear these past few months.

"Please, I need you-i miss you." Billie squeezed her eyes shut tightly before opening them again to look into your eyes.

You nodded your head. Billie's eyes lit up with hope, but there was still a small bit of hesistence. You got rid of it.

With your hands cupping her face, you pulling her into you, kissing her longingly, passionately until neither of you could breathe.

When Billie pulled away, she had a large grin on her face, her eyes fully lit up like the sun as they shined with love. "I'm never leaving you, I promise." She breathed out.

You pecked her lips again, a large smile of your own on your lips. "And I'll never leave you." You vowed.

Her forehead rested against yours once again. The both of you basked in the love you two had for each other, neither feeling the need to leave.

Billie looked at you adoringly and you returned it.

She prepped small, delicate kisses all over your face, your cheeks, your nose, your temple and your forehead.

You giggled, feeling drunk on her love.

"I love you." You said.

"I love you more." Billie kissed you once again.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

[fayelero]

ⓘ 01. MY KIND OF WOMAN !

⤷ FLUFF ﹫ kirishima eijiro x fem!reader ﹫ oneshot

⚠︎ pure fluff, friends to lovers, clumsy kirishima .ᐟ.ᐟ

kirishima paced back and forth in bakugo’s dorm room, running a hand through his already messy red hair. his mind was racing, his heart pounding like he had just finished an intense sparring session, but for once, it wasn’t because of training. it was because of you.

and now, here he was, seeking advice from bakugo, of all people—who currently sat slouched in his desk chair, arms crossed, an unimpressed scowl on his face.

“oi, quit pacing, shitty hair, you’re giving me a headache.” bakugo grumbled, kicking at kirishima’s leg as he passed by for the fifth time.

kirishima stopped in his tracks, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle. “ah, sorry, man. i just—this is kinda important, y’know?”

bakugo raised a brow, clearly not convinced. “tch. if it’s so important, why the hell are you asking me?”

kirishima took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of bakugo’s bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “because, dude, you’re… brutally honest. and i need that right now.”

bakugo scoffed. “damn right.”

kirishima exhaled heavily. “okay, so, it’s about her—”

bakugo groaned loudly. “of course it is.”

“—and i think i’m in love with her, man.”

that caught bakugo’s attention, if only slightly. his red eyes flicked to kirishima’s face, scanning for any sign of hesitation. there was none.

“yeah? no shit. took you long enough to figure that out.”

kirishima blinked. “wait, you knew?”

bakugo rolled his eyes. “dumbass. it’s obvious. you follow her around like a lost puppy, always hypin’ her up, always lookin’ at her like she’s the damn sun or somethin’. it’s pathetic.”

kirishima let out a defeated groan, flopping backward onto bakugo’s bed. “ugh, i knew it. i knew i was bein’ obvious. no wonder she doesn’t see me that way.”

bakugo made a face. “or maybe she’s just as dumb as you are.”

kirishima sat up again, eyes wide with hope. “wait—you think she might like me back?”

bakugo shrugged. “dunno. don’t care. that’s your problem.”

kirishima sighed, rubbing his temples. “alright, well… that’s not even the main thing. the real problem is—how the hell do i tell her? how do i tell her that she’s the most badass, kind, and incredible person i’ve ever met without soundin’ like a total idiot?”

bakugo narrowed his eyes. “…that’s what you’re stuck on?”

kirishima blinked. “huh?”

“you’re actin’ like confessin’ is some kinda battle strategy. just spit it out.”

kirishima exhaled sharply. “i can’t! she’s my kind of woman, y’know? she’s strong, she’s passionate, she never backs down from a fight. she’s got this fire in her that makes me wanna be better. and she’s gorgeous, dude, like—way outta my league. and somehow, she still treats me like i’m someone worth standing next to.”

bakugo stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “god, you’re such a sap.”

kirishima groaned. “i know! that’s the problem!”

bakugo pinched the bridge of his nose. “then stop overthinkin’ it. you already know what to do.”

kirishima furrowed his brows. “i do?”

“tch. you don’t gotta be some smooth-talking dumbass. just be you. tell her what you just told me—minus the whining.”

kirishima hesitated, then slowly grinned. “…y’know what? you’re right. i do know what to do.”

bakugo rolled his eyes. “obviously. now get the hell out of my room.”

kirishima laughed as he stood up. “alright, alright. thanks, man. you’re a way better listener than you let on.”

“shut up before i kill you.”

kirishima grinned as he left, heart racing—but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. it was from excitement. because now?

now he was really gonna tell you.

kirishima had faced a lot of scary things in his life. villains. grueling training sessions. bakugo in a bad mood. but somehow, none of those compared to the sheer terror he felt as he made his way through the dorms, heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to break free.

he was really gonna do it. he was gonna confess.

at least, that was the plan.

unfortunately, nervous energy had turned him into a full-blown disaster.

his first mistake was misjudging the distance between the common room couch and the coffee table. he tried to casually step over it, but his foot caught on the edge, and he nearly face-planted.

“shit—”

“dude, you good?” kaminari blinked from his spot on the couch, holding a controller mid-game.

“yeah! yeah, totally good!” kirishima laughed awkwardly, straightening up as if that hadn’t just happened. his cheeks burned as he quickly power-walked toward the exit before he embarrassed himself even more.

his second mistake? the door.

it was a push door. he pulled.

it didn’t budge. he frowned, yanked again. nothing.

“uh…”

sero, who had just entered the common room, raised an eyebrow. “you good, man?”

“i—yeah, i—” kirishima realized his mistake mid-sentence, quickly pushing it open instead. “see? totally fine.”

sero didn’t look convinced. “riiight…”

kirishima groaned under his breath as he finally made it outside, inhaling the crisp evening air. okay. deep breaths. he could do this.

then he saw you.

sitting on a bench near the garden, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, you were completely absorbed in your book. the wind played with your hair, making it dance around your face, but you hardly noticed, eyes scanning the pages with quiet focus. your fingers gently turned the page, movements delicate and unhurried, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

and just like that, kirishima’s brain short-circuited.

how the hell am i supposed to just walk up to her and drop a confession like that?!

his palms were sweating. his heart was racing. his legs? not cooperating at all.

but he had already come this far—backing out now would make him a coward.

so he forced himself to move, trying to act normal.

which, apparently, was not in the cards for him today.

the first thing he did was stub his toe on the edge of the pavement. he stumbled forward, barely catching himself before eating dirt.

then, as he tried to casually walk it off, he overcompensated, swinging his arms too much, like some weird overenthusiastic jogger.

you looked up just in time to see him approaching. his usually confident stride was replaced with something stiff and unnatural, like he was trying way too hard to look casual. you blinked at him, confused for a moment—then, a small, amused smile tugged at your lips.

“eijirou?” you called softly, tilting your head.

kirishima froze.

oh god, even just hearing you say his name in that soft, gentle tone made his heart do an entire gymnastics routine.

“uh—hey! hi! h-hey there!” he winced immediately. hey there?! who even says that?!

you chuckled, closing your book. “you okay?”

“me? totally fine! just… out here! enjoying the fresh air! like you! haha… yeah.”

he was dying.

you smiled again, patient as ever. “it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“yeah! nice! super nice. like… really, really nice.”

kirishima, for the love of god, shut up.

you hummed softly, shifting on the bench to make room beside you. “do you want to sit?”

oh. oh, that was dangerous.

but there was no way he could refuse, so he quickly nodded, plopping down next to you—too quickly. the force of it made the bench shake slightly, and he almost lost his balance again.

you let out another soft giggle. “you seem kinda jumpy today.”

“i—I do?”

you nodded, eyes twinkling with quiet amusement. “mhm.”

kirishima swallowed hard, gripping his knees to stop his hands from shaking. this is it. just say it. just tell her.

he looked at you, really looked at you—the way your eyes softened when you smiled, the way you always seemed so patient with him, the way your presence alone made him feel like he was home.

his throat tightened.

“i, uh—”

your gaze remained gentle, waiting.

kirishima’s heart was pounding. he could feel the words right there on the tip of his tongue—i like you. no, i love you. you’re my kind of woman. you always have been.

but suddenly, his fear kicked in full force.

what if you didn’t feel the same? what if he ruined this? what if this easy, natural friendship between you shattered because he couldn’t keep his damn feelings to himself?

so instead of saying what he wanted to say, he panicked.

“—i, uh, i was just wondering what book you’re reading!”

a pause.

you blinked.

then, you smiled. “oh, it’s just a romance novel.”

kirishima laughed, but it was a little too loud, a little too forced. “aha—yeah, romance, that’s cool! that’s, uh, really cool.”

you gave him a knowing look, but you didn’t push. instead, you simply opened the book and started talking about the story, your voice calm and soothing.

kirishima barely heard a word. his own thoughts were too loud.

damn it. i chickened out.

but as you kept talking, smiling so softly, so effortlessly, kirishima felt some of his tension ease. maybe he hadn’t confessed tonight.

but at least he was here, with you.

and maybe, just maybe, he’d find the courage next time.

kirishima barely processed a word you were saying.

he was nodding along, making the occasional hum of agreement, but in reality? his brain was still spiraling from the fact that he had completely chickened out. again.

you had given him the perfect chance, sitting beside him, smiling at him, soft and patient as ever. and what had he done? asked about your book. like an idiot.

but even now, as the two of you fell into easy conversation about other things—the day’s training session, how kaminari had nearly set off the fire alarm again, how aizawa looked two seconds away from quitting—kirishima still felt like his chest was too tight.

because you were right there.

the sun had nearly set, casting the sky in hues of pink and orange, and the soft glow of the dorm lights made your features even gentler. your voice, your laughter, the way you turned to look at him with that natural warmth—it was killing him.

and the longer he sat there, the worse it got.

his heart felt too full, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. the words were bubbling up again, just like before, but he was determined not to let them slip out.

so, of course, they did.

“man, i love you.”

the words left his lips so naturally, so effortlessly, that for a split second, he didn’t even realize what he had said.

then, he did.

and his whole world stopped.

you stopped talking mid-sentence. your eyes went wide, lips slightly parted in surprise.

kirishima’s heart nearly gave out.

“—wait, no—” he shot up from the bench so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet. his arms flailed, his hands waving in a panicked frenzy. “i-i mean—not like that! i mean—I do! but not—I mean, yes, but—oh god, i wasn’t supposed to say that!”

you just stared at him, stunned.

kirishima’s face was on fire.

his words kept tumbling out in a messy, frantic rush. “i—I didn’t mean to say it like that! i was gonna say it eventually—no, wait, i mean—I wasn’t not gonna say it, but not right now! i had a plan! a good one! and now i ruined it—”

you blinked. then, slowly, your lips curved into a soft, amused smile.

kirishima’s heart stuttered.

“i’m an idiot,” he groaned, running both hands down his face. “i—I swear, i was gonna do this properly, not just—blurt it out like that—”

you let out a quiet laugh.

kirishima froze.

he peeked at you through his fingers, confused. “w-what?”

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you stood up, stepping closer, until you were right in front of him. the sudden lack of space made his breath hitch, but before he could freak out further—

you leaned up on your toes, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

kirishima went completely still.

every thought in his brain short-circuited.

then, just as he felt his soul leave his body, you pulled back, still smiling that gentle, beautiful smile of yours.

“i love you too, eijirou.”

kirishima forgot how to function.

“you—you what—” his voice cracked mid-sentence.

you laughed, reaching out to take one of his hands in yours. your fingers were warm, soft, delicate against his own calloused ones, and it made his entire body light up.

“i love you,” you repeated, softer this time, looking up at him with eyes full of warmth. “i have for a while.”

kirishima genuinely thought he might pass out.

his mouth opened. then closed. then opened again. his brain was running at a thousand miles an hour, desperately trying to process what was happening.

you… loved him?

him?

his face was burning, his heart was pounding, his entire body felt like it was buzzing. he was so sure that he’d ruined everything. that you’d look at him with pity or let him down gently.

but instead, you had kissed his cheek. held his hand. told him you loved him.

and suddenly, every single ounce of nervousness and panic melted away.

because this was you.

the girl who always cheered for him. the girl who always listened to him ramble. the girl who had been by his side through everything.

the girl he had loved for so damn long.

a slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face.

“holy shit,” he breathed. “you—you love me?”

you giggled. “yes, eiji.”

a breathless laugh escaped him, and suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with himself. he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head, his heart soaring. “oh my god—I—wow—I cannot believe i just accidentally confessed—”

“would you have ever done it on purpose?” you teased lightly.

kirishima let out a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “…probably not.”

you squeezed his hand. “then i’m glad you did.”

his stomach flipped.

for a moment, he just looked at you, the realization settling in fully.

you loved him back.

you had always been his kind of woman. and now? now you were his.

he exhaled deeply, then, without thinking, squeezed your hand and tugged you just a little closer.

“so, uh… does this mean i get to kiss you now?” he asked, grinning despite the heat still burning his cheeks.

you laughed, rolling your eyes fondly. “yes, you dork.”

and with that, kirishima finally—finally—closed the distance.

the end.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

hi! congratulations on 2k ivy! i've only recently stumbled into your acc but i'm loving all of your works so far!

you write so good i feel like im actually in it, iykwim!

anyways, if it's okay with you, can i get a 🧸 teddy dust for mattheo or theo with the prompt; "look, i know i probably should have backed off and i apologize." "no, honestly it was kind of hot." "what??" (from the 2nd angst prompt list)

i love your works sm you're amazing! cheers to 2k again!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ reckless

synopsis: ever since you met mattheo, you knew he had a temper. but when some creep at a party gets too close to you, he completely snaps. now you're in his dorm, everyone yelling, but all you can think about is how pretty he looks when he's angry content warnings: violence, fighting, blood, suggestive tension, possessive!mattheo, mutual pining author's note: hi love!! ୨ৎ omg first of all, thank you so much for your sweet words, you have no idea how much that means to me ♡ hope you love it, darling—mwah!! ‹𝟹 nav. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀2k celebration. ⠀

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 705

The party had been going fine—better than fine, actually. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and the Slytherin common room was packed with students laughing, dancing, and generally causing trouble. But then, of course, someone had to ruin it.

You’d been trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of some Ravenclaw’s hand lingering too long on your wrist, his body crowding too close as he slurred something about how you were “too pretty to be this stuck-up.”

You were this close to hexing him when someone else stepped in.

More specifically—Mattheo. And more as in swung in.

The shift in the room was immediate. One second, you were glaring up at the guy, and the next, Mattheo was right there, shoving himself between you and the Ravenclaw.

His voice was low, lethal. "Touch her again, and I’ll break your fucking hand."

The guy scoffed, clearly thinking Mattheo was all talk—right up until Mattheo’s fist connected with his jaw.

The impact was loud. Gasps echoed around the room.

"For fuck’s sake, Riddle!" Draco groaned, already marching over.

Draco and Theodore had immediately shoved themselves between Mattheo and the guy before he could do worse. Lorenzo grabbed you by the wrist, tugging you back as Blaise and Pansy tried to calm the situation down. The guy scrambled away, cursing, but Mattheo still lunged after him, only stopped by Theodore gripping his shirt and yanking him back.

"Fucking hell, Riddle," Blaise hissed. "You wanna get expelled?"

"Expelled?" Pansy cut in, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she grabbed your hand. "More like murdered—if Snape finds out, he’s going to skin him alive."

"I’d like to see him try," Mattheo muttered, wiping his knuckles on his shirt.

"Are you dense?" Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you ever think before you act?"

Mattheo scoffed. "Oh, please. You lot would’ve done the same."

Theodore rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. "Doesn’t mean we’re not going to call you an idiot for it."

Eventually, after much grumbling, the boys dragged Mattheo upstairs to their dorm, with you and Pansy following close behind.

Once inside, the scolding resumed.

"If you break every guy’s nose who flirts with her, you’re going to run out of people to fight," Lorenzo pointed out.

"And fists," Blaise added.

"And brain cells," Theodore muttered.

"Bold of you to assume he has any left," Draco deadpanned.

Mattheo huffed, plopping onto his bed. "Whatever. Worth it."

Pansy shook her head before turning to you. "You okay, love?"

You nodded, offering a small smile. "I would’ve handled it, but..."

"But he had to go full knight-in-bloody-armor," Draco finished, rolling his eyes.

Blaise smirked. "Our resident guard dog."

Mattheo flipped him off. "Shut up."

Eventually, after much scolding (mostly from Pansy and Lorenzo), everyone trickled out, leaving you alone with Mattheo.

You exhaled, arms crossed as you leaned against the wall.

"Look, I know I probably should have backed off, and I apologize."

You let out a breathy laugh. "No, honestly, it was kind of hot."

Mattheo blinked. "What??"

You smirked, watching realization dawn on his face as he tilted his head at you, eyes darkening with mischief. "Ohhh. So you like watching me throw punches, huh? That’s a bit concerning, love."

You shoved his shoulder. "Shut up."

"No, no, this is good information. Noted." His grin was all teeth, but there was something softer in the way he looked at you now.

The air between you shifted. You could still see the adrenaline buzzing under his skin, the way his jaw flexed slightly, his lips still slightly parted like he had more he wanted to say.

So you decided to shut him up another way.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss. His hands immediately found your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as he responded instantly, tilting his head and deepening it like he’d been waiting for this.

When you finally pulled away, Mattheo was grinning like an idiot. "So, just to clarify—if I get into more fights, do I get more kisses?"

You rolled your eyes. "Try it and find out."

"Merlin, I love a challenge."

And just like that, Mattheo Riddle was absolutely, hopelessly gone for you.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

Everybody at the party seems to know somebody (who’s not me) pt. 2

Continuation of Part 1

2919 words | Set before the events of s3 | Rating: G (maybe T&up) |

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time Steve runs into Brown Eyes he’s freezing in an itchy, too small pair of shorts.

 He hasn’t seen him in—well he doesn’t know how long because keeping time after inter-dimensional shit goes down for the second time gets pretty difficult for him, but he knows he hasn’t seen him in long enough to forget what shade of brown his eyes were or maybe it was just dark and he never really got that good of a look in the first place but that didn’t really matter because he thought he would never see him again, he was supposed to never see him again.

Steve’s parents came back for all of three days to lecture him about hospital bills, bills he only had because the kids couldn’t tell their parents about the Upside Down. They didn’t ask about the scar that ran down his left arm, they didn’t ask why he was wearing medically prescribed glasses to numb the headaches they didn’t know he got and they didn’t ask if he was okay. The conversation ended with his father telling him that if he wasn’t going to college then he had to get a job to pay back the bills.

So here he was, elbow deep in ice cream that dried in flakes on his skin and pulling at the hem of shorts that couldn’t be his own. Robin must’ve mixed them up again. Hers fell to her knees and she had to pull them up with a huff whenever she moved. 

“Hello and welcome to Scoops Aboy!” She chirped at the kid standing in line, only just able to hide the dead eyed stare she’d had on a second ago, “What flavor can I get for you today?”

The kid stared before pushing one sweaty finger against the glass at the chocolate bin. They were out of chocolate.

Steve sighed because he knew he would be the one who would have to get it from the back freezer when the kid threw a fit and he knew he would be the one who had to clean the glass back to shining.

Robin was desperately trying to sell any other flavor to the kid, “It looks like we’re all out of chocolate, big guy. How about some banana extravaganza?”

The kid shook his head, “Chocolate!” He shouted, voice squeaking. Steve rubbed his temples.

“Hey, dingus, do we have chocolate in the back?”

Steve trudged over to the freezer, bracing himself for the chill, and threw open the door. Carefully arranging the leg of the break room chair to wedge between the door because it got stuck when it shut and the inside handle was frozen over.

Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Exactly one tub of double chunk-o chip chocolate ice cream sat on the shelf. Frozen to the metal, because of course it was.

“Okay, you can do this, just go out there and…be ice cream.” Jesus Christ. Talking to ice cream, Steven, talking to yourself in a dingy freezer.

Steve shook his head, rubbing his eyes to dispel his father’s voice. Steve blew into his hands, rubbing them together so he didn’t get freezer burn for a week—because that was something that happened when the ice cream sat on the shelf for too long—and tugged the bucket down.

When he managed to pry the tub of ice cream off the shelf Robin had already convinced the kid to get another flavor. 

“Thank you so much, Steve,” He dropped the tub on the counter, rolling his eyes, “It means a lot that you go into the freezer with all your migraines and concussions for nothing.” Stop whining, Steven, Harrington’s aren’t babies.

Robin just stared at him, deadpan, and Steve scoffed, grabbing a scooper to replace the chocolate ice cream. It wasn’t like he didn’t like her or anything, she was just weird. That was mean, he wasn’t that guy anymore, he was better than some high school peaking idiot now. He should apologize. He should apologize for a lot lately and so far he can’t say any of it, maybe he’s not so different from the asshole who stood by while his friends—

Robin dropped her scooper and shrugged off her vest, tossing her hat onto the table in the back as she walked past it, heading for the door.

“Hey, wait, where are you going? You can’t just leave me here.” Steve called. 

“Lady problems, dingus.” She didn’t even have to look back for Steve to know she was smirking.

Can’t even take one shift alone, Harrington men are supposed to be independent, Steven. He could—he would be fine on his own, he could handle this, it was just a few kids in a line that got longer and longer and—he was fine.

“Hello and welcome to Scoops Ahoy, what can I get for you today?” He droned on, customer after customer. 

It was nearing the end of his shift when it happened. Steve was grumpy and the lithonia lighting really drills into your eyes, goosebumps dotted his arms and legs. 

He was seconds away from filling his hat with ice cream and throwing it over his eyes to combat the headache forming and to top it all off some kid had dumped their banana split down the front of his shirt because it was ‘too cold’. The scratchy material of this stupid sailor costume was sticking to his chest, sopping wet and catching on the scar on his shoulder as if he needed another reminder that it was there, as if it didn’t already throb every few days just to show him he’d never really be okay again and he wanted to cry—if he hadn’t been in public he would’ve been sobbing on the floor. Get yourself together, Steven, you’re a working man not a pathetic little girl.

The bell rang again and he gave himself a second to prepare before lifting his head and facing the customer.

“Hello and welcome to Scoops Ahoy, how may I help you on this fine—” Steve looked up, breath catching when he saw a familiar face, hazel—they were hazel, “—day.”

“Uh…” Brown Eyes’ eyes darted around, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey.” Steve said, sounding more breathless than he felt but that was stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking hey, “I…uh, I wasn’t expecting—” to ever see you again, to ever think about that night again but that’s lie because it’s all I can ever think about. Because Steve had told himself to forget about it, give up on whatever had happened and live a normal life but now—

“Look, man, I didn’t even know you worked here,” Brown Eyes was putting his wallet away, “if I had then I never would’ve come here, I swear.”

“You wouldn’t?” He hadn’t meant to sound so pathetic. Pull yourself together, Steven, have we taught you nothing. Pathetic pathetic pathetic.

Brown Eyes’ eyebrows crinkled, “No?” But he sounded confused which Steve couldn’t blame him for. 

He’d been confused a lot since that night. Confused about why he let the gap close, why he pushed forward—why he liked it because that’s not something that happens to him. He liked girls, just like every other guy in this godforsaken town who liked girls, he had to because he and Tommy kissed once in fifth grade on a Saturday night after baseball practice just to see if it would feel different and Tommy had pushed him away gagging. Tommy had told him that his dad was right and boys shouldn’t kiss boys because it was gross so Steve didn’t think about why it didn’t feel different and they never talked about it again. Hadn’t thought about it again, until he was ducking under arms and following strangers to get away from Tommy years later at a party he wished would end and maybe it wasn’t as gross as he told himself it was. Maybe—maybe he—

Steve heard the back door open and slam closed and took his chance, “I’m taking my break, Robin!” He yelled as he grabbed Brown Eyes’ wrist over the counter and pulled him around it, walking them both to the freezer and passing an exasperated Robin.

“You already took a break, Dingus, you can’t just decide to take another!”

But he didn’t stop and she just rolled her eyes.

Brown Eyes was glancing around frantically, “Listen I’m sorry! I’ll leave you alone, dude, I get it! You didn’t mean to kiss me, I stupidly thought that was what was happening. It won’t happen again, I swear, man!”

The freezer lights were blinding and the faint buzz was more grating than usual. If Steve were thinking about it he would’ve known he was dizzier than he should have been. If he had been thinking about it he would have picked up on the beginnings of a migraine worming its way in. 

He wasn’t thinking about it, unfortunately, because Brown Eyes was still rambling and he was really cute when he was nervous but Steve wished he wouldn’t. Because Steve’s been doing some thinking since that night, thinking about why it didn’t feel so gross when Tommy kissed him, thinking about why he felt like he’d been strung up and gutted when Brown Eyes took off. He’s been doing some thinking and he’s pretty damn glad he did it before he had to face Brown Eyes again.

The second time they kissed was no more coordinated than the first—probably less so because Brown Eyes was mid apology and Steve flinched when the freezer door slammed shut—

Shit.

Brown Eyes hadn’t moved. He just stood there, mouth hanging open—well opening and closing and then opening again like he didn’t know what to do with it—eyes wide and confused. Because—because Steve kissed him, what the fuck was he thinking? Harringtons aren’t fucking queer Steven. And they weren’t, they weren’t. 

What would your father say? And for the first time since he’s ever really thought about it it was his mother’s voice.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered, backing against the cold metal shelf, “I’m sorry.” He muttered again because he didn’t know what else there was to say.

Maybe it was the plummeting feeling in his stomach that did it. The swooping and the dull thud of his heart against his ribs—he didn’t know. But he was doubling over so fast his already throbbing head spun, falling on shaking knees, not fast enough to swallow the bile before he was emptying whatever was left of his stomach into an empty tub of ice cream.

There was a panicked squeak behind him, “Uh, are you—should I—“ and then he was crouching down beside him, “I didn’t realize I was that bad of a kisser, Jesus, Harrington.”

 And Steve couldn’t help the snort that fell out of him even though it made his nose burn and his eyes water.

Brown Eyes hadn’t stopped fidgeting, “Sorry, sorry, that was stupid—I don’t know why I said that, just nobody’s ever thrown up around me and I don’t really know what to do. I guess rambling’s not the most comforting thing in the world and I can’t stop talking. Do you—should I get—I should go get napkins, probably, right? I’ll do that, yeah, just…wait here—”

But Steve reached out, stopping him with a hand on his wrist because he’d been so caught up in his own head that he forgot to stop the door and maybe he should have felt embarrassed for wiping his mouth on that stupid hat but, “Can’t go anywhere, man. Door’s stuck.” He breathed.

“Shit.” Brown Eyes swore.

“Yeah.” Steve sat up, wincing at the bucket and pushing it away, “‘’Sides, I can handle myself.”

“Right, no, obviously—“ Brown Eyes kept spinning a ring around his finger, tapping a pattern on his knuckles, “Has that—does that happen a lot?”

Steve huffed, leaning his head back against the metal shelf and closing his eyes as the sharp pain spiked behind his eyes, “Migraines. Happens if I ignore them.”

Brown Eyes slid down the shelf, he had a chain link hanging from his belt and it clacked steadily down. He opened his mouth again, barely took a breath before he was closing it and then seemed to shake off whatever nervous energy clung to him.

“Why’d—uh, why’d you ignore it?” He asked, and then, “Oh. Shit, man, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“Dude,” Steve let his head tip, ear stinging where it pressed into the cold metal of the storage shelf, to look at Brown Eyes, “It’s not your fault, not like you knew about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right— obviously. No way I could’ve known, I mean it’s not like we know each other.” He was still moving. An almost jumpy motion to the way he spun his rings, pulled his hair in front of his face, tapped his foot against the tile floor over and over, “I mean we do—or I do. Figure you’ve heard rumors but never put a face to the name, huh, Harrington?”

And Steve caught the almost hopeful way Brown Eyes said his name, the hopeful but shame-filled and god if he didn’t know about shame. The longing that curled bittersweet in his stomach every time he was reminded of a life he could never be brave enough to take for his own. The overwhelmingly dreadful certainty that he would only ever live to settle down, to buy a house and start a family and die a peaceful death beside some woman he liked well enough because technically it wasn’t out of the picture for him. 

Because maybe all this thinking he’s been doing has opened his eyes to the parts of him he was suppressing but it didn’t make the other parts, the parts that wanted a family and small little porch that overlooked a garden that won best in show at the neighborhood fair, just disappear. And he knew the path his life would take him down and he accepted it because he was scared, a fucking coward. Fought fucking demons and you’re still afraid, Steven, always afraid. So he ignored it, the hope. For now.

“’S not like you ever told me yours.” Steve hadn’t meant to sound so pissy about it, he wasn’t owed the guy’s name just because they kissed. Never be anything better than a high school bully, Steven, we raised you better than this—

But then Brown Eyes grinned, snorting a little in surprise. Leaned in fast, close enough Steve could feel their breath mix between them and just looked at him like maybe he was going to finally tell him. Or kiss him again. And honestly Steve would welcome either option.

“Maybe I like the mystery.” Brown Eyes was enjoying this entirely too much.

Steve was about to respond, shoot back some snarky reply because that was okay to do now, it would be reciprocated, when he heard the yelling.

“Hey, dingus! Your children are here!” Robin. She pounded on the door, “Jesus, d’you seriously get stuck again?”

Steve sucked in a breath, ignored the sharp pain that speared through his head as he scrambled off the floor. He caught Brown Eyes’ eye, the resignation in them, and only had a second to feel guilty about what must’ve looked like the embarrassment of being caught together. Only had a second to reach out, thought maybe he could grab his hands—it’s not you, it’s not you, it’s the fear, it’s always the fear and I can’t do a damn thing about it. But that sounded far too much like a break up to say to somebody you’ve only kissed twice. Somebody whose name you don’t even know. It’s not you, it’s me, because I don’t even know you but if I did it’d still be me.

The door swung open, Robin keeping it from closing on them with her foot, “What the hell are you doing in here, dude?” She asked, “We’ve got customers. Your tiny friends.” 

“Right. I’ll—uh,” Steve glanced back at Brown Eyes, helpless to say anything as he pushed himself up and made for the door.

“Thanks for the tour, man but I should really get going.” No, no, wait, not now please wait, Brown Eyes tipped his head at Robin in a little curtsy as he read her name tag and it would’ve been endearing if Steve’s heart wasn’t pounding in his ears, crawling up his lungs and choking him, “All the gratitude for freeing us, lady Robin. See you around, Harrington.” 

Except you won’t, Steve wanted to call out, I graduated, I don’t know your name, stay stay stay—

“Steve.” Robin clapped her hands, “Small children. Waiting for you at the counter.”

When Steve looked back at the door Brown Eyes was gone.

“I got that, thanks.” He muttered.

If he gave Mike a little less ice cream in his free sample when the kid told him he was ‘watching the door wistfully’ he didn’t notice. And if he blamed his sour mood on his headache then it wasn’t technically a lie.

And if anyone noticed anything about it, they didn’t comment.

When Steve got home he hung his jacket up in his closet, bumped the door with his hip by accident and sucked in a breath when he saw the shoes. The ones Brown Eyes left at the party. The ones he’d kept, stupidly telling himself he would return them if he ever got the chance only he’d had the chance and he hadn’t said anything about them. 

Now he never would have the chance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 3?

Fun Fact: I got so much second hand embarrassment from writing Steve throwing up that I had to stop writing for 2 days

PERMANENT tag list (open):

@yesdangerpls, @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse, @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin, @tinyplanet95, @gatorguy777, @grtwdsmwhr

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 cherry lipstick : harry potter

▰▰ pairing: harry potter x fem!reader

when harry's curious about lipstick, she takes him by surprise— by showing him how it tastes.

mari talks! had to get this out of my mind, I'll always love flustered/awkward harry potter.

Harry had tried to keep himself away from her. He really tried. But how could he, when she has this pull on him that no one else has. Her effect is always immediate, every time she walks into a room, Harry feels the need to drop everything if only just to look at her.

She is beautiful, of course Harry is not the first or last one to notice it. But he is the first to be distracted enough by her to end up blowing up a potion on his own face. That had landed him a scold from Snape and then— detention.

Snape had made him come back after the day ended to clean the potions classroom without magic. And it was a mess, not only after the disaster Harry himself had managed to pull, but also because first years had been receiving class after.

What he wasn't expecting was for her to walk into the room a few minutes later. "you're late, miss y/l/n" Snape told her without even looking up from the book he was reading, his voice cold. "I believe, the reason you were assigned detention again was because you were late to class."

Harry, who was trying very hard to stop himself from looking at her, rolled his eyes. "She's only two minutes late, I'm sure she'll be fine." he mumbled, because Harry was never one to control his smart mouth.

Snape looked up just to glare at him for the interruption. "As I was saying, that's thirty minutes more added to your detention, miss y/n. And since Potter made it clear that he doesn't mind a few minutes more, he will stay with you."

He barely has time to react before Snape looks at the clock on his desk and shuts down his book abruptly, tucks it under his arm and strides towards the door. "I have a meeting. You two better stay here and have everything clean when I'm back or else you'll spend tomorrow night cleaning again."

And with that, he steps out of the classroom, the door behind him closing with a click.

Silence, then— "thanks for trying I guess." she tells him softly as she takes a rag and comes closer to help Harry clean the desks.

"Couldn't help myself" He replies without looking up, he doesn't want to make a fool of himself.

She giggles but doesn't add anything else so they spend the next thirty minutes in silence and it's starting to drive Harry crazy, but he doesn't know how to start a conversation with her, he's way too nervous. Instead, he steals glances at her from time to time.

She's the one to break the silence again when she stops and looks around. "Do you reckon Snape would know if we used magic?"

When Harry looks up, she's already looking at him with her head tilted, an amused little smile on her lips. "His greasy head always knows everything." Harry tells her, smiling when he hears her giggling again.

He's expecting her to keep cleaning but instead she drops the rag, reaching into her robe and pulling something small. Harry doesn’t know what it is until she takes the cap off.

Lipstick.

He just can't help but watch, helpless, as she twists the tube and leans against the nearest reflective surface to apply it carefully on her lips.

Oh Harry's doomed. He knows he is. His heart pounds so loudly he's almost afraid she'll hear it. But she doesn't seem aware of it as she glides the lipstick over her lips, then pressing them together softly before pulling back to inspect her work.

He's so far gone that he doesn’t notice her turning around until it's too late, and he's not able to look away before she catches him staring at her.

"What?" She asks, her voice soft but full of amusement.

Harry gulps down, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously. He desperately tries to think of a normal excuse, but he can only stutter his way through words:

"I- I'm just- I guess I'm just curious about—" he feels like he's choking on words so he stops, looking away, the red on his cheeks giving away how embarrased he feels.

Her eyebrows raise, but far from being offended like Harry suspected she would, she smiles. If anything, she looks mischievous.

"Do you want to taste it, Potter?" She asks, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Harry, ever oblivious, thinks it's just a tiny bit weird for her to offer her lipstick to him. But maybe she just finds it funny, so he simply agrees. "Yeah, I guess."

As she comes closer, he thinks she'll swipe some lipstick onto his lips. But then, she's stepping even closer and he's not sure he can even breathe. He finally understands what she was asking.

And before he can even think, she leans in— And kisses him. Soft, sweet. A simple press of lips, but Harry is so shocked into stillness that he doesn't think of doing anything, his heart racing.

When she pulls away, Harry's still frozen on his spot as her eyes flicker over his face, amusement shining through her expression.

"Well?" She asks, lips still so temptingly close to him. "Did you like it?"

Harry swallows thickly, and he has to stop himself from licking his lips as the cherry taste lingers on them.

"I—" he clears his throat, and he doesn’t even know where he gathers the confidence to keep talking. "I think I need to try it again. Just to be sure."

Her laugh is cut short by him pulling her by the waist to kiss her again, cherry lipstick melting against his lips.

The door creaks open almost an hour and a few more kisses later, and Snape walks back into the room, his face cold and unimpressed. Harry's just grateful they weren't caught, trying to act nonchalant and get his focus back on wiping down another table.

"Well, I expected a little more." Snape says as he surveys the room. "But at least you two managed not to destroy the classroom further. A miracle, truly."

While Harry hopes Snape doesn’t notice just out of it he is, y/n seems to be way better at keeping her cool, though he can swear he sees her trying to hide a smirk.

"I guess you're both dismissed, you can-" Snape interrupts himself once his eyes fall on Harry. "Potter, what is that on your lips?"

Harry's entire brain short-circuits. He could try to come up with some half-assed excuse, but— "Alright, Good night!" and then he's bolting out of the door.

y/n, much more composed, smiles at Snape as she walks pass him. "This was a lovely evening, professor" She says before casually following Harry out.

Snape doesn't have enough patience to try and find out what that was about.

Harry stumbles down the hallway, heart pounding, still flustered. It doesn’t take her too much time to catch up to him. "Leaving in a hurry, Potter?" She teases, her smile bright.

Harry groans, running a hand through his already messy hair—courtesy of y/n. "He was looking at me like he knew!"

"Oh he definitely knew." she hums, totally unbothered. "I mean, you did look suspicious with the whole— y'know." she gestures at his still stained lips.

He gapes at her, his cheeks burning. But he doesn't try to add anything else, his embarrasment still too big and his heart hammering in his chest as they walk side by side.

But when they're about to part ways, he can't help himself before he's blurting, "Go to hogsmeade with me this weekend."

For once, she seems taken by surprise, raising her eyebrows at him. "Like a date?"

He wasn't thinking about it as a date—well, he wasn't thinking at all to begin with. But the idea doesn’t sound bad at all. Who's he trying to trick? he really likes it.

"Yes, a date." He nods when he realizes she's still waiting for his reply.

She smiles, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You can try strawberry lipstick next, see if you like it."

Harry laughs, definitely caught off guard. "Is that a yes?"

She's already strutting away from him, but she throws him a smile over her shoulder. "I'd love to, Harry."

Harry's heart jumps at the way she says his name, and he watches her walk away before he races up the stairs.

A few minutes later, when he bursts into his room, Ron immediately points at him. "Mate why are your lips so red?" he squints "is that lipstick on your cheek?"

He can only groan in response, dropping onto his bed and covering his face with his arm. He swears he could die right now.

But the stupid smile on his lipstick covered face? Yeah, he's definitely not getting rid of that anytime soon.

[00valentina-writes00]

hey omg I love the way u write Sevika and vi sm, idk if you've done one or if you would be alright doing one, I looked and I didn't see one, but could you maybe do sevika or vi and reader with an active restrictive ed? if not I understand !

♡♥︎Sevika and Vi with a girl that has an Restrictive ED♥︎♡

♡Sevika♡

♥︎ Sevika is intensely protective, but she hides it behind her usual blunt demeanor. She’s the type to keep a close eye on you without being overly obvious. She doesn’t talk much about it, but she notices the little things—like the way you avoid certain foods or how you seem to get tired after barely eating.

♥︎ When she first realized what was going on, it wasn’t through any conversation. It was through the subtle shifts: you being extra careful when talking about food, your discomfort with eating around her, and the bruises on your body from low energy. Sevika didn’t need anyone to tell her what was happening—she could read you too well.

♥︎ She won’t push you to talk about it until you’re ready. If you do talk about it, she listens with this quiet intensity, offering no judgment. Her expression is stoic, but there’s a kind of softness in her eyes, like she’s trying to process everything without making you feel weak.

♥︎ Sevika’s the type to watch over you when you’re eating, making sure you actually do. If you try to avoid food, she’ll quietly set it in front of you again, no words, just a look. She won’t let you skip meals, even if she has to put a hand on your shoulder to keep you grounded.

♥︎ The fact that you’re avoiding food only adds to her frustration and helplessness. She can’t fix it by brute force, and that makes her feel powerless. But she never shows it. She’ll just keep making sure there’s always food nearby and you’re taken care of, no matter how many times you try to push her away.

♥︎ There’s a part of her that feels responsible, like if she were stronger, maybe you’d feel safer, more secure. She knows that’s not true, but it still nags at her. Sometimes she’ll hold you at night and remind you, in her own way, that you don’t need to do this alone.

♥︎ When she notices you’re not eating enough, her usual sharp tone softens, and she’ll ask, “You sure you’re good?” in a way that feels like a command, but it’s also her way of trying to break through.

♥︎ Sevika doesn’t always have the words to help, but she has actions. She makes sure you have things that bring you comfort: a warm drink, a favorite snack, blankets, or her presence when you need it. It’s not much, but it’s something.

♥︎ If you try to go too long without eating, she’ll get serious, her usual intimidating presence sharpening. “You’re eating, or I’ll make you.” It’s not a threat, it’s a promise. She’s not afraid to hold you accountable in a way that’ll make you feel both loved and safe.

♥︎ On the rare occasions when you try to hide away from her, she’ll show up anyway—silent but there. Sevika knows how to break down walls without needing to raise her voice. She’ll sit across from you, keeping the space calm, waiting for you to open up.

♥︎ Sevika’s trust in you is immense, but she also knows your limits. She never asks you to be “fixed” or to heal instantly. Instead, she takes a steady approach, allowing you space while always showing you that she’s there when you need her.

♥︎ She won’t let you feel guilty for not being perfect, and she makes sure you know that you’re not defined by what you eat or how much you eat. “I’m not going anywhere,” she’ll say, and you’ll know she means it, even if she doesn’t always show it.

♥︎ Her idea of support often involves subtle things—like taking care of you when you’re too tired to, but doing it in a way that doesn’t make you feel like a burden. She knows how to read your body language, and if you need a break, she’ll insist on it with a sharpness that’s still laced with care.

♥︎ When you’re struggling with yourself, Sevika doesn’t offer false reassurances. Instead, she’ll say, “I’ll be here. But you’ve got to fight for yourself, too.” She respects your autonomy, but also makes it clear that she’s not letting you slip through the cracks.

♥︎ She takes her role as protector seriously, but she’s not the type to impose rules or restrictions. If you want help, she’s there. If you need space, she respects it. Sevika knows that some battles can’t be fought with force.

♥��� Sevika doesn’t demand you get better, but she does demand that you don’t give up. She’ll tell you, “You’re worth it,” in the quietest moments when you need it most, and in those moments, it feels like a quiet warcry that she’ll stand beside you through anything.

♥︎ If you get sick or weak from not eating, Sevika takes action. She’ll refuse to let you hide it, won’t let you ignore it. “You think I don’t notice?” she’ll growl with concern hidden beneath her irritation. She’ll push through the coldness, demanding you take care of yourself.

♥︎ Sometimes, she’ll silently make you a meal, knowing you’ll push back, but she’ll leave it there. If you don’t eat it, it’s okay. But when you do, it feels like a silent victory that she quietly celebrates.

♥︎ She doesn’t need to say it out loud, but Sevika will show you in every gesture that you’re enough, no matter what.

♡Vi♡

♥︎ Vi’s the type of person who won’t notice right away, but once she does, it hits her like a ton of bricks. She’s always been the kind of person to focus on action, but when it comes to you, her instincts kick in, and she starts noticing every little change—the way you avoid food, how you get quieter, and how you push yourself harder than usual.

♥︎ When she first realizes what’s going on, it’s not through a direct confrontation. It’s the way you keep pulling away when food is brought up, the exhaustion on your face that doesn’t seem to fade, no matter how much you sleep. She’ll know something’s wrong, and it’ll tear her up inside.

♥︎ Vi’s protective nature goes into overdrive, but in her usual way, she tries not to smother you with concern. If she sees you avoiding food, she’ll offer a small, knowing “You good?” and leave it at that. She won’t push you too hard, but her eyes never leave you until she’s sure you’re alright.

♥︎ The first time you try to skip a meal, she won’t let you get away with it. She’ll put a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but gentle. “You’re not gonna pull that with me, sweetheart,” she’ll say, her voice a low growl. You won’t be able to lie to her, even if you try to make excuses.

♥︎ Vi doesn’t have much patience for pretending everything’s fine. If you’re struggling, she wants you to be real about it. She’ll sit with you while you eat, even if it’s just a snack, and talk about anything and everything to keep you distracted. She’ll make it a point to show you that food doesn’t have to be a battle

♥︎ She might not always get why you’re doing it, but she understands what it feels like to fight against yourself. Vi’s seen her own demons, and she won’t let you face yours alone, even if she doesn’t always know how to help. “I’ve got your back, no matter what,” she’ll remind you, and you’ll feel the weight of her words.

♥︎ There’s a certain tenderness in the way Vi will catch you when you get too quiet, too withdrawn. Her large, strong hands will gently hold your face, looking at you with this intensity that says, “Don’t hide from me.” She’s not going to let you fall without at least trying to catch you first.

♥︎ She won’t make you feel weak or ashamed. If you can’t eat, she’ll simply pull you closer, a steady presence in your life, reminding you that you’re loved no matter what. Vi’s biggest strength is that she makes you feel like you matter, like you’re worth taking care of.

♥︎ If you push her away or try to keep your struggles to yourself, Vi’s never afraid to challenge you. “I know you’re tough, but you’re not a damn robot,” she’ll say, her voice soft but firm. She doesn’t want you to feel like you have to do everything on your own, even if it’s hard to accept help.

♥︎ Vi might be rough around the edges, but when it comes to you, she knows how to be gentle. She’ll show up with food and a soft smile, asking, “Wanna eat with me, or should I just keep you company while you pick at your plate?” It’s her way of saying she’s not going anywhere, even when things are tough.

♥︎ When you finally do eat, it’s like a small victory to her. She’ll notice every little bit you put in your mouth, and when you take that first bite, she’ll praise you quietly, “Good job, babe. Proud of you.” Her words might be simple, but they’re full of care, making you feel like you’re on the right path.

♥︎ Vi doesn’t push for big, dramatic moments. She knows the small things matter the most. If you’re struggling, she’ll hold you close, remind you of your strength, and kiss your forehead like she’s trying to pass on some of her own fire to you.

♥︎ She gets frustrated when you don’t take care of yourself, but it’s not because she’s angry with you—it’s because she hates seeing you suffer. “You’re too important to be doing this to yourself,” she’ll mutter, frustration laced with concern. But underneath it all, you’ll feel the love that drives her to want to protect you.

♥︎ There are days when you’ll feel like you’re failing, but Vi won’t let you give up on yourself. She won’t sugarcoat things—she’s not one for false reassurances—but she’ll always remind you, “You’ve got a fight in you. Don’t lose that.”

♥︎ When it gets hard, Vi will let you lean on her. Her arms will be there to hold you, her chest to rest your head against. She won’t ask you to talk if you don’t want to, but she’ll always let you know she’s there, standing by your side, ready to support you in the way that you need.

♥︎ Vi’s the kind of person who won’t let you fade into the background. If you try to isolate yourself, she’s right there, pulling you back. She’ll remind you that you don’t have to do this alone. And even if you don’t feel like it, you’ll start to believe that you’re worth the fight.

[nereidprinc3ss]

you’re my best friend

in which spencer reid has to teach your young son how to make friends nicely after a day at the park gone awry

fluff!! warnings/tags: fem!reader, husband!spencer yum, boy dad spencer enters the nereidprinc3ss cinematic universe!!!! yayyy!! but you still have a baby daughter as well, Spencer would 100% give his children old people names I'm sorry, gentle parenting Spencer my beloved a/n: I really miss spring its my favorite season so I found this draft that feels very springy and it makes me very happy also.. the name... like queen... also this is old so its probably not winning a pulitzer

The sun beats down just shy of hot on the sheath of fresh grass where you and Spencer are comforting your crying son—the ground beneath your blanket is a lush, verdant carpet, still cool with springtime rain but not wet. 

All of this pleasantry is lost on your son Oliver. He’s too focused on the scraped knee he sustained when he got pushed over on the wood chips. Marianne, your baby girl, is gurgling happily in her little bassinet next to you. Whoever said raising girls was harder had obviously never met the Reid siblings. Oliver is a drama queen—something you suspect he inherited from his father. 

“See? All better,” your husband is saying, wedding band glinting as gold as the curls that fall to his eyes as he smooths a bandaid over Oli’s wound. Seeing him like this never gets old.

Oli’s crying chokes to a confused halt. 

“It still hurts,” he complains. 

“I’m sorry, buddy. But you shouldn’t’ve pushed.”

“I wanted to be her f-friend,” Oli says, his sweet little bow lips (all Spencer) beginning to pout again. 

Your husband wipes Oliver’s already teary cheeks gently. “I know, but she didn’t know that. Not everybody likes to be pushed, even when you’re playing, because it’s kinda mean, isn’t it?”

“I was not being mean.”

“Do you push all your friends?”

“Sometimes,” Oliver says stormily. Spencer gives him a knowing look. 

“Are you sure you didn’t push her just because she’s a girl?”

Little shoulders raise and drop heavily. Guilty. 

“I know it’s sometimes hard to make friends with girls, but they generally don’t like being pushed. Not anymore than boys do. Maybe even less.”

“Then how do I make friends with them?”

Spencer considers this. 

“Well… how do you usually make friends?”

“I ask if they wanna play.”

“Sounds like you already know how to make friends with girls, then. That’s all you have to do.”

“How did you be friends with mommy?” Oli asks, bunching the blanket in his little hand. You smile to yourself.  

Spencer’s eyes flash up to you for only a second, his lips parted in what only you would recognize to be amusement. 

“I was super nice to her. Me and mommy are really good friends, right?”

Oliver nods dutifully. 

“Do you know why?”

A shake of his little curly head, this time.

“Because when you’re nice to someone, it usually makes them want to be your friend. Not always. But you have a much better chance that way. If I pushed mommy the first time we met, I don’t think we’d be here today.”

Your lips flatten to zip in a laugh. To Oliver, this is a very serious matter. To you, too. It’s important that he grows up to treat people well. 

“Why not?”

Spencer dodges the question smoothly. 

“Why don’t you try going to apologize to her? She might not want to talk to you, and that’s okay. But if you say you’re sorry, maybe you guys can play nicely together.”

This determines the already willful Oliver, who pushes up clumsily before running down the knoll on his short legs and approaching the swing set where his earlier assailant now plays alone. He stops far enough away that he can make a break for it if she gets a fixing to push him again. Smart boy. 

You and Spencer observe the interaction carefully, and while you can’t hear what’s being said, things seem to go well. Soon they’re making their way to the little kid’s playground in tandem. 

“Super nice, huh?”

“I really wanted to be your friend,” Spencer counters, scooting closer to Marianne’s bassinet. “Hi, angel,” he coos, demeanor instantly softening as he strokes her soft cheek. You can’t help smiling. The look in his eyes is truly something to behold. “God, I’m never gonna get over how much she looks like you.”

You preen and try to hide it. “You can’t possibly know that yet. Her skeletal structure is far from fully developed.” 

“Uh oh,” Spencer says to Marianne, offering her a quarter of a strawberry from a Tupperware. “Mommy is starting to sound like me. Is that scary, or what?”

Marianne cackles and burbles and takes the fruit with her little clutching fingers, only missing her mouth the first time she tries to eat it. 

“You’re so good at this,” you murmur thoughtlessly. The moment Oliver was born he’d been a natural. Earlier, even. You saw it in his eyes the second you tearfully told him you were pregnant. He’s a man of many gifts—and that extends to the way he parents. 

His gaze turns to you, still just as soft, but more knowing, on you. It’s comforting, to be known and seen and loved like that. 

“Couldn’t do it without you.”

“Corny,” you tease.

He shuffles on his knees to be closer to you. “Biologically factual.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he pulls you into him with an arm and presses a firm kiss to your head. 

“Have I told you how much I appreciate you recently?” He murmurs into the quiet dark against your temple, shielded from the spring sun. 

You’re melting in his hold, the way you always do. “Mhm.”

“Good. There’s nobody I’d rather be super nice to.”

You breathe him in—feel the rush of happy chemicals flood your brain.

“What if I pushed you?”

“You wouldn’t do that,” he asserts, pulling back and framing your face between his hands. 

“But if I did.”

He regards you with narrowed eyes. 

“Why? Am I in trouble?”

“Maybe.” But you say it too coyly. The corner of his mouth twitches. 

“I’d forgive you,” Spencer murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. “But if you want to be my friend, you can just ask, lovely.”

One more quick peck, and he’s situating himself to lay his head in your lap once more. You slide his sunglasses on for him once he’s settled, and he catches your hand, kissing your knuckles. Your lips twist. 

“You make it so hard to want to push you. I need you to be mean.”

He laughs. 

“Too bad. I like being nice to you.”

[holylulusworld]

This kiss...

Summary: Bucky kept his distance for as long as he could.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, sneaky Tony

Written for @avengers-assemble-bingo Valentine's Event.

He’s nervous as hell, tugging at the tie he’s wearing only for her.

James Buchanan Barnes faced Red Skull. He faced Hydra. Hell, he faced half of the Avengers.

He defeated enemy after enemy without missing a beat.

Today, he faces his greatest fear. He swallows thickly while trying to remember his speech—no, not a speech, only the words he practiced again and again.

Bucky is nervous, scared, and excited at the same time. He’s worried to fuck his only chance to win you over up.

He stands in front of your building, taking deep breaths. Bucky rubs his hands together, fighting the cold spreading through his body as you step out of the building.

He’s about to walk toward you as a stranger steps out of the building. The man talks to you, laughing at something you said.

“No,” Bucky murmurs to himself. “I waited too long.” His heart squeezes in his chest as he looks your way. He’s about to walk back to his bike when you call his name.

“Buck!” You giggle and cross the street, not even looking left and right to reach him as fast as possible. “I knew you wouldn’t forget our date!”

“Date?” He furrows his brows.

Bucky straightens his tie again as his eyes scan every inch of your body. You look so pretty in your classic 1950s-style polka dot dress with a fitted bodice, cinched waist, and full, flared skirt. You steal his breath when you step closer to place your hand on his chest.

“Yes,” you excitedly say while grabbing his tie to play with it. “Where do we want to go? You didn’t say it when you called me this morning.” You dreamily smile up at Bucky because he finally asked you out.

Bucky swears you are looking so sweet you steal the breath out of his lungs. He just knows he needs to kiss you to test if this is all real.

“Anywhere you want to go,” he softly says. His hands cup your face, and he presses his lips to yours. Gently and slowly at first. Your lips feel soft against his. He moans, and his whole body almost shakes the first time he kisses you.

You gasp against his lips but eagerly kiss him back. Pressing gently against him, you whine. Your hands go to his chest and run through his hair, eager to touch and explore.

Bucky wraps his arms around you, never wanting to let go of you.

You only break the kiss to breathe again, smiling as he lovingly looks at you in his arms.

“So, where do you want to go, Buck?”

"Kiss me again, and I'll tell you," Bucky replies before stealing another kiss.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve looks around the communal room. He came back from a date and wanted to ask Bucky if he finally found the guts to ask you out.

“On a date,” Tony chews audibly on the leftovers of his Valentine’s dinner. “I hope he gets laid. There’s nothing more annoying than a grumpy old man who needs to get laid.”

“Date?” Steve questions. “Did he finally ask Y/N out?”

Tony shrugs. “Kinda.”

Steve quirks a brow at Tony's response. “What’s that supposed to mean, Tony?”

“Maybe,” Tony says and looks over his shoulder, “I asked Friday to call Y/N and use Buckethead’s voice to ask her out. They shared a kiss and went on a date. Mission accomplished. Another satisfied client.”

Tags in reblog.

[nishikio]

The Breaking Point

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

࿐ ࿔:･ﾟPairing: idolbf!riki x f!reader

࿐ ࿔:･ﾟGenre: angst

࿐ ࿔:･ﾟWarnings: none

──── ୨୧ ────

It’s late. The lights from the concert stage have long faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the city beneath the hotel room. Y/n sits by the window, watching the lights flicker below. The glass feels cold against her fingertips, a contrast to the warmth that used to exist between her and riki. But that warmth has been fading—slowly at first, then all at once, like the last ember of a fire dying out.

The door clicks open behind her. She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t have to. She knows it’s him.

Riki steps inside, still in his stage clothes, his hair a little messy from the performance, but there’s no exhaustion in his posture—only distance. His presence doesn’t fill the room the way it used to. If anything, it makes it feel smaller, suffocating.

y/n swallows the lump in her throat and stands, her heart already racing. “Riki,” she says softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before tossing his bag onto the bed with more force than necessary. The silence stretches between them, thick and unbearable.

And then, without even looking at her, he says, “We need to talk.”

The words hit like a slap. Y/n’s stomach twists painfully, but she forces herself to nod. “Okay,” she whispers. “Then talk.”

Riki finally meets her gaze, and for the first time in weeks, she realizes how far away he already is. There’s something cold in his expression—indifference, maybe, or something even worse.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says bluntly. “Us.”

y/n flinches. It’s not what he’s saying, it’s how he’s saying it. Detached. Like she’s a problem he’s finally found the courage to get rid of.

“What?” Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t care. “You can’t just—riki, where is this coming from?”

His jaw clenches. He looks away, shaking his head. “Don’t act like you didn’t see this coming. You had to have felt it, too.”

She takes a step forward, desperate, grasping at something—anything. “Felt what? That you’ve been ignoring me? That you’ve been pushing me away?” She exhales shakily. “I thought we were just going through a rough patch. I thought you just needed time.”

Riki scoffs, and the sound cuts through her like a knife. “Time?” He lets out a bitter laugh, finally meeting her eyes again. “Y/n, I’ve been trying. I really have. But I just… I don’t feel the same way anymore.”

The room spins.

No. No, he’s lying. He has to be.

Her hands tremble as she shakes her head. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I do.”

The finality in his tone makes her knees go weak.

She lets out a shuddering breath, forcing herself to stand her ground. “So that’s it? You’re just done? Just like that?”

Riki shrugs, like it doesn’t even matter. Like she doesn’t even matter. “It’s not working anymore.”

Y/n stares at him, trying to find something—anything—that resembles the boy she fell in love with. But she can’t. He’s already gone.

“You’re a coward,” she whispers, her voice thick with tears. “You don’t get to stand here and act like I’m the problem. You’re the one who gave up.”

riki’s expression hardens, his gaze sharp. “Maybe I did,” he says coldly. “And maybe you should, too.”

The words steal the air from her lungs.

She bites her lip to stop the sob from escaping, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. But it’s useless. She’s breaking, and he’s just standing there, watching it happen.

Y/n inhales shakily, straightening her posture even though her heart is in pieces. “I hope you realize what you’re throwing away,” she murmurs. “I hope you regret this.”

Riki doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink. “I won’t.”

And that’s what finally makes her stop fighting.

She nods slowly, taking a step back. “Okay,” she whispers. “Then I won’t, either.”

She turns before he can see her cry. Before she can change her mind.

She doesn’t slam the door when she leaves. She doesn’t say goodbye.

She just walks away.

And this time, he doesn’t stop her.

[coffeegnomee]

Forever thinking about how Spoke's betrayal of Parrot had such a smaller negative emotional impact to me than Jumper's betrayal even though both were months long undercover operations culminating in an abuse of the friendship for an ulterior personal motive that caused server-wide implications, mostly for the fact that Spoke's moment was entirely not streamed and revealed only in video while Jumper's had streams, and Spoke's was one piece of the rising action while Jumper's was the final crowning moment of the story.

I remember watching Spoke's reveal in his (original) video and being flabbergasted that the wormhole literally was barely a glitch and entirely hinged upon the social manipulation of an admin to the point where if Spoke didn't manipulate Parrot the wormhole just literally was not a problem or issue and did absolutely nothing (esp since Spoke never talked about the fly hacking lol). And I was shocked at the level of betrayal and the brutality of that moment, leveraging years of friendship for his own gain. It was devastating, it was monumental, it made me pause the video and just Think for a bit at how messed up it was.

But the video carried on and I already knew (and loved) the ending of the wormhole; the massive event, Planet loosing by 10 seconds, the server coming to an end through several awkward speeches.

The betrayal was just one blip in the larger story, you know?

Whereas Jumper's betrayal came completely out of the blue. Moments before she was celebrating with the team, moments before lamenting over loosing, and suddenly she reveals she leaked all the plans and made sure they lost and never cared about the team. She worked her butt off that final week to not be suspicious at all.

Honestly, it probably felt as bad as Parrot on the day Spoke betrayed him. And it felt really bad.

And then the arc was over, the server moved on, everyone else forgot about the betrayal and wanted to talk about new beef and new ideas, not rehash why Jumper didn't care about the team and why she betrayed.

There wasn't a catharsis of getting revenge (like parrot fighting back against wormhole), and to add insult to injury there was *Lifesteal Sunday*. Kick them while they're already down.

And yet. In the end, the story as a whole included a catharsis. 48 hours of hunting Jumper down and killing all her teammates. One by one until she was the only one left. And then getting her too (well, close enough ig). If you were to write a parallel video to s5 like the wormhole video, Jumper's betray suddenly is in the middle and the entire second half is filled with three plots to get her killed, trying again and again, getting Minute's team to betray him, etc etc. culminating in their victory.

You could easily minimize the pain of the betrayal by focusing on the revenge and waiting to talk about it in the video; if they waited to explain everything just for the youtube audience; if lifesteal wasn't streamed (i gasp).

What I'm trying to say is the difference is in how much was streamed. Which fascinates me because I have always wondered the affect of watching a season after it's over (and being able to watch everything without breaks and not having to live with the days of no streams wondering what will happen next, and too an extent knowing what happens) vs watching a season live. How it feels to watch the story unfold in both scenarios.

And I'm starting to think that that isn't what matters (ok it is still part of it), it's the access to the information in general. Everyone Jumper affected streamed all the time (zam and mapicc and then ro), both leading up to the betrayal, after, and up until the end. We got a constant look into the thoughts and emotions and affect of her actions.

Whereas Spoke didn't stream. Parrot didn't stream. The entire betrayal happened outside the eyes of those who did stream (eclipse and planet and bacon), all the emotional affect of the betrayal was only shown in the video, and there have been enough articles about that video already on how it conveniently leaves out so much.

S4 was marked by there being a simultaneous public plot being shown on the streams, and a completely hidden private plot between havoc duo that nevertheless had vast server implications with the wormhole as an event and parrot taking 3ht under his wing.

Which, because everything goes back to eclipse, also makes me wonder the affect this concept of streaming had on how everything happened with Vitalasy - him being in the center of the public plot much like Jumper was in the center of her public plot, whereas Spoke got off scott clean by not being in the center. So many layers that I'm not smart enough to get into.

In one way you could parallel Jumper's betrayal to Zam's betrayal. Both were on a team for months, both vocally loved the team, and both one day decided to leave the team in a devastating moment of betrayal and murder. From not-their-own-pov it was the same.

But because we do have Zam's streamed pov, you can watch how his betrayal was a slow process of realizing he couldn't stand what the team stood for but was desperately trying to stick with it anyway because he really really wanted to make it work and he only decided to actually pull the trigger the night before he actually pulled the trigger.

And because we do have Vi's and Subz' pov we have their thoughts and the affects Zam's sudden betrayal had on them and how devastating it was. How they also didn't see it coming bc omg he was on board two days ago. How it easily felt like if he knew he couldn't be part of the team he should have just said so a month ago instead of lying to them. Causing all that pain.

Eclipse, for me, feels so much more like an epic tragedy, both sides in the wrong, both sides in the right, both sides loving each other, and both sides being unable to be together. etc etc. it's a long and complex plot streamed from both sides with so much going on that to this day we still talk about it.

And so, Jumper is caught in a strange situation. Unable to stream her thoughts at all because she must hide her betrayal or it gets leaked. And needing to have streamed her thoughts to give her side of the tale in that particular way that live-streamed content gives, because the other side was giving their side of the story.

It's so... It makes it even more sad. And even more unique. It's own plot that bears strong emotions. It earns its title of worst lifesteal betrayal because of its situation, because it was both seen on stream and not seen on stream. It merits the devastation, that acclaim of best betrayal. at least, imo. Which is just fascinating.