#he's also not a player like everyone knows though he'd pretend he is

[beastsovrevelation]

Someone should show Crowley this song

I think he'd say "it's sure not about Hastur".

You know, because someone who looks like a crackhead, doesn't shower, and wears a toad on his head (with a wig on top of the toad) will hardly woo a lady.

[munsonthings86]

sunshine

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a love-struck steve cooks you dinner for the first time

warnings: cursing, alcohol, bit of backstory, oversimplified summary, steve's parents kinda suck (when do they not), best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, soft!steve

an: i think this is my favorite thing i’ve ever written. i'm so in love with these two. i hope you all enjoy this one as much as i do. * don’t copy my work * (also pretend there's a big city near hawkins for the sake of this pls)

wc: 6.0k

“Ow!” Steve hissed, nicking his finger yet again as he made his best effort to dice pesky onions. The knife was razor-sharp as it was fresh out of its packaging, having never been used yet. Frustrated, he squeezed the band-aid he'd spent a solid ten minutes looking for, tighter on his finger, earning a harsh sting.

"Goddamned knife," he whispered, tightlipped, but as soon as the complaint left his lips he wished to yank it back in. It was the chef's knife you'd bought him along with many other thoughtful housewarming gifts to celebrate Steve moving into his first apartment. Steve had insisted that you return some of the gifts, noting that "one gift was more than he could ever ask for".

In spite of his pleas, you didn't return a single gift. Of course, you didn't. You had bought items you knew Steve would need but would ultimately forget to buy for himself. Just to name a few, you'd gotten him a trash bin for his bathroom, a record player, and the best utensil set that the rest of your Family Video paycheck could buy.

Peering at the odd assortment of household objects you'd lugged into his barren apartment with a bright smile pulling at the corners of your lips, an expression of gratitude and bewilderment claimed his face. Steve's round, chestnut-brown eyes ogled yours as you ranted and raved, explaining your thought process behind each purchase.

The record player was for nights like these. Peaceful nights indoors, simply enjoying each other's company without the tense presence of his parents who would shout for him to turn that damn music down if he even thought about letting the needle hit the groove of the record.

"Now we can play music as loud and as much as we want to," he remembered you saying, blushing at your use of the word "we". Though you two were only best friends and have been since grade school, Steve couldn't help but fantasize about a life with you. You, drowning in one of his bigger-than-you t-shirts, prancing around the apartment as you listened to some your favorite records.

He'd begun pondering on how he would rearrange the bit of furniture he had, that'd allow for space for your belongings as well, before you lured him out of his thoughts, defending the bin.

From what he gathered, you bought the garbage bin due to his burning inability to keep his bathroom clean. Steve was someone who took great care of his appearance, always well-kempt and attentive to even the smallest of details.

His bathroom did not reflect this, whatsoever. He had a bad habit of harboring empty cans and bottles of Farrah Fawcett spray that littered the already limited counter space he had in his en suite bathroom.

Steve was such a boy when it came to tidiness.

Everyone knew that about Steve, though. What they didn’t know, however, was how skilled he was in a kitchen. After being left to his lonesome whenever his parents would venture off to one of their many business trips, Steve spent his nights learning to cook after his allowance dwindled and he couldn't afford pizza delivery anymore. The second he'd clock in for his shift at Family Video, he'd make a beeline to where you stood, stocking VHS tapes, and instantly began buzzing and bustling about the new recipe he tried the night before.

You had begged him to let you come over one night to taste one of his home-cooked meals, but his response was always the same. "You can't rush perfection, sweets. But I promise, when I'm ready to grace the world with my master chef skills, you'll be the first to know."

You would roll your eyes dramatically at him but admittedly, you felt a sense of pride wash over you whenever Steve would tell you about his cooking endeavors. It may not seem like a big deal to others, but you knew how much his parents being so negligent, so often, bothered him.

Though they were never the most warm and affectionate, there seemed to be a colder chill and heavier sense of loneliness in the house when they were gone. That's why you never denied Steve whenever he'd call late at night asking if it was okay to spend the night at your house.

He always felt at home there.

Steve learning to cook for himself meant that his parents' absence was finally beginning to help him grow; no longer craving validation and tenderness from his family. He got that when he was with you. That's what the utensil set was for. A silent sign saying that though his parents weren't there, you were.

"Don't get me wrong, sunshine, I love the gift, but why's this knife so funny looking?" Steve asked, squinting his eyes at the sharp object that looked like it was from some alien universe. It had three square-like holes infiltrating the blade, and the tip came to an up-turned point that split in two. The handle was the only average looking part about it.

"That, my friend, is a cheese knife," you answered matter-of-factly, gazing at the box that had all of the included utensils neatly labeled.

"They make knives specifically for cheese?"

"Apparently, yeah," you snorted, tossing the empty box off to the side of the room with the other discarded cardboard that you made a mental note to move to the recycling bin on your way out. Steve never recycled. Bad habit he picked up from his parents, you figured.

"Well, I can't wait to use my weird new knife. Thank you. Seriously," Steve smiled softly as he watched you with those big brown eyes that voiced his gratitude and sentiment louder than his words ever could.

"The best weird chef has to have the best weird equipment. You're welcome," you grinned, toying with the loose thread dangling from your distressed band tee, as your eyes collided with Steve’s.

Looking at Steve was hard.

In the midst of quiet and almost intimate moments like these, the nerves bolting through your body screamed at you to look anywhere else, but the greed of your heart yearned for you to keep drinking in the deep chocolate pools that were Steve Harrington's eyes.

The two of you gazed at each other for another second, though it felt identical to a blissful eternity, until Steve furrowed his eyebrows after registering what you'd just uttered. "Did you just call me weird?" He asked, hand on his hip as if he's offended, though he truthfully isn't because he's positive you're infinitely weirder than he is, and he's more than willing to debate with you for hours on that topic.

"Nooo," you sang, quickly turning away to distract yourself with some unpacking that Steve had called you over to help him with, which you happily agreed to. A little extra time with him was time well spent.

"Yeah, okay," he rolled his eyes. He happily tucked away the flashy silverware he'd poached from his parent's kitchen into the darkest corner of the drawer, leaving the less flashy but much more appreciated utensils you bought him, front and center, ready to be shown off.

"Oh those? My best friend got them for me. Aren't they nice? Did you know they make knives for cheese?" He imagined himself saying, hoping he'd get the opportunity to boast about them to his guests some time soon.

Steve smiled to himself at the memory, angling the cutting board that harbored a pile of diced onions that he'd at last conquered, into a bowl, sliding them off with the blade of a knife that was a lot less odd shaped compared to his trusty cheese knife. It didn't even have to be that specific memory. It could've been any imagery of you being the effortlessly sarcastic, intelligent, breath-taking person that you were, and it would be the warm light to inevitably guide him out of whatever dark mood that dared to plague him.

Steve was so helplessly in love with you.

April 14, 1978, he could never forget the day, was particularly dreary. So dreary it made Steve begin to question why the spring time was thought to be such a radiant, pleasant season when all it ever did was bring rain and provoke people with allergies. Steve slammed his blaring alarm off with a groan, never bothering to pry open his tired eyes.

The sky was dark and dreadful, concealing the golden rays of the sun he yearned to see. As he trudged through the house, reluctantly gearing himself up for yet another torturous day of middle school, Steve silently prayed for some unorthodox happenstance that would call for the canceling of school.

But much to his dismay, that wasn't the case.

When the bell pierced through the classroom speakers, alerting the beginning of Steve's favorite class, P.E., he rushed to the locker room, jumping into his gym uniform, as he was determined to continue his unfaltering streak of dodgeball victories.

Steve was in the zone, taking out his opponents left and right as if it was nothing. If dodgeball was an Olympic sport, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he could've won multiple gold medals.

Then you came.

Sauntering into sixth grade gym class, adorning a lengthy, bright yellow dress with your hair done up, looking as anxious as can be. It was your first day at Hawkins Middle and you'd just transferred halfway into the semester, all thanks to your parents decision to move to the small town, leaving New York City and all your friends behind.

Everyone turned their curious heads to peer at you, whispering amongst each other, prompting you to clutch your books tighter to your chest as if to shield yourself. Your soft smile as you looked around at your new classmates instantly made Steve's chest and stomach warm and gooey inside, making him want nothing more than to walk up to you and convince you to be his friend. Steve hated how gossipy his classmates were, as it clearly made you uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to look away either.

The way the illuminous medallion hue complimented your skin tone was nothing short of art. To him, you were the sun personified. The sun he was so eager to see.

Due to your lack of sports attire, Coach Daniels had you sit on the bleachers, watching as the other kids resumed their game of dodgeball after mumbling a "warm" welcome to you, per Coach's request.

Steve lost his first game of dodgeball that day. He just couldn't seem to focus when you were perched just a few feet away, thumbing through your withered book, looking like one of the prettiest girls he'd ever laid his adolescent eyes on. Steve, or the boy with the hella good hair as you dubbed him in your diary later on that night, was too enamored with you to be bothered by the taunts coming from his friends. He jogged over to you, offering to keep you company until fourth period began, which you happily accepted.

And ever since then, the two of you have been as thick as thieves.

"Hawkins PD, open up!" Steve recognized your muffled voice, though you deepened it, to imitate a police officer. Your signature three knocks followed, urging butterflies to erupt throughout his stomach, as he longed to see you. It couldn't have been more than twenty-four hours since the two of you had last seen each other, but even one hour without you was an hour way too long for poor Steve.

"It's open", Steve called, tossing a hand towel over his shoulder, setting the stove ablaze, planting a pot over the flame. Right on time, he thought.

"Hey, Harrington," you smiled as you struggled to enter, cradling two bottles of rosé wine and your purse in your arms, pushing the door open with the help of your hip.

"Hey, sunshine. Lemme get those for ya," Steve offered, stowing your bearings on the counter gently, while you kicked your shoes off, mumbling a "thanks".

A warm amber light casted from the ceiling of the kitchen spilled into the shadowy living room a few feet away, like a neglected can of paint. The only thing that remained un-melted by the darkness was the quiet record player, as if the generous light knew you'd be looking for it the minute you walked in.

"How was your day?" Steve smirked as he watched you rush over to the object he swore was the only reason you liked to come over, sifting through the vinyl's searching for your favorite one. What’s Love Got To Do With It by Tina Turner. Steve spotted it before you did. Absentmindedly, you responded, “Not too shabby, ya know? How was yours?”

“Yeah, it was alright.”

You crouched down to the two tier storage table, running a finger across the spines of the records, searching for your beloved song. It quickly became the song you most adored when you'd bought the tape for your Walkman a few years prior. Your days weren't complete unless you played the song at least twice, so much so that Steve found himself quietly humming the song to himself whenever he'd miss you. He even caught himself doing that dumb little finger dance you normally did whenever you listened to a song you really liked. He'd never tell you that, though.

Much to your dismay, you couldn't seem to spy that sneaky record. You dropped your hand disappointedly, faintly fearsome that it'd been misplaced. Steve's apartment wasn't huge, but it wasn't exactly tidy either. “It’s right there, sweets. To your left.” So you diverted your attention to the left. No Tina Turner. “No, your other left.”

“Here?” you pointed. Steve hummed in confirmation.

“Well, that’s not the left, Steve. That’s the right,” was your response that you punctuated with a roll of your tired eyes. Apart from knowing how to get to Skull Rock with his eyes closed, the boy had zero sense of direction. It was something you found both endearing and infuriating. It depended on the day, really.

“Potato, potahto.” Oh, Steve. Melting butter into the burning pan in front of him that he almost completely forgot about, all thanks to your beautiful presence, he began sautéing his diced onions along with some fresh garlic. "Well, speaking of 'potahtoes' you need to be cooking some, 'cause you promised me dinner tonight," you smiled tight-lipped, cocking your head at an angle.

You felt the unpleasant sensation of your stomach growling, cursing you, at the heavenly thought of food as your shift at Family Video earlier today was unforgiving to your non-existent breakfast. You fumbled with the vinyl a bit as the mouthwatering aroma of home cooking stormed your senses and Steve spoke once more. "Feisty today, aren't we?"

"Just a tad," you laughed quietly.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you but tonight we're not having potatoes. I'm making your favorite," he pointed, shuffling the pan to give it a gentle stir. He made sure to turn to face you in time to see your hopefully delighted reaction. "Alfredo?!" you spun around with a glittering grin, almost knocking over Steve's plant. A fake one, of course. A real plant was a bit too much responsibility for him.

At the nod of his head, your cheesy smile soften to a smaller, less toothy one as you watched Steve while he resumed cooking. What you failed to share with your best friend was that the last phrase you'd actually use to describe your day was "not too shabby". Besides waking up almost an entire hour past the start of your shift (Keith made sure to give you an earful about that) and everyone and their mother in town deciding to be at Family Video today, it seemed like your day was never-ending. The only thing keeping your mood from turning stink to sour was the idea of going to see Steve.

Steve was kind of magical in that way. Anger, sadness, anxiety, you name it, it was no match for Steve. Though he was no poet, he had this way with words that would never fail to make you feel so comforted. So safe. Any instance where Steve had to talk you out of whatever mental turmoil you were enduring, it felt you were being endlessly wrapped in a cozy, tight blanket, sheltering you from all the darkness.

How Steve knew you were having a shit day and needed your favorite meal along with your favorite boy? Lord knows. His ability to read you without even needing to be near you was nothing short of wizardry. But like you said. Steve was magical.

"You're the best," you proclaimed, prompting a mumbled sly remark from your chef for the evening, before the music began. Being here, along with the divine sound of Tina's ethereal voice and pasta boiling in water, was more than enough to make you feel like you were right at home, though your true address was miles away. When the time to depart would make its cursed arrival, it was never easy to leave, especially with the way Steve begged for you to stay, using those unfairly adorable puppy dog eyes that paired beautifully with his lengthy lashes, against you.

And it always worked. Well, not always. You had some degree of self-control. But more times than not, you couldn't help but to cave in to his protests. How could you resist? It was Steve.

With a satisfied grin that carved deep smile lines into his blushing cheeks, he'd tuck his sheets snug around your body, repeatedly asking you if you were comfortable enough. His bed was cloud-like, plush and doughy and his pillows smelled like his shampoo and conditioner, a hint of cologne on his comforter. It was like you were trapped in a cocoon of Steve. You wanted to tell him you were beyond comfortable, that there, in his bed, you were in just about your favorite place on Earth but, habitually, you concluded that a simple nod would suffice.

Crawling onto the empty space beside you, he made sure to face you, leaving a soft squeeze on your shoulder before humming "G'night, sunshine," closing his eyes and tucking his hands under his head. And like always, Steve was a perfect gentleman, dead set on never getting under the covers himself when you'd sleep over.

Guilt would disrupt your relaxation at the sight of the brisk night chill building little hills on his freckled arms, though you selfishly loved the way he'd cuddle up to steal some of your body heat. His plump lips would part as he drifted into a peaceful slumber, light snores and chirping crickets being your lullaby.

You hoped to have another night like that soon.

In the midst of times like those, storms of wonder and doubt raged on. Was Steve like this with everyone else? Were you being silly thinking that you and Steve could be more than friends? Being Steve's best friend for nearly a decade, you knew he wasn't exactly a prude. His King Steve era was honestly one of your least favorites. Though he reserved his usual tenderness and affection all for you, you've witnessed a whole slew of girls enter and leave Steve's life, and none of them looked like you.

You wanted nothing more than to be one of the girls he'd have leaned up against his locker, arm resting next to their head, cheeks fanned by his minty breath as he whispered honeyed words. You craved dates at the drive-in theater in Steve's burgundy 1983 BMW only to neglect the movie and end up making out, like he did with other girls.

When Steve would bring his latest lover around, desperately, you did your damnedest to bury your jealousy and and fill its grave with merriment for him, because if anyone deserved to be happy, it was Steve. But the girls at school only wanted to be with Steve because of his status and all the flashy things he could buy them.

The flashy things were dull to you, though.

You wanted to be with Steve because you wanted to hold his hand and press soft kisses to his cheek. To hug him a little tighter and little longer than a best friend normally would. To run your fingers through his fluffy hair whenever he would grow stressed because you knew it calmed him down. To make him breakfast in bed when he was sick and even when he wasn't. To love him your fullest potential.

But you had to settle for this. Calves tucked under your thighs with a blanket draped over your legs as you stared off into space, longing for someone you thought you couldn't have, not knowing he was stealing glances of you wondering what was running through your pretty little head.

Resting your arm against the back of the sofa, holding your head up, your lips were downturned in a pout, eyebrows pulled together as you studied the throw pillow a few inches away from you. A little pillow can't be that interesting, something has to be bothering you, he thought. He was unapologetically curious to know if pressing his lips against your own would make that frown melt into that sweet smirk you usually had.

Steve hated when you were unhappy. It made his mind race. Did someone say something to you? Did someone do something to you? Did you eat today? How was your shift? Why did you lie when you said your day "wasn't too shabby"? Obviously it was shabby. Look at your face. That tired and troubled, cute little face. What can he do to fix it? You were his sunshine, you deserved to be happy, always.

Giving the pot a final stir and turning the flame off, Steve carelessly tossed the grease-stained hand towel flopped over his shoulder, down by the sink, strolling over to where he'd earlier set down the two bottles of wine. White Zinfandel. Neither you or Steve were wine connoisseurs, but when you called Nancy panicking about how extensive the selection at the liquor store was, she swore by it.

Balancing two glasses and a single bottle of the rose-tinted alcohol, Steve took an extra glance at your face, deciding to scoop up the second bottle into his arms. By the looks of it, it was gonna be one of those nights.

You tried to hide your smile as you noticed he was coming over, a slight grin on his face as he set the glasses down. You and him both knew he was only coming to cause trouble. He set the delicate haul down on to the thrifted wooden coffee table in front of you, slipping you one of those comforting 'Steve smiles' he usually did.

Like the forgotten towel, he threw himself down on the couch next to you, warm hand having a much softer landing on the plush of your thigh; a familiar and welcomed touch. Habitually, you curled up closer to him, no longer able to hide your smile.

"Why so glum, chum?" He tilted his chin down, slightly poking his bottom lip out, as he looked at you through batting eyelashes.

Laughing through your nose and subsequently parading a grin that displayed nothing but teeth and hollow happiness, you remarked, "What do you mean? Don't you see me smiling?"

You were fooling absolutely no one. Steve knew you were sad. And, goddamn it, he was gonna get it out of you.

"You know exactly what I mean, you weren't smiling just a few seconds ago until I came over. You're welcome, by the way, I'm flattered that I have such an effect on you," he smirked, placing a hand on his chest in gratitude.

"Okay, now I'm glum again," you roll your eyes at his not-so discreet cockiness. You hid your face in your hands, resting your forehead on Steve's shoulder. It was hard with muscle, but soft with tenderness and safety. "I was smiling at the wine, for your information."

The palm of your hand that pressed against your face muffled your words, but Steve could still understand what you said, it was evident in the way your tone was laced with satire.

"Ah, yes, that makes way more sense" Steve replied, monotone. His thumb began coasting along your skin as he urged you, "Alright, jokes aside. How are you really feeling?"

Hoisting your head up, you almost answered before he continued, "And don't give me that 'not too shabby' crap 'cause that frown you had going on earlier already snitched on ya."

When the hell did he get so observant? Steve was no idiot, but sometimes things needed to be spelled out for him. But come to think of it, you never had to spell things out for Steve whenever it came to you. He just always had a way of knowing.

"I don't know, Steve. Honestly. Some days are just a bit tougher than others. Today was one of those days," you murmured, avoiding the attentive gaze he was burning into your shifty eyes.

He slowly nodded as he processed your words, head falling on top of yours as you again found comfort on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut as you began mimicking the affection he was giving you on your thigh, rubbing his arm through the creamy cotton material of his crewneck. You hadn't seen it before. This one was new. So were the jeans he'd paired with it.

"Why're you dressed so nice, Harrington?"

He laughed more to himself than to you. "Well, the food can't be the only thing that looks good, you know? Wanted to look nice too. It's our first dinner together, after all," he mumbled the last bit.

Steve felt the skin around your eyes tighten against his shoulder as your eyebrows scrunched together. "We've had dinner together before, though."

"This one's different," he replied, almost instantly. You'd hoped Steve's eyes were still closed so that he wouldn't see the bashfulness you were weathering, plucking the corners of your lips into a soft smile.

A silence fell between the two of you. Not unusual. Not awkward. Never unusual or awkward. There was a mutual cherishment of moments like these. Shamelessly invading each other's personal space on the couch as if it was made to only fit one person, music playing lowly the distance, but preferring to listen to the sound of the other's breathing.

"How can I make you feel better, sunshine?" Steve questioned, voice still hushed. The volume of your voice wasn't much louder as you responded, thoughtlessly, "You don't have to ask me that. You make me feel better without even trying."

"Oh yeah?" He craned his neck so that his head was impossibly closer to yours, awaiting your confirmation. Steve knew that you enjoyed his company, as he did yours, but he was only joking earlier when he gushed about having such an effect on you. It was now his turn to hide his blush, when you hum, nodding your head fervently.

These were the warm moments that confused you so much more than any subject in school ever did. And unbeknownst to you, it messed with Steve's head too. He'd never been this close with anyone before. Especially not with any of his "girlfriends" in the past. Sure, they'd cuddle and talk about their feelings. But it never felt the way it does with you. Steve was in love with you. It was hopeless.

And he had to make it known. Soon. If not, he swore he'd explode.

"Ready to eat?"

"Mhm," you buzzed, untangling yourself from the envelop of Steve. As he pressed his knuckles into the sofa, willing himself up, you reached for the bottle of wine and a glass, but your hand only made it so far until it felt the sting of a petty swipe from the boy next to you. "Ah ah, missy, dinner first. Lord knows how many hours its been since you last ate."

You snorted, "Relax, it hasn't been that long."

"Oh yeah? When was the last time?" He looked at you with raised eyebrows and an expression that said he already knew your answer was going to be ridiculous. And if there was anything you learned tonight, it was that Steve was highly skilled at knowing when you were lying, so instead, you left him with a goofy smile and giggle that told him he was absolutely right in his assumption.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," the spot where he sat went cold as he left to the kitchen, fixing two plates for the both of you. You moved the drinks and glasses over to the dining table, using a nearby lighter to ignite the accompanying lavender and vanilla scented candles. Tina Turner's vinyl was replaced with Tears for Fears' album Songs from The Big Chair instead, as Steve used his elbow to dim the kitchen lights, hands full with heavy plates of pasta.

"Oh my gosh, this looks so good! Good job, Stevie," you cheered, as he set your plate down in front of you, pouring you a much needed glass of wine. Your hands shook with hunger or excitement, or both, as you picked up your fork, ready to dig in. "Yeah, don't get too psyched yet. Let's hope it tastes as good as it looks."

"I'm sure it does."

His knee rests against yours as he sits adjacent to you, gathering food on his fork, though his eyes are peering at you, awaiting your verdict. The mouthwatering smell of garlic, butter, cheese and other heaven-sent elements overwhelm your nose and you feel like you can't eat it soon enough. You pause for a beat and so does his heart, hand over your messy mouth as you chew. Steve's hand twitches as he contemplates wiping the sauce from the corners of your lips and licking his finger clean.

"Steve," you begin, eyes flickering shut. "I'm gonna need you to cook for me every night. This is so fucking good." The tension in his face eases at your palpable delight, mission well accomplished. He was proud of himself. Very proud. Almost as much as you were of him.

You throw your head back, the purest form of satisfaction consuming you. "I'm glad you like it, I've been trying to nail it for weeks," Steve laughs, finally taking a bite for himself.

"Well, you've succeeded," you beam, washing it down with a sip of wine. Everybody Wants to Rule the World begins playing and you smile at Steve, knowing it was his favorite song at the moment. You nod your head along as Steve hums. A truly peaceful pocket in time.

Through the large windows opening the living room to the rest of Hawkins, you had the perfect view of the bright lights and mountainous buildings from the neighboring city. It was like the sky had flipped on its axis and the stars weren't in the sky anymore, they were among the trees and high rise properties.

"Steve, look how pretty," you point towards the window as his gaze shifts from you to raindrop-riddled glass. "I love being able to see the city so close. Sucks that we can't see the stars, though. I've always wanted to go stargazing."

"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that a while ago. We gotta go one of these days," he replied, shoving a forkful of alfredo into his mouth.

"Oh, did you wanna go too?"

He shrugs his shoulders, chewing before speaking, "Eh, I'm not really a big stars guy. Besides, if I wanna see a pretty little light, all I gotta do is look at you," he says inattentively, going right back to eating as if he hadn't just said the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you.

"Shut up, Harrington," you roll your eyes, letting out a half-hearted laugh as you take your last bite. How could he flirt with you so easily? So carelessly? Couldn't he see that you loved him and that whenever he says things like that it does something to you? Clueless boy.

"I'm serious. Why do you think I always call you sunshine?" He replies, not a hint of irony in his face.

"Steve," you warn, sitting back in your chair. You didn't know where this conversation was going, and you'd be damned if you got your hopes up for what you always got whenever you did: absolutely nothing.

"It's why I love when you wear yellow. Reminds me of the first time I ever saw you," he pressed. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clueless girl.

"Steve," your voice wavered. "What? Why do you keep saying my name like that?" He laughed, dryly.

He grew worried that he was saying too much. Saying things that a person shouldn't say to their best friend. He took a sip of his wine. Then another. Then another. He was considering just downing the whole glass. Maybe he was saying too much.

Screw that, he was in love with you.

"What're you saying to me right now?" You charged, voice a little harsher than what you'd intended, but you demanded an answer. A straightforward one. "I'm saying that I'm done hiding it."

"Hiding what?"

"That I love you."

The revelation yanks your parted lips shut, unsure of what to say next. You had dreamed for what felt like a lifetime for Steve to say those words to you and at last, it was no longer a dream, but instead reality. The rapid pace of your heartbeat could be felt in your chest and ears, and the butterflies in your stomach were more wild and untamed than ever before.

Steve's eyes didn't leave yours, though the stillness from you was killing him. The silence between you two that was once never awkward or unusual, was now painful and nearly unbearable.

Your dilated pupils scanned over his face, relentlessly. The jokey, teasing grin that he often sported when he was messing with you was unaccounted for. Holy shit. The gate to your thoughts opened once more. "You're serious," you whispered.

"How could I not be?" Steve watched you with adoring eyes, the warm light of the candle giving the melted chocolatey pond the sweetest infusion of honey.

"Kiss me."

Forks and butter knives fall to the ground with several, loud unpleasant clanks as Steve leans over the square dining table, hungrily pressing his lips against yours. His lips are garlicky and a little chapped, as yours probably are as well, yet the kiss is nothing short of perfect.

His mouth does a passionate dance against yours as you follow his lead, embracing the plush little pillows with your own. It was both everything you've imagined it'd be and nothing like you'd thought at the same time. You already knew Steve was an amazing kisser. Anyone who went to Hawkins High knew it. But experiencing it for yourself was completely different and new. It was euphoric.

The two of you have to reluctantly pull yourselves off of each other to catch your breaths. This moment was a long time coming.

Steve's hands are still holding onto to either side of your face, unwilling to let you go just yet. Truly savoring every second of the present. His breath fans across your cupid's bow, as he smiles against your lips. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

Giggling, you wrap your palms and fingers around his wrists, rubbing your nose on his. "Sorry," you shrug, feeling his thumbs caress your warm cheeks.

"Don't be," he shakes his head, engulfing your soft lips into another kiss.

message from jojo: pls comment and reblog if you enjoyed! it means a lot <3

[timbit-robin-art]

I saw your Mio doodle and now I wonder about a Light Music Club X-Men Edition.. Scott can be on drums he'd be so good at keeping time... whatever Ororo is on (because she'd slay at every instrument) she has to ALSO be on vocals because I believe that's just canon..

maybe Logan can be their roadie

Ah, K-On. My one weakness. I went a little overboard when picturing this, so whoops.

I imagine this being in a universe where there’s still mutants, but Xavier isn’t making them use their powers to fight. Instead, the institute is for learning how to control their powers/providing refuge for mutants who have nowhere else to go, and they go to a mutant/normal human mixed private school for normal education.

Here’s some of my ideas for the club members so far:

Ororo is the bass player and lead vocalist. She’s been inspired to be in a band ever since she lived on the streets as a little kid, where she saw a bass player performing live. Freshmen year of high school, she hears someone absolutely going ham on the drums, and finds Scott playing on his own. It took a while, but she finally convinced Scott to join her. She’s the heart and soul of the group, and main character along with Scott. I don’t see her living at the institute, though Xavier keeps the offer open. Instead, she may live with a 19/20 year old Gambit, who’s living off of the Guild’s money and trying to lay low.

Scott is the drum player. After Xavier picked him off of the streets, he got a bit lost in the mansion and discovered a drum set in the music room (I imagine it used to belong to Erik/Magnus). Xavier sees that the boy has natural rhythm, and decides to find him a teacher. Scott forms a middle school band with the O5, but they had a falling out, causing everyone to go their separate ways. However, Scott is still very passionate about the drums, which is why he eventually joins Ororo. He may be more pessimistic, but his passion for the drums is more than enough to keep him going.

Kurt is the pianist. He’s a transfer student from Germany and has always wanted to be a part of a band like Ororo. It was him that suggested the idea of forming an actual club, and he’s the big idealist/optimist of the group. I can see him not knowing too much on how to play piano, minus the basics he learned from his mother (she taught him how to play despite his three fingers), so when he moves into the institute, Xavier teaches him how to play better. Even though there are some people at school who treat him just as bad as the mobs from his home, he’s still willing to get out there and play with the group.

Hank is the guitarist. He used to be a part of the same group as Scott, but after everyone split a part, he stopped playing entirely. I can see him being intrigued by the talk of a “light music club,” but after seeing Scott was there, he wants nothing to do with it. Eventually, he joins a practice session after Ororo gets through to him, and he realizes just how much he misses playing. Scott and him have the friends-turned-hostile-turned-back-into-friends relationship. Unlike the other three O5 members, his love for music trumps any hostile feelings after the falling out, and he’s willing to give it another go.

Ah, but you can’t have a club without a faculty member as your sponsor;

Mr. Logan was the only available candidate for this. After a lot of begging (and promises that they’d wash his motorcycle every weekend), they eventually get him on board. He pretends to hate it, but it slowly becomes obvious that he has a soft spot for the group. He sees the passion they all have, and it reminds him of when he was younger (hmm… what if Logan was the bass player Ororo saw when she was younger…).

Of course, if we follow K-On, we must have a 5th member that joins later on. I have no idea who that could be. I think there’s a lot of fun ideas depending on who.

[opiopal]

I like to imagine that everyone gets so into beels gridball games, mainly because its beel and they love and support him(this is a large amount of fluff)

first things first, Mc and Belphie make big signs to support beel, though neither of them know anything at all amount the game, since Mc is human and Belphie probably cant stay awake for any form of explanation of the game, but they still want to support beel!!

amso probably does his makeup supper dramatically and gets the cutest merch he can to take selfies in(with beel in the bg ofc), and I can imagine asmo helped to paint beels number on everyones faces.

satan probably researched like crazy and know all the rules, he's not as loud as everyone else when it comes to cheering but gets very angry on beels behalf whenever the ref doesnt do their job properly. get this boy a striped shirt cause he'd be a top tier ref.(only cause he knows the rules, pray if a player gets into an argument with him.)

if levi decides to be brave and actually show up instead of watching a stream of the game, he has to hype himself up to cheer for beel without getting embarrassed. he has fans with beels number on them that he waves around, he gets comfortable soon enough to get hyped about the game like how everyone else is, but he basically has to pretend he's at a consort.

mammon also gets super hyped and is probably the loudest out of everyone, he probably is hardly paying attention though and is just trying to support his little brother the best he can, (he probably makes a few bets with other demons, which for once he wins a ton cause he bets on beel, he uses his winnings to buy beel dinner after the game)((also to keep lucifer from being to mad at him for making bets on beel))

Lucifer, like satan, knows a lot about the game just because beel plays, but he totally goes a little soccer mom while watching, shouting and yelling, and he probably gets into an argument with a ref for flagging beel for something and then lists the exact rule and date it was written to prove that what beel did was infact not a foul.

[youunravelme]

I would love to see  jealous barzal but won’t admit to it would find it so cute

ANON! I ALSO WOULD LOVE TO SEE JEALOUS BARZY

so here goes nothing

it shouldn't have been that big of a deal, honestly, you were wearing his jersey, everyone who mattered knew who you were going home with.

everyone but the 6'2" blond you were talking to.

truth be told, mat never considered himself a jealous person, he was pretty easy going as it was. but there was something about seeing the love of his life laugh at another guy's lame ass joke that pissed him off.

"take a deep breath, barzy," tito said. "she's coming home with you at the end of the night."

"yeah, but does he know that?"

“i don’t know—“

mat put his drink down. "he's about to." he was shoving his way through the crowd until he got close enough to hear the conversation.

"you wanna go home?"

mat watched as the smile on your face dropped and you took a step back. "i need to go find my boyfriend."

the blond's face dropped its smirk. he reached out and grabbed your arm. "you don't have to pretend to have a boyfriend, baby. i'm a good guy."

mat had had enough. he crossed the final few feet till your back met his chest. "take your hand off my girlfriend."

the blond looked at him rather unimpressed. maybe it was the two inches of height he had on mat.

it didn't seem to matter to mat though. he'd throw hands the second you were out of the firing range.

"or what?"

you spoke up before mat could say anything. "there are a few hockey players in here who would willingly join in an ass beating if they need to. so listen to my boyfriend, and let me go."

the blond was gone a second later.

you turned around and smiled at mat, and it was like any initial frustration at the situation had disappeared from his mind. there was only you and him.

"you know," you said, sliding your hands up his chest until they connected at the back of his neck, playing with the hair there. "you're really hot when you're jealous."

mat scoffed. "i wasn't jealous."

but you hummed, clearly not buying it. "okay, so i can let that guy take me home?"

his hands snaked around your waist. "not a chance."

"and why is that?" you asked.

mat leaned down until his lips brushed yours. "because you're mine."

[charles-simmons-fanfiction]

Meeks and Pitts Headcanons (except it's me projecting in all of these)

-> Both of them know how to solve a Rubik's cube and almost always have one around to do something while they're bored. Probably one of them learned it first for whatever reason, then taught the other. And they also like to race to see who solves it first. (and i'm saying this as someone who won't go anywhere without my cube. It's a life style y'know)

-> They're both very geek and nerdy, but Meeks is more of a nerd and Pitts is more of a geek.

-> "Don't worry, I didn't have time to study for this either," they say, but know the whole subject by heart.

-> While Meeks is very sociable, Pitts used to be pretty socially awkward and it took him a while to get genuinely comfortable with all the poets. He is that type of person who's very reserved and quiet, then as soon as he gets used to you he suddenly becomes the most talkative and annoying person in the world.

-> They definitely like boardgames and the rest of this post will be about that, as someone who LOVES boardgames with my whole heart. I know dps takes place before most cool games were invented, but let's just pretend they got to have those in their teenage years. Most of this fandom is constantly pretending stuff didn't happen like canon anyway.

-> Meeks is the type of person who would love games that need tactics and strategy, specially card and deck building games. He would be that type of player that makes the biggest combos (there's always one like that and it is so annoying to everyone else, but he has the time of his life). Like, every single round he manages to do some crazy logical move and win more points than all the others combined.

-> Pitts, on the other hand, likes games with plots, characters, maybe even roleplaying. From more simple games, like Coup to some more complex ones, like Above and Below. And I think he would be more into cooperative games rather than competitive.

-> I particularly think both of them would like space themed boardgames, for some reason I can't explain. Games like Terraforming Mars and Nemesis (I only played this one twice, and each time took like 5 hours, but I swear time FLIES in these games. The other poets would surely complain every time Steven and Gerard decided to play those, because it would take the whole afternoon/night.)

-> Sometimes the other dead poets would agree to play with them. Usually after days of them begging for it. When that happens, they would probably play party games. Those games are faster and easy to learn (there's always someone who struggles to understand the rules, and I think it would be Charlie and Knox, but Charlie would get it as soon as they actually start playing). Games like Exploding Kittens, Cards against Humanity, or even Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza (one of funniest games ever btw).

-> Normal card games (like poker, rummy or canasta) are mostly Meek's thing though and he takes it very seriously, although I don't think he'd go as far as betting money on it.

-> Both of them would love RPGs so much.

-> All of those nerdy things might sound stupid to others, but to them, it's a huge bonding moment and it means a lot when they get the others to engage with their hobbies.

💛.

This post feels SO NICHE, bc it has both my love for these two specific characters but also for boardgames. It was fun though, so it's worth it ^^"

[wowcatboys]

Hello! I absolutely LOVE your heartsteel Kayn headcanons, you capture his character so well. What kinds of headcanons would you have for Kayn going for a night out (esp. with the heartsteel boys)?

Ty!! <3

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

GIF by thedemonlady

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

HEARTSTEEL KAYN: NIGHT OUT HEADCANONS ♡ TW's: Alcohol usage ♡ SFW ♡ Thank you!!! This one's not for Kayn/reader, just single Kayn (if Kayn's in a relationship with u imagine this all as the exact same except he's calling you 3,000 times at random points during the excursions)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

KAYN

Kayn will often flake on plans if they're made in advance, so it's best to blindside him with a night out. He's much more likely to attend if someone texts him, "Party at 10, u in?" than if they let him know a week prior. That being said, he usually goes out with his bandmates either way. He's trying to be a team player, at least a little bit, and he knows that means he can't bail on guys' night out. (Plus, he has enough fun with Heartsteel to make it worth going—not that he'd ever admit he actually likes partying with them.)

Even though he pretends he 'woke up like this', Kayn spends waaaaay too much time in front of the mirror before a night out. Gotta make sure his nail polish isn't chipped and his hair's swept back in that perfect 'I don't give a fuck' type way, you know?

Kayn stashes extra jewelry in his pockets before heading out to a party—he knows he's probably about to lose a hand of rings and a bracelet within two hours. Best to keep stocked up so he can maintain his carefully-curated look.

Dressed to kill. Kayn likes to play with textures, silhouette, and bursts of neon color. His going-out fits lean towards techwear and the tamer side of cybergoth.

You already know Kayn pregames like a motherfucker. Expect him to be a few shots deep before the night even starts. And, once he's buzzed, he's not about to let himself get even halfway to sober. Doesn't matter what, he drinks whatever Ezreal puts in front of him. He also keeps a flask tucked in a side pocket, and he's surprisingly willing to pass it around. If they promise to buy him a drink at the next bar, he lets any of his bandmates take a generous gulp.

After getting a little tipsy, the guys like to scribble graffiti tags all over everything, so Kayn keeps a handful of paint markers on him in everyone's preferred colors. Of course, he won't hand them out for free. Often, Ezreal and Sett can be convinced to split Kayn's chores for the next two weeks in exchange for the Poscas.

Starting out at a bar or club is just fine but Kayn's surprisingly opposed to bar-hopping. There's way too many people in way too small of a space. A few hours in, Kayn prefers to duck out of the sweaty bodies and pounding music. At this point, he just wants to wander around and get in trouble with his boys. City streets, grocery stores, empty parking garages—anywhere is fine, though Kayn gets extremely annoyed (and slightly more inclined to property destruction) whenever they're asked to leave somewhere. For this reason K'sante and Yone try to make sure wherever they end up is relatively isolated. Less of a chance of getting kicked out that way. An abandoned building where they can bring a huge speaker and chill out is a prime place to close an evening out.

If you're a fan, this is probably the worst time to approach Kayn for an autograph. When he's trying to let loose the LAST thing he wants is to get bugged by groupies. He won't even give you a second look, scoffing: "I don't do autographs." If Sett notices him being mean, he'll offer to sign two things for you to make up for his friend's rudeness. It helps, of course, but still. Don't approach Kayn in public unless you want your dreams shattered.

Of the group Kayn's the most likely to break something. This ranges from everything like accidentally shattering a shot glass to absolutely intentionally wrecking one of those public-use electric scooters. (How was he supposed to know you're not supposed to do quint whips on those, he asks. He ignores Ezreal when he points out that crashing full speed into a dumpster has nothing to do with pulling off tricks.)

As everyone's winding down for the night, Kayn's been known to smoke a cigarette or two on the apartment stairs or balcony. He never smokes otherwise, but it's a bit of a ritual at this point. When Kayn ducks out for a smoke, then the rest of the guys know not to bother him anymore. He's done.

Kayn refuses to drink water or change into pajamas after returning from a night out. Best you're gonna get from him is him taking his clothes off before passing out. No teeth-brushing, no shower, nothing. All routines are abandoned and he falls straight into a thirteen hour coma.

It doesn't matter how much he did, or didn't drink, Kayn's an absolute zombie the morning after a night out. Don't expect him to leave his room until three pm, and even then, he's probably only getting up so he can go on a McDonald's run (his signature hangover order: two fish filets, fries, and a large Sprite).

[dez-wade]

Also can I just say, I seen people upset about Mike not trusting Forever and acting like its the end of the world but I really dont think it is? Mike is incredibly traumatized by being put back in prison by someone he trusted THEN having Walter Bob and Pac taken away from him as punishment for him protecting Pac.

He is more paranoid about the Federation now then he ever has been and rn everyone and their mom is working with the Feds which does not help his paranoia, he doesn't trust anyone working with them as far as I'm aware and since Forever is the president he also works with them so obviously Mike is going to be worried?

We as viewers know Forever hates the Feds and he'd do nothing to hurt his family but Mike has suffered multiple betrayals (Cellbit pretending to join and hurting everyone to get in, Foolish backstabbing them by arresting them and sending them back to a place that brought back a lot of trauma for Tazercraft because even if he didn't know it'd hurt them he still hurt them) from people he explicitly trusts so rn the only person he trusts absolutely is Pac because...it's them. It's always been them. Though he is doing his best to trust Richas too!!

And tbh even if Mike doesn't trust Forever, it doesn't mean he doesn't love him, it doesn't mean he wouldn't break in and/or destroy another damn Federation building if something happened to him because they're FAMILY. Of all the players and groups on the server, the Brazilians are the most tight knit and united family because no matter what happens the Favela 5 (plus Richas and Roier) will always love and look out for each other, no amount of conflict will ever seperate them because it is them against the world.

I completely agree with you. I say Mike has enough reasons to feel that way, even if we know Forever would never do anything against him. That he repeats that he puts Favela 5 above everyone. It's sad, but I completely understand Mike.

And even then, Mike keeps telling how he doesn't trust Forever out loud but I have yet to see actually make people go against him and know who the real enemy is: The Federation. And I still believe he would defend Forever if he saw people being unjust towards him.

[darkmacadamien]

Whumptober 2023, No. 1: Swooning + "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam rarely tackles during training, mostly because he wishes to avoid injuring his teammates. He knows how to throw a clean tackle, mind you, where his feet hit nothing but the ball, but accidents do happen, even in the world of professional football. So, most of the time, it's not really worth the risk.

But when it comes to Jamie Tartt… as per usual, he is proving to be the exception.

Sam is rarely like this— vindictive and needlessly aggressive. Hatred is not an emotion that comes naturally to him. And Sam knows that, in some ways, his current behavior is no better than Jamie's had been a year ago, because for all his faults, Jamie never got physical with anyone on the team besides Roy, and even then, Roy always initiated it.

But Sam can't help it. Maybe it's because the rest of the team is egging him on, clapping him on the back every time Jamie hits the ground. Or, perhaps, it's the silence from his coaches, who may not wholeheartedly approve but who are also pointedly averting their eyes. Or, he wonders, maybe it's because Jamie has taken every single tackle without a word of protest. Each time Sam sweeps his feet out from underneath him, Jamie springs back up without any of his usual theatrics, a determined tilt to his mouth.

In the back of his mind, where his most shameful thoughts live, it makes Sam a little angry, that he can't evoke a response out of Jamie like Jamie can out of him. He yearns for a hint of unease, or irritation, for Jamie to lash out and prove that he hasn't changed, that he's still the awful individual that made Sam question everything about himself last season.

Of course, things like these are never so simple; Jamie Tartt is such an expert at getting underneath other people's skin because he himself is largely unshakeable. Besides that, Jamie is unlikely to slip up while he's in such a precarious position with the rest of the team because, like all football players, he works better under pressure. So, in lieu of forcing Jamie into an embarrassing breakdown in the middle of training, Sam channels his frustrations into making sure Jamie spends more time flat on his back than he does standing.

And if Sam continues to take Jamie down harder and harder as training progresses, who will say anything to him? Jamie deserves a bit of rough handling, as he is sure everyone here would agree.

So when Sam sees another opportunity for a tackle, he doesn’t hesitate; he chases Jamie across the pitch at full tilt and throws his entire body into it, going straight for Jamie's ankles, completely disregarding the ball. Except this time, Jamie sees it coming (mostly because Sam had made no effort to pretend he was doing anything else), and he tries to dodge, twisting his hips sideways to avoid the sweeping arc of Sam's legs. He miscalculates minutely, feet slipping on muddy ground, and instead of clearing the tackle, his shin bone comes into direct contact with the toe of Sam's boot.

It's a hard collision, a product of Jamie's speed and Sam's weight, and it sends a wave of agony down Sam's toes through the arch of his foot.

Jamie yelps and goes flying, clipping his temple on the ground before he has time to catch himself with his hands. Sam winces at the audible thump, feeling the sticky beginnings of guilt growing in his abdomen. He can only imagine how badly that must've hurt Jamie; directly hitting bone is always painful, and though Sam doubts that he'd broken anything, there would be a nasty bruise. Jamie would be walking with a limp for several days, at the very least.

Coach Lasso blows his whistle, signaling a pause in training, and begins jogging across the field, Coaches Beard and Nate hot on his heels.

Sam stands up, ignoring his protesting foot, and shuffles over to his teammate, thrusting a hand out to help him up.

"Jamie," he says, "I am very sorry. Are you alright?"

Now that Sam can properly look at him, he notes that Jamie had landed in a very awkward position, with half of his face buried in soft grass and one arm tucked completely underneath him. More alarmingly, however:

He's not moving.

"Jamie?" Sam tries again, his voice pitching up in worry.

The coaches finally make it over to where Jamie is crumpled on the ground, and the rest of the team, sensing that something is amiss, follows closely behind, forming a loose circle around their downed player.

"What seems to be the problem here, fellows?" Coach Lasso asks, resting his hands carefully on his hips.

“Coach Lasso, I—” But Sam is unable to force the words past his frozen lips.

"Coach," Isaac barks. "He's not moving."

"Oh, man," Coach Lasso says, and kneels next to Jamie, turning him over. Half of his face is coated in soil, and his eyes are half-lidded, flickering intermittently.

"Hey, buddy," Coach Lasso says. "Can you hear me?"

No response. Jamie’s chest is still rising steadily, Sam is grateful to see, but it’s clear that the tumble had knocked him completely unconscious.

Sam begins to feel sick. Suddenly, he wonders why he thought this had been such a good idea.

"Oh, man," Coach Lasso repeats. "Hey, uh, Will? You mind grabbing the doctor right quick? Tell him we sort of have an emergency going down on the field right now."

Will takes off sprinting across the field, dropping the case of water bottles midway in his haste to reach the tunnel.

The pitch settles into silence while they wait for Will to return with the doctor. Coach Lasso brushes back the hair that had fallen into Jamie’s face in the fall, an odd tenderness to the motion.

"Maybe he's faking it," Colin suggests shakily.

As if summoned, Jamie suddenly jackknifes up from the ground, nearly knocking his forehead into Coach Lasso's. It frightens Colin nearly half-to-death, who jumps so hard he bumps both him and Isaac to the ground.

"Oh, thank god," Coach Lasso says. He snaps his fingers a few times in front of Jamie's eyes. From Sam’s viewpoint, they appear to be severely out of focus; his pupils are so large that only a small sliver of his iris is visible. "You with us, buddy? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Fourteen," Jamie moans, before turning over and vomiting onto the pitch. It’s mostly dry heaving, with hardly anything coming up, but it sounds and looks painful. Sam’s stomach cramps in sympathy.

“Not quite, kiddo,” Coach Lasso says, grimacing as he runs a hand soothingly along Jamie’s spine. Will arrives with the doctor a moment later, who kneels down on Jamie’s other side, carefully avoiding the puddle of sick.

“Hello, love,” she says. “Do me a favor, eh? Can you follow my finger?”

She holds her index finger up, tapping it a few times with her thumb to catch Jamie’s attention, before she carefully moves it to the left, and then to the right. Jamie’s eyes remain stubbornly unfocused, staring straight ahead.

“Yeah, that’s a concussion. Can someone help me get him to the treatment room?”

Sam finds himself volunteering before he can think twice. “I will do it,” he says.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Coach Lasso says, his voice carefully neutral. He’s peering at Sam through his aviators, and Sam feels frozen by his gaze.

Though he doesn’t explicitly say it, Sam understands what is being implied perfectly. You’re the reason he’s like this.

Coach Lasso would never say that directly, of course—likely, he’d instead turn it into a very confusing life lesson, mixed with a personal anecdote that doesn’t exactly align with the current situation.

It leaves a nasty taste on Sam’s tongue, but not because he feels slighted; it’s because Coach Lasso is correct. “I will ensure he comes to no further harm,” Sam promises and squeezes between Coach Lasso and Jamie to hook an arm around his waist and hoist him up.

Jamie moans in protest, his knees buckling, and the doctor swoops in on his other side, catching him underneath his arms. “Alright then,” she says. “Let’s get going.”

The hobble to the treatment room is difficult and stilted, with Jamie limping and dizzy, but they make it, depositing Jamie gently on an examination table.

The doctor begins rifling through one of the many cabinets for elastic bandages to wrap and ice Jamie’s shin, and Sam steps back to hover awkwardly by the doorway. The doctor curses. “Looks like we’re all out of wrapping tape,” she says. “Keep an eye on him for a moment, will you?” she asks Sam, but she leaves the room before he can respond.

Not that he would’ve said no, of course.

Sam shuffles further into the room and uses the brief lapse in silence to take a closer look at Jamie, noticing for the first time his gaunt cheeks and the bags underneath his eyes. He looks much slimmer than Sam remembers, especially in his face and upper body. This could perhaps be attributed to his sudden departure from Manchester City and thus a subsequent lack of training, but Jamie had never struck Sam as an individual who deviated far from his workout plan. Furthermore, during his brief stint on Lust Conquers All, Jamie had looked as healthy as ever, with tan skin and broad muscles.

A far cry from the pale and drawn individual sitting in front of Sam now, though that had not been so long ago.

He looks awful. He’s looked awful ever since he rejoined the team, Sam realizes, now that anger is no longer clouding his judgment. Jamie Tartt had always been so much larger than life that Sam often forgot that, like everyone else, he was only flesh and blood.

The Jamie sitting in front of him is not the same Jamie that had taken great pleasure in pointing out all of Sam’s flaws. This Jamie seems like he would hardly take pleasure in anything at all.

Sam looks at Jamie, worn down and ragged, and wonders when he became the kind of person to kick someone while they were already down.

“Jamie,” Sam says, and Jamie flinches at the mention of his name. It sends a spear through Sam’s heart.

“I owe you an apology,” Sam tells him.

Jamie staunchly avoids his gaze, staring at a point on the floor instead. “S’alright,” he mumbles, picking at his cuticles. “Deserved it anyways. I was a prick t’you.”

“No, it is not alright. Though I am angry, and frustrated, I should have never resorted to physical violence.”

A muscle in Jamie’s jaw clenches. “I was a prick,” he repeats. “’Sides, it’s nothing I ain’t used to. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Sam gets the distinct feeling Jamie did not mean to say that last part, judging by the way he clenches his eyes shut. Sam wisely chooses to ignore it, filing the information away carefully for later.

“Even so, my actions were unacceptable. One wrong does not excuse another. I am truly sorry, Jamie.”

“All good, man,” Jamie says, kicking his feet. “M’sorry, too. For being such a dick last season, and relegating Richmond, like.”

Jamie sounds genuinely reticent, though he looks like a guilty child who’d been caught with his hand stuck down the cookie jar. It’s oddly endearing, Sam finds. He holds out a hand to Jamie as a peace offering.

Jamie takes it hesitantly and finally looks up to meet Sam’s eyes. “Thank you, my friend,” Sam tells him, and shakes his hand firmly. Jamie smiles, a small and shy thing, and it strikes Sam that he’d never seen Jamie smile like this before. It warms Sam’s heart, that Jamie would trust him with something so rare.

They stay there for a moment, basking in the easy silence, before Jamie’s face abruptly turns pale green. “Bucket, bucket, bucket,” he groans. Sam drops his hand like it’s on fire. “Oh, yes, of course,” he says, stumbling across the room to grab the trash bin, and he barely manages to shove it underneath Jamie’s chin before he’s vomiting again. Jamie spits some excess bile out of his mouth, coughing and spluttering, and rests his forehead on the edge of the bin clutched in his lap.

“You’re kind of scary sometimes, Obisanya,” Jamie says, sounding miserable.

Sam laughs at the absurdity of the statement. “You must be the only person who has ever told me that,” he tells Jamie.

“No, I’m serious,” Jamie whines. “You’re like those little fuzzballs that turn into monsters when you feed them after midnight.”

“Jamie, are you calling me a gremlin?”

“No!” Jamie immediately protests, before his face twists up in thought. “Well, yeah, actually.”

Sam cracks a grin, amused, and suddenly they’re both dissolving into a fit of laughter, Jamie clutching his midriff and Sam leaning on Jamie’s shoulder for balance.

Perhaps Jamie coming back had not been such a bad thing, after all.

[bluegekk0]

my favorite pastime is imagining my blorbos playing minecraft. what kind of player would they be? what would they enjoy doing the most? idk what it is about minecraft but it can tell you so much about a person

fpk would primarily do redstone stuff. he's not very good at combat or exploring, he's a bit slow and his small hands don't mesh well with a keyboard, and he doesn't have the artistic creativity for building. but with redstone? he could build insane farms, or advanced mechanisms, he'd be the mf to spend all night making a working redstone computer within the game

grimm complements fpk's redstone skills insanely well. he has the eye for aesthetic and enjoys decorating fpk's base to make it look prettier. all those crazy mechanisms fpk builds? grimm will create the most impressive looking outer shell to make it more pleasing to look at. will always offer to decorate your house, and spends most of his time making the area around everyone's base look good

hornet is an explorer, she's the one lagging the server by loading hundreds of chunks every time she's on. she doesn't need a map to find specific locations, she memorizes where they are and can easily track them again after returning home. she would also be pretty good at combat, though her lack of patience means she often dies in very stupid ways. also, she loves bullying zote. asks fpk for redstone trap advice just so she can build a tnt trap under zote's house

holly almost exclusively makes cute little farms for animals and spends their time fishing. they stay away from combat (though they're surprisingly good at it) and instead choose relaxing activities. if anyone builds a strip mine, you'll often find them mining in peace. whenever anyone needs a lot of cave resources, or wool, or a shit ton of wheat and potatoes, holly is the one who has it all, and they will always let you take all of it

zote kind of sucks at everything, but, of course, pretends otherwise. he will challenge hornet to combat (loses), he will try to fight the zombies that surround his house (dies to a random creeper) and he will go mining for diamonds (drowns in lava). if the server had a death counter, he would be at the top, and of course would boast about it. whenever he's not attempting to fuck over hornet's house, he chills at holly's farm, and he will accidentally let all of their sheep out of their pen

lewk is still very young at this point in the au lore, so he mostly just watches either of his dads play. after getting his own account, he would just run around and check what the others are doing, offering to help them around (even if he doesn't really know what he's doing or how all of it works. he is a baby after all). he would particularly enjoy joining hornet on her adventures, and every time he dies, hornet teleports him back to her, despite being against using cheats. he also gets free stuff from her that she gave him using commands. their little secret. how did that baby get a fully enchanted netherite sword? clearly he's just that good

i know this is a bit random but i just felt like talking about the blorbos. your honor, i love them. they are everything to me ❤️

[theywrites]

17 wins in row, the God of Glory, master tactician - wherever Sun Xiang turns there's always Ye Xiu. Ye Xiu's legacy in Glory is an all-covering, and Sun Xiang is always in his shadows. He, Sun Xiang, has replaced YeXiu as Team leader and One Autumn Leaf is his. Yet, it's like he is picking up the leftovers that YeXiu has allowed him. He hates it.

***

He cries in the bathroom behind the scenes. Losing hurts, hurts so much not only because they are eliminated, but because he thought he could do something against their losing streak, change their downfall, and he struggled all he could but still, inevitably, lost. He was not enough. In the end, he didn't do a damn thing.

And then of all the players, the staff, hell, even sneaky fans who sometimes find their way backstage, Ye Xiu walks in on Sun Xiang leaning over the sink, crying. And Ye Xiu, the bastard he is, doesn't have the decency to walk away and pretend he didn't see. He rubs salt in Sun Xiang's wounds, and really, he'd always been the reason for Sun Xiang's problems.

"Sobbing like this after losing a match.... Young kids these days lack resilience."

Sun Xiang raises his head and glares. Ye Xiu smirks. Damn him.

"Get out," Sun Xiang hisses as he turns to look away. He can't tolerate that bastard mocking him.

"Oh? Is that so." SunXiang doesn't look up, but he hears footsteps walking towards him. Sun Xiang feels like a rabid dog, he wants to bite YeXiu's head off.

"You know-" he whips his head around, his still wet eyes, he hates YeXiu for being such a despicable being who is kicking SunXiang when he's down. Ye Xiu is leaning against the sink beside him, smiling at him. At least SunXiang sees that YeXiu halts, and he stops saying whatever he was about to say. There is a small moment of victory, but Ye Xiu was charging to strike back harder. (You look too cute glaring like this Dont look at me like that you look too cute.) "Don't look at me like that," he starts, he's looking straight through SunXiang, saying the next words. "You think it's my fault that you lost. You're blaming me for all your failures." He advances, he's building up for the final blow. "When will you learn to improve yourself?"

Sun Xiang feels small and childish standing in the bathroom with YeXiu who's caught him, a mess, after crying because his dream is shattered and his effort were for nothing. YeXiu is looking down at him like he's a toddler and it doesn't help. SunXiang resolves himself to stare at the dirty floor until YeXiu leaves.

He doesn't speak, so YeXiu continues. (Perhaps knowing he's right, because SunXiang doesn't retort.)

"You should not have charged in like that into the enemy, knowing that your team cannot keep up with your movement. A battle master with.. has un.. movement speed, yet you charge right on and leaves your teammates behind fully knowing that, instead of adjusting your tempo ti make a coordinated attack. That's a huge mistake, as a player, but even more as a team leader. Also,-"

Blood rushes to SunXiang's head as he stares at the floor, his ears are flooded with the rush of his own pulse.

"I did everything I could!" Sun Xiang interrupts. He's yelling at the dirty spot on the pale bathroom floor. He sucks in a breath. "I practised so damn hard every day, I always put my most into the drills, I stayed behind to practice pressing the right buttons to stay in my best shape, I mastered new combinations to surprise the enemies, I even made myself watch vods to notice the details of our enemies and the playstyle of the opponent team even though it's not my strong point, I tried to motivate the others even when nobody listens to me, I tried everything- everything I could and could not - even when I knew that everyone in the team thinks I'm a complete idiot, and even when I made a fool of myself trying, I still tried my best!"

He's crying again. Damn it.

Damn Ye Xiu for making him cry.

“You’ve beaten me in every way possible now. Are you happy? Knowing that even having the account card you left behind I’ll never fill your shoes, and I’m not cut out for leader position I took from you, I can’t lead my team to victory like you did and whatever I try in Glory I’ll always be in your shadow.”

Sun Xiang feels utterly defeated and it’s the first time he admits so. “What more do you want?”

He’ll never beat YeXiu. He hates YeXiu for being better than him, he hates himself for not being better. The truth hurts too much.

SunXiang tries to quench down the sobs, but he knows that his shaking shoulders are giving him away. His hands are white from clenching on the cold porcelain sink. He feels YeXiu's warm hand on his. And he hears YeXiu tsk.

"Sun Xiang," he calls. Sun Xiang looks up despite his resolve to only stare at that dirty spot on the laminated floor. His face is pale, his eyes are red, his mouth is slightly open and he's heaving through his mouth. Too late, he notices that YeXiu is too close to him, and that there is a something in YeXiu's eyes he cannot decipher, and that YeXiu is leaning in on him.

YeXiu's lips are soft on his

***

“I’ll never fill your shoes,” YeXiu is laughing again. “That was really cute.”

Sun Xiang scoffs. He confessed in a moment of weakness. Trust YeXiu to exploit that.

YeXiu snuggles his head in the crook of SunXiang’s neck. “Don’t be mad at me,” he says, his words tickle.

[thedawningofthehour]

-Portal for Leo and Mikey, very nice. Donnie absolutely had a Portal phase but Leo and Mikey regularly play fanmade co-op tests

-Surgeon Simulator for Leo, I was going to say no but honestly he'd probably play it with Donnie for the sheer purpose of doing it stupidly

-OF COURSE Donnie plays League of Legends

-Raph and Mikey play farming simulators, of course

-honestly I don't see Raph playing many games with guns or violence in them unless he's playing against his brothers. It's not that they hurt his delicate sensibilities or anything, but it's just not relaxing to him. The joy comes from beating his brothers within an inch of their lives. On his own he likes chill games where you go at your own pace. Absolutely Animal Crossing. If he played Nintendogs he definitely cried

-Mikey is SCARY good at rhythm games

-and pretty much every game that's just a mad scramble, he gets into a groove and is pretty much impossible to shake. That one bomb-bomb sorting minigame from Super Mario 64? Annihilated.

-LEO AS A COMPETITIVE POKEMON SHOWDOWN PLAYER he'd absolutely be that prick that uses Shuckle and gets Wonder Guard ability-swapped onto it and tanks and is the reason Ursaring got banned. Donnie is the one to exploit the endless battle trick though, he's a sore loser. (Donnie is also banned)

-Leo plays Red Dead Redemption and Barbie Horse Adventure and anything with horses. He's like Ken when he was extremely excited about the patriarchy except gayer.

-he's also terrible at RPGs

-when Donnie plays with the mic on he has the worst potty mouth. His insults are often expertly crafted and multi-layered. Of course he's fucked everyone's mom. And their dad. He doesn't discriminate.

-April definitely plays horror games, and the same multi-player games Donnie does. Once the headsets are on they are no longer friends. The only exception to this is when someone else is being an asshole in the server, then they're teaming up to destroy them. And then the second that's over they're back to screaming slurs at each other

-I also feel like the twins would play shit like the Sims and House Flipper together and just make the most ridiculous shit.

-in general whatever game they play when all four (or five) of them are playing it's absolute chaos. Even if it's a super chill game, they will make a disaster of it. Like that one time the Irish Lads played Farming Simulator, one of the chillest games ever, and turned it into this:

-also Splinter will join and will be either inexplicably great at it and dominate or he'll pretend not to know what the controller is and ask stupid questions to annoy them

Guys what video games would the boys each like? Aside from the retro stuff and shit like Mario Party and other games they all-out war each other in.

I feel like Raph would really enjoy slower, calmer games. He probably plays Powerwash Simulator to relax.

Mikey would absolutely play Cooking Mama.

[urtheloml]

heartbreak boy

pairing: miya atsumu x reader w/c: 8k synopsis: miya atsumu— your personal heartbreak boy. being in love with your best friend is tiring but maybe a school concert will help. a/n: happy new year! i hope everyone has a great 2022. this fic means a lot to me because Atsumu is just so <33 also, this is a songfic (ish??) based of Heartbreak Girl by 5SOS. BUT DON'T WORRY IT'S FLUFFY N THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING!

Miya Atsumu is a beast—at least, on court he is. He’s intense and analytical, he’s focused and dedicated to playing his best. He’s committed to being the best that he can. Miya Atsumu never slacks off when it comes to volleyball, he’s powerful and a try-hard, he’s simply one of the finest players out there.

Off court though, he’s none of those things.

Okay, more like, he’s very much lesser of those qualities. It’s not like he’s failing his classes or anything like that. It’s just that, well, he’s an idiot. That’s the bottom line. He’s an oblivious, whiny, borderline obnoxious little brat, honestly.

You’ve been his best friend since the first day of high school, hell, maybe even before that. You went to the same middle school and even then, the two of you were somewhat friends. In your first year of high school, you and the twins were grouped together for some class project and from there it was history.

Thinking about it now, you can’t seem to recall a moment in the past three years where Miya Atsumu wasn’t there. On the way to class? He was there, running past you and tousling your hair, and you’d scream hey! and he'd scream back. Walking out the gates? He was there, and he’d walk you home despite your protests. During lunch? On the weekends and even holidays? He was there, there, there! If he wasn’t physically next to you, he’d be blowing up your phone.

When he starts becoming such a constant in your life, it was hard to pretend that you weren’t so wholly and irrevocably head over heels for him. How could you not be? He was one of your best friends, though you’d never tell him that, his ego is big enough thank you very much.

You’ve seen him at his worst, when he was sobbing into your couch after losing a volleyball match or whenever he fought with Osamu and he’d tearfully tell you what happened on your doorstep even though it was close to midnight. Because Miya Atsumu may fight a lot with his twin but at the end of the day, he feels it the most whenever they don’t get along.

But, you’ve seen him at his best too. When he’d score the winning point in a game and he’d beam at you. When he does particularly well on a class test, he turns to you expecting a high-five. When he and Osamu manage a new move, he would run up to you, smiling like a puppy, saying did you see that? Did you see that! (you’re always watching, he should know that.)

It goes both ways too.

He's seen you at your worst. When you cried snottily over films and failed tests, he'd let you bury your face into his thigh and he'd watch the dumbest shows with you, because he knows you like them and for you he'd do anything. He's seen you at your best as well— when you wore an outfit that made you feel good and when you were laughing so hard you almost threw up.

You've traded so many little snippets of your lives without even knowing it.

So of course, it was inevitable for you to start falling for him.

Three years is a long time to be in love with someone, it just makes it hurt that much more when your feelings clearly aren't reciprocated. Osamu, however, tells you not to worry. Suna tells you the same thing and on the rare occasions you bump into your ex-senior, Kita, he seems to tell you the same thing as well— that Atsumu will come around sooner or later. Part of this makes you feel a million times better, but the fact that apparently everyone but the object of your affections seems to know about your feelings hurts like a punch to your gut.

The thing that hurts the worst is-

"Yer never gonna believe this! It happened again an' I swear this time I was careful too."

Miya Atsumu unceremoniously barges into your living room and with no regard to the fact that you were in the middle of a Harry Potter movie marathon, he plops himself down right next to you on your couch. Sighing, you pause the movie and turn to your teary-faced best friend. He's already made himself comfortable too, he's stolen your blanket to cover his body. His piss-haired head finding solace on your lap.

Unconsciously, or maybe naturally, your hands start carding through his faux-blond locks, wanting to soothe him. Atsumu sniffles and the fabric under his eyes dampens a bit, but you don't say anything. Really, you'd think he would've learnt his lesson by now, but alas, here he is again, in your home and on your couch and you already know what he's about to say.

"It's not ma fault, m'telling ya. She said she couldn't handle ma 'busy' schedule then she told me she wasn't even that into me in the first place an' then she dumped me right there, in the middle of the movie! Can ya believe that! Even 'Samu wouldn't treat me that rudely, ya feel me?"

Nodding, you placate him by agreeing and with a numbness surrounding your heart, you recite your lines perfectly— it's always the same thing anyway, it's always I'm sorry 'Tsummie, you didn't deserve that. Don't worry, you'll find someone who'll treat you real good soon, 'kay? Next time, choose them really really really carefully!

Content with your words, he nods into your thigh and resumes the movie. The two of you are silent after that, and with your hand still patting his head, you begin to think back to all the times he's done this to you in the past three years.

The first time it happened, you were a first year and he had shown up on your doorstep near midnight. After all this time, you never asked him why you were the first person he went to after he got dumped in a Burger King. All you knew was that he looked so pathetic pitiful, standing there in front of your door that you had to let him in.

The two of you had only really hit it off a few months ago which is why you found it absurd that he came to you of all people. He made a laughable attempt to appear unbothered, you ushered him in and let him face plant into your couch and then he started talking and talking and talking. Mind you, it was midnight and he just kept rambling on and on and maybe that was when you started to fall for him.

Sure, he may have been talking about some other girl who had crushed his heart but the fact remains that he showed up at your doorstep to find some comfort in you. And that mattered more than anything else. He went on to tell you about how his date told him he talked too much (gasp) and how he wasn't attentive enough to her. And you listened, despite the fact that you were tired. Maybe that's what it meant to be in love.

"'Tsum, she sounds like she only wanted you as arm candy." You remembered telling him. "Why'd you even agree to go out with her?"

"Because she asked me." He had answered innocently, simple and to the point and that was the first time your heart was hurt for someone else's behalf.

From the way you've seen Atsumu treat his 'fans', you'd think the lot of them would be much too intimidated to ask him out. And you'd be right. Most of his admirers don't actually do much more than show up to his games but there's always a handful of them each year who dare go up to the setter himself and ask for a date.

That is Miya Atsumu's Achilles' heel— that he blindly accepts whoever's willing to take him. Atsumu isn't stupid, he told you one night that he's more than aware of how he treats his fans (they have ta know not to bug me when I serve). He told you that was why he went out with that girl.

Fast forward three years and he's still exactly the same. Every girl who plucks up the courage to throw themselves at him, he'll take them in with open arms just for them to break his heart every single time. And each time, he'll end up in your house, next to you and in your arms and he still won't get it.

Maybe it does only happen a handful of times every few months, but it's happened enough times for you to get fucking sick of it. It's happened so often that you had to turn to his own brother after he leaves you alone just to let it all out. Osamu knows you're in love with his stupid brother and he feels bad that you're dealing with Atsumu's antics so he lets you rant to him after Atsumu rants to you. It's like a cycle at this point.

You've heard the same excuses countless times at this point. If Atsumu wasn't being used for clout, he was dumped because he was too preoccupied with volleyball and if it wasn't that then the girls simply got tired of him and moved on. You feel for him, you really do— you've even cried with him at times— but if he does this one more time, you might just snap. A girl can only take so much before she cracks and you've taken one too many hits to your heart.

Atsumu nudges your stomach, snapping you out of your thoughts. 'M okay now, so 'm just gonna go, he tells you quietly as if he didn't just break your heart for the third time that year. You feel yourself nodding but your mind is miles away. The second he leaves, your thumb presses on Osamu's contact in your phone.

"'Samu! Why'd you let him come here?!"

"I'd rather he bug you than me, that's why."

Burying your face in your blanket (it smells of Atsumu, you breathe it in) you begin to talk.

Atsumu reaches home and his heart feels like it's being weighed down by stones. Entering his room, he sees his brother on the phone. Who ya talkin' ta, he asks. Osamu side-eyes at him, tells him it's just a friend and looks away. Atsumu shrugs, indifferent, but when Osamu hangs up later and he steals a glance at his phone, an uneasy feeling settles in his stomach when he reads the contact name.

"Why didn't ya tell me it was her ya were talkin ta?"

"Didn't think it would have made a difference."

Atsumu furrows his brows at that. An ugly feeling, something green and gross leaves itself rotting within himself and he doesn't know why. Why should it bother him that you and his brother are talking, the two of you are friends and friends talk to each other, he reasons. He goes to sleep that night without wishing Osamu goodnight.

You, on the other hand, barely got any sleep at all. Osamu's words spin around your mind. What do I do about this, you had asked the grey-haired twin. 'M gonna be honest with ya, alright. The only way ta get over him, is ta tell him, an' ya have ta be straight up with that dumbass, just tell him ta his ugly face that yer into him, he had told you, obviously forgetting that they shared the same face.

Maybe you will tell him the truth soon.

⚝ ⚝ ⚝

Two weeks later, Atsumu remains hung up over his horrible breakup. He mopes around his house, around your house and even in school all because of it. He's all whiny and needy, more than usual at least, and rumour has it (read: Suna) he's not been focusing on the court either.

It's a normal Wednesday night when you hear your doorbell ring. The Miya twins grace you with their presence, Osamu stands before you, face screwed up in frustration while fisting the back of Atumu's shirt. Atsumu's pouting, annoyed that he was dragged here, and his gaze never leaves the floor.

"Take him. Take him an' deal with him right now before I kill him." Is all he says before stomping away from you.

Huffing, you pull Atsumu inside and let him fall onto your couch. He refuses to meet your eyes, let alone talk. It's surprising, because all week you've been trying to get him to shut up.

"'Tsummie." No response.

"Atsumu," you say firmly, but your voice colours with warmth (as it always does when you say his name).

Atsumu finally looks up and his shoulders sag with relief when he sees you looking at him. No contempt or irritation to be seen in your face, only soft adoration. He doesn't know that of course.

"'Tsummie. What's going on, bub?"

Atsumu deflates, he fiddles with your blanket before mumbling, "Nothin'. 'M just upset, is all. It's like, I haven’t found the right girl since we were sixteen an' it's like— it seems that 'm always the problem. An' it's like everyone's tryna tell me ta open ma eyes but I don't know what 'm supposed ta see. I don't know what 'm doing wrong"

Atsumu runs a hand down his face, looking at you depressedly. "Do ya think it's me? Maybe 'm just not cut out for this relationship thing."

Over the years, an accumulation of all your feelings for Atsumu has formed a string so long inside of your heart that it's started to coil. To make room, of course. And each time you're hurt by him, it uncoils and uncoils and right now, it's barely even a thread.

He lifts his face up and sighs woefully, "Agh, why can't I just find someone like- someone like ya, ya know?"

The thread snaps.

"'Tsum- Atsumu. Why... why do you have to find someone like me?"

He furrows his brows and looks at you as if it should be obvious. "Well yer ma best friend."

"No, that's not what I meant. Why find someone like me, why not- why not just me?"

Atsumu lips curl up a bit. "Whaddya mean?"

"Well, instead of looking for someone like me, why not just date... me?"

Atsumu sits up then, looking at you as if you've grown a second head and the silence is deafening. It's so quiet, you think he could probably hear the thundering of your heart. Maybe that's why you were hesitant to confess in the first place. Falling in love with someone is so scary, because you're giving them every opportunity to take your heart in their hands and it's not up to you if it gets broken or cradled. And right now, Miya Atsumu is crushing your heart into a million pieces as the silence drags on. You're about to say something when you hear it.

A tinkle.

Bubbles of giggles burst out of Atsumu and he clutches his stomach as it turns into hysterical laughter. Coldness seeps into your body as you watch him lose it, your face blank.

He's laughing. You just confessed and he thinks it's a joke, great. This is your karma for something you've done in a past life, you're sure of it. Atsumu finally stops laughing after a minute or two and he slaps a heavy hand on your back.

"Wow, ya really got me there. For a second there, I thought ya were serious."

Tears prick the side of your eyes, hot and stinging and there's a vice grip of steel wire within your throat and you will yourself not to cry in front of him. Swallowing, you hiccup, "Yeah, yeah that was real funny."

Ah, the tears seem to have a mind of their own because they fall anyway.

Atsumu backtracks, he stutters and splutters and he goes hey, what's wrong as if he didn't just laugh in your face.

Huffing wetly, you pull him off your couch by his collar, ignoring his yelps of protest. "Get out of my house please, and quit using me, 'Tsumu. It hurts and I'm tired of you using me as your personal outlet everytime you go on a bad date, okay? Go bother someone else because I'm done listening to you tonight, alright?" And with that, you've pushed him out of your door and you slam it shut, hoping it hits him on the way out.

Do you know that feeling when you're rollerblading and you're going way too fast and you already know you're about to fall? That's what this feels like. Even though you knew it'd be like this, even though you anticipated the rejection— it hurts all the same. It goes to show that it'll hurt either way, even if you did see it coming.

Once he's gone, you throw yourself onto your bed and let the tears fall freely. Your pillow feels soaked when you finally lose consciousness. You're not sure if you can face Atsumu tomorrow so you feign being sick and you hope that when you return, you'll be able to act normally.

Somewhere else, Atsumu trudges home with a conflicted heart. His chest tightens every time he recalls the sad look on your face. He thinks he messed up big time, but he just doesn't know why. And later, when he tells 'Samu about it and he gets yelled at for 'being the densest fucking idiot in the universe', it just leaves him feeling even more confused. Osamu tells him to stop hurting your feelings and he doesn't have it in him to do much more than nod.

⚝ ⚝ ⚝

Unfortunately, your plan doesn't work as well as you hoped it did. Because the second you return to school, Atsumu's there, as he always is but there’s still some leftover hurt inside you. He's still your best friend, even if you are mad at him. What's worse is that he doesn't understand why you're upset so it would be a bit unfair for you to ignore him.

He's looking at you, all doe-eyed and nervous, unlike the cocky person you know he makes himself out to be and you can't help but soften a bit. He shrinks a little under your glare but you don't think there'll ever be a time where you won't forgive 'Tsummie, even if he did laugh at your attempt to confess. So you tell him to forget what happened on that fateful Wednesday night, and Atumu's a little stupid so he blissfully goes along with it.

It hurts, stings even, when he acts so normally afterwards like he didn't just make you cry for six hours straight. It hurts when he smiles at you and slings an arm around your neck and he doesn't realise that you're not pushing back into him like you'd usually do.

Anyway, when he leaves for practice later, you're all set to go back to crying in your room when Osamu pulls you aside right before you exit the school gates. The conversation that follows leaves you lightheaded but the idea that he suggests to you does sound like it would finally work. The conversation goes as follows:

"So are ya gonna do it?" Osamu raises an eyebrow at you.

"What are you talking about, 'Samu?"

"Were ya not listenin' during assembly? The principal was talkin' 'bout that concert thing for us graduating seniors." He says, as if whatever it is he's talking about should be obvious to you.

"Uh-huh, what about it?" You try not to be offended when Osamu rolls your eyes at you.

"'M sayin'," he huffs, "This is yer chance! I know yer obviously aren't over ma brother and I know yer aren't that bad with the mic. Pick a song, Suna an' I will help ya, we'll be a shit band but it'll work."

And then he left, leaving you thinking about his words. You don't know if you should trust Miya Osamu, though, because he said being direct with Atsumu would work and look where that's landed you. But then again, it is your last year in high school, maybe you should go out with a bang. Thinking about it, with him on the drums and Suna on guitar, maybe you just could pull it off.

Later that night, you shoot Osamu a quick text: Let's do it. I know just the song.

You receive the thumbs up emoji in return and you go to sleep that night, feeling slightly more hopeful than ever. Closing your eyes, you try to picture Atsumu's face in your head when you perform. Would he smile and finally get it? Would he run onto the stage and pull you into his arms like you've always wanted him to since forever? Or maybe, he won't like it at all. Whatever it is, you can't wait to find out.

The concert's in three weeks so your makeshift band, Chuupet Three (courtesy of Suna Rintarou), sets aside a good amount of time everyday to rehearse. By rehearse you mean, playing Mario Kart for two hours and half assing the actual practicing for the rest of the hour. Despite your pathetic attempts to make the rehearsals productive, you have to agree with Osamu when he says that the three of you do sound relatively good.

There's just one problem: keeping this band a secret from Atsumu.

Which is difficult considering that one of the members lives with him. Which begins the tiresome effort to make sure he definitely doesn't find out about you and the band. Because you already know he's going to a: flip out and try to join it or b: flip out and throw a tantrum and both options sound terrible, so it's imperative for the you to keep the band a secret.

You're all running out of excuses though, because how many more chuupets does Suna need to buy and what secret errands are Osamu running for his mother and why do you have to help your neighbour right now?

And of course, the universe decides to fuck you over, like it does to everyone else. And lo and behold, Miya Atsumu strolls into the room, halfway through your song. Osamu loses his grip on his drumsticks, Suna stops strumming and your voice cracks on the last note. Pin drop silence.

"'Sumu- we can explain," Osamu starts but Atsumu’s not even looking at him. No, he's looking at you and you swear you've never seen his eyes that full of betrayal, even when he was dumped in the middle of a movie.

"'Tsummie- please, hear me out," you try reaching out to him but he steps away from you as though your touch burns him, and then your heart breaks all over again.

Atsumu's been hurt a lot in his life. Whenever his mother wouldn't believe him every time Osamu did something bad when they were children, whenever his teammates in middle school would talk about him behind his back, whenever he got dumped for the stupidest things but this. This hurts way worse, he feels.

Because maybe he expected this from his brother, even suna, but never you. Because you were the first person who stuck up for him when he fought with his twin, because you're the one who kissed his head when you thought he was asleep, and you had said you're not annoying, 'Tsummie, not even a little bit, my starboy and you were supposed to be his best friend. So how come it's become like this?

Chasing after him, you call out his name hoping he'll stop. And thank God he does. He's not looking at you, he's looking at the ground as if something on the earth would save him from the burning sensation of humiliation in his stomach.

You're about to say something when he whispers out, "Ya know, if ya didn't want me ta be a part of yer band, ya could've just told me. Or if ya thought I was insufferable too, ya could've told me. Ya could've just told me that I wasn't," his voice cracks, "that I wasn't good enough." And then he finally meets your gaze, but this time you wish he hadn't, because you already know how lethal his tear streaked face is, and it kills you a thousand times over knowing you're the cause of it.

A part of you, a small tiny insignificant part of you, feels just a little bit smug because maybe now he'll understand how it feels to get your heart broken by the one person you trusted the most. But that part of you couldn't overpower the rest of your soul that aches to gather him into your arms and piece him back together again. A privilege, however, that isn't yours.

Atsumu takes your silence as an answer and walks away. You don't chase after him.

Heartache isn't a feeling Atsumu's unfamiliar with. He's known it for years. He knows how losing a match point, how failing a quiz he studied real hard for and how getting tossed aside when someone deems him unimportant— he knows all these things can make his chest tighten and make his breathing go ragged.

But this? His closest friend, his brother, and most of all you're excluding him from your activities, it hurts so much more. He thinks it's because he never thought this would happen again. He thought the days of loneliness where he was isolated and left out and people pretended to like him— he thought he left that all in middle school. He thought he finally found a group of people who liked him for him. No secrets, nothing. Well, turns out he was wrong after all.

"Oi, that's ma bed yer on." Osamu says as he strolls into their room.

Atsumu doesn't bother replying. He buries his face in Osamu's pillow and rubs his snot all over it before climbing down to lay in his own bed.

"Alright, guess I deserved that." Osamu says, mildly disgusted. He sighs before sitting down next to his dumb twin. As much as they fight over petty things, it hurts Osamu just as much whenever they're actually mad at each other, especially if it's his fault. Osamu sighs obnoxiously before leaning back all the way, laying his body over his brother's back despite Atsumu's noise of protests.

Atsumu squirms and struggles under Osamu, his bad mood already wearing off a little bit. He stills completely when Osamu reaches out a hand to tug at his hair softly before telling him, "I know yer mad, 'Sumu. 'M sorry for lying ta ya, really. But I promise we didn't exclude ya 'cause of whatever yer thinking. It's all part of a plan, or more like a surprise if 'm being honest."

Atsumu still doesn't say anything, but he nods and hums and he feels much calmer. Seemingly pacified with his words, Osamu gives his brother a noogie before climbing up to his own bed. G'night, he hears atsumu grumble from below him. Smiling, he answers back.

Pacing your room back and forth, you hope Atsumu will forgive you the next day. You even prepared his favourite food to win him over— fatty tuna onigiri. Luckily, it does manage to tide him over a bit. He sits with you during recess and munches contentedly on the rice balls. You're happy that he's apparently not upset with you anymore, but the feeling dissipates a second later when he leaves right after he finishes eating.

You don't see him in the corridors and he won't look at you in class or even when you sit in during his practices. He's acting as if your presence isn't there at all and that's so- petty- yeah alright, that sounds like him. It still sucks though, because he can't just rudely insert himself into every aspect of your life and then just leave all of a sudden, that's gonna give you some serious Atsumu withdrawal symptoms.

It's the night before the concert that you finally decide to text him. Because tomorrow is your last shot and he has to listen. So you text him and hopes he'll at least agree to listen during your performance.

tsummie, why r u avoiding me :( didn't think you'd still be mad

Not mad. Osamu told me your performance was a 'surprise' so I thought staying away would help you

oh. okay but i miss you annoying me :) make sure you watch me tmrw alright!!! and i mean properly listen please >:((

don't be silly, you know i'm always watching you.

And it's things like this that sparks a little glimmer of hope within you, that he might just feel the same if he knew what you've been trying to say all this time. Smiling at his last text, you go to sleep hoping tomorrow's the day everything will change— for the better.

⚝ ⚝ ⚝

The concert's in full swing. The crowd's going wild at every performance, even if the group did kinda suck and did it for jokes, the students loved it. Maybe it's the nostalgia and the fact that it's their last year in high school, it's the energy building up and releasing. The fact helps you calm down, knowing that even if you do mess up, they probably won't care.

Maybe it's not even the crowd you're worrying about. There's only one single person you care about liking your song. Which is why you hope to God that he listens, you hope to God he's watching, like he says he's always done. Your turn's almost up and you glance at Osamu who looks unbothered but you know he's a bit nervous because he keeps tugging at a loose string on his shirt. There's only one person in your group who's actually uncaring about this whole thing. Probably because he bet Osamu $20 that the plan's not gonna work., much to your dismay.

It's time. Shaking your hands and pumping yourself up, you call the two boys over. In a group huddle, the three of you say the stupid band name before entering the stage. For the last time, you're about to lay your heart out on the line, you're about to take a leap of faith and either you're going to fall or he's gonna catch you and you wish more than anything that it'll be the latter.

Looking down at the audience, you spot him in the midst of the crowd almost immediately. His stupid blond hair calls out to you each time, and your eyes always search for him in everywhere you go anyway. He's staring at you, lips curled up into a wide smile and he's already going wooo even though you haven't even started.

Target acquired, your eyes lock onto his, and with your gazes secure, you say into the microphone, "This song is dedicated to Miya Atsumu— my heartbreak boy."

Immediately afterwards, Osamu's guitar picks up and Suna starts the beat and it's going to work, you know it will. With a shaky voice you start singing the first verse and please, let him be listening.

You call me up It's like a broken record Saying that your heart hurts That you'll never get over him getting over you And you end up crying And I end up lying 'Cause I'm just a sucker for anything that you do

And when then phone call finally ends You say "Thanks for being a friend" And I'm going in circles again and again

As you go into the chorus, you hope he realises that it's the perfect song. It's as if it was tailor made for you and him, just like how he's tailor made for you. You know he is. Even if he does cry over stupid girls who'll never treat him half as right as you could, as you've always done. He's the one for you because only your sugar coated lies made him feel better all those nights. Even though it was the furthest thing from what you wish you could've said.

I bite my tongue But I wanna scream out You could be with me now But I end up telling you what you wanna hear But you're not ready And it's so frustrating He treats you so bad and I'm so good to you, it's not fair

And when the phone call finally ends You say "I'll call you tomorrow at 10" And I'm stuck in the friendzone again and again

Since you've started singing, you've looked anywhere but at Atsumu's face. You know if you look too soon, his reaction could totally throw you off so you'll save that bit for last. The second verse hits you the hardest because it's so true isn't it? In your mind, there’s a replay of every single time you had to pinch yourself from telling him that he should give you a chance. He gave everyone else a chance, so why not you? Why not you, who's been there since the beginning, who always puts lemon in his water bottles because you know he likes it that way.

I know someday it's gonna happen And you'll finally forget the day you met him Sometimes I'm so close to confession I gotta get it through your head That you belong with me instead

Your voice cracks on that last line. This is you last chance to drill your feelings into Miya Atsumu's stupidly thick skull and if this fails, well, you'll never let anyone say you didn't try. And when it's time for the final chorus, you swallow down your spit and every other inhibition within yourself and force your eyes to stare straight at him, just in case he needs a little more reassurance.

I dedicate this song to you The one who never sees the truth That I can take away you hurt Heartbreak girl Hold you tight straight through the daylight I'm right here, when you gonna realise That I'm your cure Heartbreak girl

At this point, you're basically almost half screaming because that's what it takes to convey this message. And as you belt out the last line, your eyes start tearing up and your voice wobbles but you do not look away from him and neither does he and you think, yes, maybe this is the moment. He's looking at you like he finally gets it, at least that's what you hope that face means.

Miya Atsumu is a beast. He's calculative and intense and overbearing, sometimes even scary. That's on the court though. Off-court, however, he's proven himself to be quite the idiot. But right now, in this moment, with you plastering your heart like a neon sign on your forehead, he finally understands. He's not crying, not yet. His eyes are wet and he knows you can tell. He gives you a watery smile and cheers for you like crazy as you pack your set up. Your feelings and everything else you've been meaning to say, it’s been received. And so, he bolts.

You take one last look at the crowd, you glance down and just as quickly as your heart soared— it drops just as fast. Miya Atsumu is no longer in the audience and neither is he scrambling to meet you backstage. Osamu and Suna exchange sympathetic looks. Behind the curtains, Osamu shakes his head and slips Suna the $20. Behind the curtains, you leave your heart on the stage.

If being that direct still didn't work, maybe it was time to give up on your starboy.

⚝ ⚝ ⚝

It's as if the world saw this coming because the second you start to walk home, rain starts falling. The sound of thunder resonates with your gloomy feelings and when lightning strikes overhead, you hope it hits you. It's a good thing as well, since now no one can tell if you're crying

But you do cry all the way home. Your feet feels like lead, weighing you down as you trudge into the shower. You cry in the shower too and when you accidentally knock your soap bottle to the ground, you think it's a metaphor for how the night went. Crying makes you lightheaded and you can't seem to think straight, which is why you cry even harder when you realise that you've somehow ironically ended up wearing one of 'Tsumu's old t-shirt. It's ratty and so worn out but faintly, like it shoudn't even be there, his scent lingers. The fabric falls to your thighs, it's so big and warm and if you inhale deep enough, it'll feel like he's there.

There’s a knock on your door. You tell your mom you're not hungry (crying made you lose your appetite) but the knocking continues anyway. With a heavy sigh, you drag yourself to the door to tell your mom that-

Oh.

There, in all his six foot glory is a very wet Miya Atsumu, your very own heartbreak boy, holding what seems to be a medium-sized wooden box in his hands.

Before he even gets the chance to open his big mouth, you shut the door in his face. Or, at least you try to. But he's an athlete and his reflexes are much faster. He shoves his foot in between the door and barges in, uninvited as always.

"Listen, angel, please," and that makes you stop for a moment because he hasn't called you that since you were sixteen. You don't why he stopped calling you it. (What if i called ya Angel, huh? It'll be like that One Direction song yer always listenin' ta.)

"Alright, angel, ya have every right ta tell me ta shut up an' leave an' never talk to ya again but- just. Just hear me out, five minutes, that's all."

And he looks so worried. You've never seen him look this worried honestly. Even after he loses a game, he appears disappointed but never worried because he knows that there’ll be future chances to redeem himself when it comes to volleyball but this? A chance with you, finally? There’s no guarantee you’ll forgive him, there’s no certainty that you’ll give him a chance and that’s terrifying.

Looking away, you sit down on the bed with a huff. He stands in front of you, face hopeful when you say go on. And then he starts rambling, just like he did that night he first came to you. He reaches inside the box and pulls out receipts from grocery stores and movie tickets and... candy wrappers? He pulls out origami cranes that look familiar and you're starting to think he's just trying to trash your room when it hits you— straight through the heart, it hits you— he's pulling out every single little trinket that he got each time he went out with you over the years.

"It never occured ta me- it never hit me until I heard ya sing but I fuckin' realised- I realised how in love I am with ya. An'-an' I know yer probably not- ya probably think 'm lying but I swear, God, I swear 'm not," and then he says your name like it makes him ache, "I never really thought about this because it was something so- so habitual for me but- every single time we went out I kept the receipts. Even when it was just a late night run ta the diner or just- just goin' ta the grocery store, I never threw away the receipts, ever. I never threw away our movie tickets or anything ya made for me an' it just hit me then. I never wanted ta throw away these things because they remind me of ya an' everytime I felt sad, I just picked ‘em up an' I felt okay again an' I never wondered why that was until it hit me- I kept these things because they make me remember ya an’ I'm an idiot ta only have realised it now but God, I love ya. It’s only ever been ya."

"It's like, whenever I felt sad, all I had ta do was- like- I take a look at this receipt," he holds up a torn faded blue receipt, one from a late night snack run a couple months ago, "An' I remember how genuinely happy I was feeling at the time. Do ya remember, we bought too many gummies an' we left a pack or two on the street? (You remember.) It makes me feel better every fuckin' time. An'- an' I do that with all these things until I finally realised— every single happy moment of my life, was with you."

"It's not just that either. You were there all the time. When I lost a match or when I won. When I did good on a test, you always high fived me an' if I did bad, you consoled me. You were there when I fought with 'Samu an' when I got- when I got dumped. You were always there, an' 'm sorry I took so long but 'm finally starting ta appreciate how much that means ta me."

Your eyes are watery again. He's staring at you so intensely and he's crying a little too, because his face is wet and it's not just from the rain. His voice is impossibly small and shaky and you can barely hear him as he trembles and whispers, "'M sorry- 'm so sorry. I can't believe I've been so stupid. 'M sorry I wasted yer time an' I've been so unintentionally cruel ta ya so- so if ya don't wanna be with me anymore, that's fine. But I finally get it. I got yer message, 'm sorry it took almost three years but- but I got it an' I love ya, I do, I really really love-"

Oh, Atsumu talks too much. Though, you don't mind listening to the countless apologies spilling out of him. It's a nice change for once. But your heart has a saviour complex solely dedicated towards him, and hearing how absolutely distraught he sounds is making your chest clench painfully.

Standing up, you reach up just to pull him down by his stupid piss hair and you don't care that he's soaked to the bone, you don't care that water is getting all over your floor and you don't care that he's getting you wet too. The only thing that matters in that second, is you and him and how you bring him down to your level so you can finally, finally, press your lips to his.

Kissing him quiet, you laugh a little into him. Because you not wanting to be with him? Impossible. There's never going to be a timeline that exists in which you wouldn't want to be with him.

The wooden box falls to the floor with a clatter. You'll pick it up later.

For now, your hands slide up his back to tangle themselves in his hair and he, in return, wraps his arms around your middle. Pulling you in impossibly closer, closer, closer. Until not even a single atom could come between the two of you. It's perfect, albeit a little messy with the way the water makes the kiss a tad wetter than you'd like. Atsumu tilts his head, just a fraction, and your mouth slots perfectly with his. It's everything you've dreamed about since you were sixteen. Definitely worth the wait.

Kissing Atsumu feels like salvation, being with him, in his arms— pieces back every single part of your heart that he's broken in the past. And when he hugs you close to him, and whispers I love ya, I love ya, I love ya into your hair, he's doing damage control and patching up any leftover cracks. It makes you feel whole.

Kissing you, Atsumu thinks, feels like completion. It’s like finishing a puzzle. It's finding that perfect piece that's been missing all his life and it finally gets slotted into its place. It makes him feel like every time he's been hurt in the past and every time he hurt you has been leading up to this crescendo of emotions he feels every time you exhale into him because he's been given the privilege to love you and to have your unconditional love in return. And knowing that, washes away any feelings of insecurity he used to have about himself. It makes him feel safe.

When you pull away from him, not enough for him to whine but just enough for you to look at him, he's looking at you all starry eyed. His eyes twinkle with unshed tears when he speaks, "'M sorry for not noticing it sooner, angel. 'M a real dummy. Did ya know? Whenever I went on all those awful dates, I always knew I was missin' somethin'"

Thinking about it now, he always compared those girls to you and it never felt right because they weren't you. They were never going to be. If he had to put together the traits and ideals of a perfect woman, she wouldn't even come close to you. It was never going to feel right until he got you, and he can't believe how stupid he's been to not have seen that.

Atsumu sits criss-cross in the middle of your floor, pulling you down with him. His thumb grazes your cheek and he says in hushed words, because it was a secret you were never supposed to know, "'M thinkin' about it now an' I must've put ya through hell. An' 'm sorry for that. But I think I know why none of ma dates ever worked out. It was because none of them were ya, angel. I'd be on those dates an' in ma mind I'd pick apart ma date piece by piece, I was tearin' them down and comparin' them ta ya. An' they always lacked somethin', ya know? It was like 'oh she's not as funny as ya' or 'she doesn't laugh at my jokes an' call me piss-hair' an' it was every single little thing that just added up to them being incomparable to ya. Because it's true, angel, there ain't never gonna be anyone— nobody compares to ya."

Miya Atsumu may be an idiot, but God does he know all the right things to say to make you feel alright again. He looks down at you and says you look cute in his shirt and you might just start crying again because you’ve waited so long.

You force him to take a shower and while he's in it, you put both his and your clothes in the dryer. When the two of you are finally in clean, warm clothes again, Atsumu wipes your floor and makes you eat with him. (Ya have ta eat with me, 'm your boyfriend. It's a rule.)

And later, when he's in your bed, with you laying on top of his chest, he'll gently bring your head down to kiss your temple. It feels like everything's right in the world. The two of you are tangled up in a warm blanket, and you're admiring the way his chest rises and recedes each time he breathes.

When you look up again, your eyes widen in concern when he starts getting all teary again. Gosh, you've had enough crying for today. But your palms cup his face gently anyway, squeezing the fat of his cheeks, your thumbs tenderly swiping away the tears that keep falling. What's going on, baby, you ask him and he dramatically wails even louder.

He says he likes it when you call him that. So you pepper his face with kisses, because you can now, until he's all red and giggly. Sinking into him, your heart flutters when his arms tighten around you even more. Looking at him fondly you mumble, "Miya Atsumu, you really are an idiot. I can't believe it took you so long. I've been in love with you for years, don't you know?"

Atsumu pouts at you and you poke his lips as he murmurs, "Me too! Me too, I swear. It took me some time but I realise it now, I know I love ya so much."

He pulls you in this time, kissing away any remaining feelings of hurt and pain until you're breathless but still going in for more. You're about to smooch him again when he pulls away and frowns at you. You frown back, twirling strands of his hair around your pinky.

"What's the problem now, baby?"

"We've wasted so much time. Too much time. An' it's all ma fault," he mumbles upsetly into your mouth.

Oh. He's such a baby. But you particularly like it when he's like this around you. He's your starboy, your closeted softie of a boyfriend, he's yours, after all. Kissing his nose, and then his forehead and finally his lips, you know just the magic words to make him smile again. And upon hearing what you said, he brightens up immediately and kisses you once, twice and then three times. I love ya, I love ya, I love ya.

"Don't be upset. We've got the rest of our lives, haven't we 'Tsummie?"

[zee-has-commitment-issues]

Zee what fandoms do you think the YR characters are in? 💜

That is a good question, Meg, and I will do my best to figure this out. It may take me a long time. We did indeed have to talk through these with Dani. Some of these are going to have very well thought out explanations, and others will absolutely have nothing:

I feel like Wilhelm would be in like the Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows fandom. He would have been well read growing up, because reading is kind of a hobby that is universally seen as "proper." I feel like he'd pick up fantasy books just to escape for a while. It would probably make him feel more normal (even these characters in this highly unrealistic world are still just like him - anxious, queer, wanting an escape). He was excited when the Netflix show got announced.

Simon is in the Beyblade fandom, if that's a thing. I have evidence for this one - the towel from the S2 stills. He loves gaming online, and he loves gaming in person. He and Ayub had Beyblades growing up. The show was his gateway drug into Anime. I don't know if I'd go as far as to say that he's an avid anime fan, but he certainly has a few that he watches and rewatches.

Nikita answered this for me in the video from this morning, but Felice is in the Sex Education fandom. She loves the drama and the comedy and the sex. She relates it to her life, and she relates it to her friends' lives. Sometimes she talks about it so much that people get annoyed.

Sara had a Power Puff Girls phase. I have no evidence for this. I cannot explain mine and Dani's thought process. This just clicked. Sara likes the Power Puff Girls. Also My Little Pony, but not as much, which surprised everyone because that one has horses.

Henry would be one of those guys that claims he "doesn't do fandoms" because they're cringy, but then he makes fancams of his favorite football (soccer) players. And he has a bazillion edits saved on his social medias of those same players. And his room is decorated with the colors of his favorite team.

Dani and I have absolutely nothing to back this up except ✨vibes✨ but Walter was playing Kingdom Hearts before it was cool and he was playing it after it was cool. He's got group chats and stuff for it.

August might be part of the Harry Potter fandom. Again, I don't have much to back this up other than pure vibes. He, like Wille, would have been really well read as a child because of how proper the hobby of reading and writing is. August doesn't strike me as a huge fandom guy, though. Like I feel like he enjoyed media in a casual way (unless, of course, the media is his cousin's sex tape. then he watches it many, many times).

Stella was 100% a Once Upon a Time defender. Dark and twisted fairytales are her shit. She adores it. She even enjoyed the last season of it when everyone else abandoned ship. No one will watch it with her, but it's her comfort show, so she rewatches it constantly.

Everyone must agree with this one. I do not care who you are or what arguments you have: Fredrika never once grew out of her One Direction phase. She briefly got distracted by FOO and 5SOS, but One Direction will always have her heart. She is still hoping they get back together. She has posters and notebooks and collectable items that cost more than the average house.

Vincent vibes with Game of Thrones. I have no evidence, I cannot tell you why I think this, but it is what came to mind. Dragons? Absolutely a Vincent hyper-fixation. Also, I headcanon Vincent as non-binary or gender fluid, and non-binary people and swords mix well.

I can't tell if Nils would be more into Star Wars or Marvel, but probably one of the two. Something nerdy that he will for the life of him pretend is not nerdy because "I am not a nerd!"

Many of them have written fanfiction for their fandoms. None of them will talk about it.

This post got so far away from me. I don't even remember writing half of it. I think I blacked out.

Thank you @the-navistar-carol for talking me through this 💀

Last Unhinged Hours before Season 2 drops.

[iovelore]

❝ MORTAL TALES ❞ ( O1 )

summary and word count: a certain fae can’t help but find amusement in the youngest elfhame’s prince‘s frustration. wc — 1493

pairings: the cruel prince!cardan greenbriar x fem!reader

contents and warnings: jealousy, hinting of threesome, mentions of knife (nothing extreme), suggestive content, mutual pining-ish, fluffy?

a/n: i used tcp cardan because i couldn’t see any context of y/n being used in a fic in the other books (i also need it for the next part </3). i tried my best to include the tail bit since it didn‘t come out right, ill add it in either part 2/3. cardan is a bit ooc (i made him a bit idk how to put it besides: sub?man whore. because i believe that’s what he is 😁). and y/n resembles jude just a little bit with the blade thing, but only a little because jude is neither very flirty or open up about her sexuality (more so in the first book) and that’s what i made y/n like.

also, since this was more in y/n’s perspective, next part will be more so cardans <3

Y/N's legs crossed as she leaned her head on locke's shoulder, while Poppy, a half-faerie: who Locke has shown great interest in— for all the wrong reasons — sat before them and told them of the mortal tales her father would recite to her every night or the ones she gathered on her own from her adventures back where the humans lived.

Y/N found them odd: how they all were almost nothing compared to the people here; they were fragile, but she found similar enjoyment in them all nonetheless — and perhaps she had the eldest duarte to blame for her obsession with all things mortal, and Poppy's tales weren't helping either — which has unfortunately gained her the harsh scowls from the youngest prince of Elfhame.

Though that was no surprise. The boy had never been kind enough for her to realise that his treatment towards her was almost cruel — not that it had mattered, because to Y/N it was a show; she knew where his feelings lay, and it was nothing but amusing. To everyone with eye sight as clear as day, he'd never liked her, but when in class, when he believes her to be ignorant of his stare or his wagging tail; she has a classmate whisper every move his body makes, and it fuelled her heart all too much.

"It's not quite normal there, unlike here, if anyone decided to walk around with it they'd get humiliated till they're six feet under," Poppy snorted, covering her mouth with the back of her palms.

Locke turned to stare behind him, catching sight of the prince and Nicasia — both pouting miserably (one much too obvious than the other), and at that, he smiled. "Oh you’re right, tails are quite odd aren’t they? More so on a prince,"

Y/N shrugged at that, "It's alright, I do think Cardan makes it quite, charming? He’s always wagging it around like some...was it a cat you called it?"

"Yes a cat," Poppy shook her head positively, "though don't say that out loud, I doubt he's as clueless on mortal knowledge as we think he is."

Locke hummed, a smirk growing on his lips as he kept his eyes trained on his friend, Y/N following suite of his gaze and sultry grinning at the boy from afar, ignoring Nicasia — causing his eyes to widen momentarily, before the scowl found home on his face once more.

"He's never quite liked you has he?" His words were soft against her ear, his lips landing gently beneath her ear-lobes, kissing it tenderly as he kept his eyes trained on his flaring friend — who if one squinted, could perhaps see smoke escape his ears, if they ignored the immense swinging of his tail.

Y/N smiled, a small amount of malice lacing her intentions, "hatred I'd say, though he doesn't think I'm that foolish does he?"

Poppy, who now stared at her feet, hands tugging the grass with a blush coating her tanned features, "he's looked like he wanted to murder Locke."

Y/N snickered, a sickeningly sweet one at that, as she lowly muttered, "it’s all working then, sweetness."

Later on, when Y/N was left with no one to keep her company — as Locke found himself adorning Poppy and Nicasia's presence, alone — she took notice of the emptiness of Locke's home. It was beautiful, nothing as extravagant as Hollow Hall, yet she found herself admiring the interior all the same.

And as her hands traced the designs etched on the walls, as if it were a reminiscence of her first time staring upon them, a deep, and rather annoyed cough fleed her from her thoughts.

she stayed in position, her back facing Cardan and only gripping the knife resting on her waist, "now what would the prince need at a time like this? Should he not be in his humble abode by now?"

"Should you not be with your lover boy? Or is it that you enjoy using people like he does?" His tone was hostile as he spat his words, however the light softness that rippled around it was evident and Y/N couldn't help her lips tugging upwards.

She turned around, staring at him — where he leaned cooly against one of the walls — with squinted eyes, faux contempt present in her stare, and he shifted in his spot at her gaze.

She swiftly walked, her steps careful as to not trip on her dress. And when she reached him, she, boldly, placed her hands on his chest, dragging it downwards firmly — and his thumping heart beneath his rib cage could be faintly heard from the short proximity between them.

Y/N titled her head when he clenched his fists, but found a smile etching on her lips when his eyes were lightly fluttering. "Do I really threaten you that much that your hatred towards me is the only thing that keeps you going? It's pathetic truly, especially for a prince."

Cardan gulped, mind hazy at the contact and his body was supported by his tail, that was wrapped roughly around one of his legs. He could not utter the next words without stroking her ego, and it was then he'd wished — though he'd never admit out loud — that he were mortal, because he needed to lie if not keep his mouth shut.

More so with her trapping him, her knees coming forward and slightly spreading his legs, so that the entirety of his body leaned upon the wall. And despite him towering over her due to one of her legs bending in-front of the other, he could not move, catching sight of the shiny blade securely placed on her hips and her rigid grasp on them.

She had been around a certain mortal for too long, he thought, and at that his sneer was present again.

Y/N gently bit her tongue to stifle the giggle from escaping her, "what, cat's got your tongue?"

His lips were tightly sealed, and though he already knew the effects she displayed were affecting him, greatly, he refused to acknowledge her — especially that any movement could cause his legs to move slightly forward and brush . . .

She shook her head with a light hearted laugh that had his heart beating just a little bit faster, just a little bit. Her hands releasing the grip she had on her blade, before placing it on his cheek and patting him smoothly.

"You're quite humorous you know, would be a shame if you wasted all that energy on 'hating' me when it could be used for something else, you decide, my prince." she said, her tone sensual and low, before gradually stepping away allowing room (only a small amount at that) for the boy before her to breathe, she let one of her fingers crawl delicately on his hollow cheek bones, that though looked sharp, were as soft as anything could be.

Cardan's eyes widened ever so slightly, now registering her words, "are you flirting with me?" He asked. The space between them now slightly obvious, and he hated it — almost as much as he pretends to loathe her.

Y/N raised her brows, crossing her arms in an unlikely childish manner before nodding, "you're quite oblivious you know? Yes."

"Well," the confirmation enabled a smirk to appear on his face, only to be dismissed by her voice, again.

"Well? Is that all? Because I have things to do, and if my offer does not interest you then I'll gladly leave and find another willing volunteer," she purred, ignoring the way his brows harshly and quickly furrowed, creating a crease, "how about Locke? We are reasonably close, and he does not have a tail — which looks a bit foolish, don't you think?"

He was blushing crimson now, red sparklings littering his pale cheeks, but then his lips curled up — however, he does not look as frighting as he's expecting to be, he knew that, especially with her knees still resting between his thighs (which is all he's trying to drift his mind from at the moment).

"I don't see anything off with it, I've been told it makes one interesting. You've spent too much time with mortals and those alike." Cardan's jaw clenched and his chest was rising a lot more than it was a few minutes before.

Y/N pursed her lips, "Well then, show me how interesting one can get." She leaned forward, her breath fanning atop his lips and he found his own hitching.

His eyes were wandering from her eyes, which he secretly adored, to her lips, and he subconsciously nodded, leaning forward.

Only then, her hands rested on his chest, pushing him away slightly and his head came in contact with the wall yet again, and he had to bite his bottom lips in hopes that she had no idea how much he’d needed her, all of her.

Y/N stepped backwards, finally standing straight. Her hands on her side once more and she gave the prince an alluring smile, "I'll see you later, cardan."

He glared at the spot she had been standing in once she’d left, and he knew that it was a silly game she’s playing.

And what is a game if it involves one player?

[dirtyoldmanhole]

all delicious thoughts here :3 (adding a hodgepodge of more thoughts instead of a reply b/c character limit - don't let me step on your toes though ~)

* BIG nodding at (anankos-side-of)!gunter viewing the summoner as a threat; both in the sense the summoner is an annoying unpredictable source of power that he has to plan around vs fates-verse, and also subconsciously bristling at the parallels you mentioned. ime this feels like it'd go double if the summoner has any sort of relationship with gunter as well - since there's the possibility of an emotional loss of control (of anankos) over gunter. (since fates-verse anankos probably has noticed that people slip away from his possession the closer that they're emotionally attached to others). much like cults both in and out of -verse, anankos keeping the possessed souls isolated is effective...

(gah this hurts worse when one realizes gunter in fates-verse is already so isolated by a situation mostly out of his control - unable to tell anyone about his burning hatred against garon, unable to have a confidante for so long due to emotional scars and justified paranoia .... ;__; )

* to your point the cadros line from anankos feels weirdly like a ... diversion? intentional distraction? it could briefly even be emotionally true as a slip, but there's so many ways of "lying" while very technically still telling the truth, and both anankos and gunter are experts at that, as you know.....

* i wonder what he'd think of the summoning contract (if that's a thing). even if it holds no/less power, would gunter view that as a convenient vector to pretend to be benign (thinking that the summoner (and the askr trio) thinks that he's under their control) - especially early on when possessed!gunter passes for his vanilla self?

*adding to that, wonder if possesed!gunter would stay -and hang around for so long seemingly beningnly- in askr at all because it's a way to much more easily destroy all universes rather than just fates' multiverse(s). targeting $root, so to speak. (funny, root with computers, root with yggdrasil's roots lol). (i ALSO love how you hinted this with our collab, leigh :3)

* tangent to the tangent above - this also feels like a cool way to loop in the current book's plotline since it seems like we (as players) are starting to get closer to the actual meat and potatoes magic of what runs that world. if possessed!gunter attacked everyone in like, book 2 he wouldn't have gained much. now? different story.

reasons why i can never decide how chapter 26 possessed!gunter would view the summoner (not as a person but as their role) is because i always get trapped in this old man's mind games

(also musing for a sec that the convenient 'heroes can't physically hurt others' rule doesn't exist. i don't like it. makes things less high-stakes)

pros of keeping the summoner around -potential to summon anankos' puppets should the need arise

cons of keeping the summoner around -the number of heroes they can summon could quickly outpace his strength (in the situation where he's trying to bring destruction to askr)

in thinking about this i always also end up circling back to how the summoner and anankos share a lot of similarities with each other (both are introduced while wearing cloaks with the hood up, both can call on people from other worlds). and i always wonder whether the voice of anankos living in possessed!gunter's head would view the summoner as a threat for this reason. i suppose we do get a taste of that now that anankos is in feh but his lvl 40* convo ends in him proposing the summoner may be a substitute for cadros, which i don't really think possessed!gunter would concern himself with, lol.