#his wingman if you will

[gorgeousgreymatter-x]

i have been getting into birds as one does in their 30s. the most frequent visitor of my bird feeders has been a handsome little red winged blackbird who loves to scream at me when the feeder is empty. But I didn't know they were polygynous until I saw little homie with his 10 birdwives chilling in my cedar tree.

don't mind me just propping up a backyard bird polycule

[edorazzi]

Page 29 of my Miraculous Mentor AU comic A Matter of Trust! In which Chat Noir is NOT winning Ladybug's heart, and is so pathetic about it that even his arch-nemesis puts in a good word for him! 🪽💔

Index | Start | Prev | Next

Weekly updates each Sunday! You can also read ahead early on Patreon, and/or buy me a Ko-fi if you'd like to support my work! 💖

[kizzer55555]

Super Dead Soulmates

In this universe, any injury or scar you sustain appears on your soulmate. However, for as long as he could remember, Danny never gained an injury that wasn’t his own. When he was very young, his parents would always say that he was just a late bloomer and perhaps his soulmate was a few years younger than he was and thus, just wasn’t born yet. As Danny grew older, they got more absorbed in their work and just seemed to forget about the whole ordeal. Danny never asked them about it again, afraid they might think a ghost had ‘cursed’ him or something. It was hard enough to hide the lack of additional scars at school. Luckily, most people don’t get injured very often so it was easy enough to play off some of his injuries as that from a soulmate. The only ones who knew the truth were his sister and his best friends. Danny was just convinced that he didn’t have a soulmate and had accepted that fact, even if it hurt. Then the accident happened and for once, he was thankful his soulmate wouldn’t have to feel his pain. And even more so when he started to fight the other ghosts daily. Danny was content to live like this, but with more ghost fights, his injuries started piling up. Danny excused them saying that they were from his soulmate. It didn’t completely get rid of the scrutiny but most people bought it. Afterall, how else would puny Fenton get those kinds of bruises? So for a while, that excuse worked…until someone realized that Danny and Phantom’s injuries linked up (I vote Wes). Now normally, the natural conclusion would be that Danny and Phantom were the same person. But due to the fact that one of them was dead and the other clearly alive, everyone gained a new theory…that Phantom was Danny’s soulmate. It would explain the recent injuries as Phantom was often seen fighting other ghosts. And to be honest, this was the perfect cover. It’s not like Danny had an actual soulmate who might show up and this added another layer of protection against people thinking he and Phantom were the same person. So Danny remained silent and let the rumors grow. Sure people now thought he and Phantom were dating but that was fiiiiiinnnneee. (But BOY was that an awkward conversation with his parents). 

And then Kon was born.

As a clone, all he knew from the outside was implanted into his mind. He knew the color of the sky, the sound of music, academic equations and a lot of common knowledge such as soulmates. He knew that injuries were shared between a bonded pair and that everyone had a soulmate. But he was different. He wasn't born a baby and grew up alongside another person. He wasn’t even real according to some people. Yet one day, he noticed bruises lining his arms, he was confused. He should have had impenetrable skin like Superman. As far as he could remember, his skin had never been pierced before. And it’s not like he fought a godlike being that day. He shouldn’t have any injuries. Kon decided to ignore them but the injuries kept showing up. It got so bad that his team started to notice and sat him down asking if everything was alright with his powers or if he was exposed to kryptonite somehow. So, very confused, Kon had explained that the injuries just kept showing up. It was only after his team gave him a curious look and explained the concepts of soulmates did everything click with him. Sure, Kon knew about soulmates but surely that couldn't be what this was! He was a clone! He shouldn’t have a soulmate. It was impossible! But after a few more days of observation and a bit of testing, everyone determined that this was, in fact, a soulmate bond. 

To say Kon was ecstatic was an understatement. Actually, it was a mix of excitement, nervousness, worry, and joy all rolled into one. He was elated at the idea that he had someone meant for him. Someone who would accept all of him. Kon had looked at the others and there had always been a slight jealousy when he saw a paper cut bloom on their fingers or see them rub a bruised knee fondly. 

But more than anything. He was happy because this was proof that he was real. Afterall, a soulmate wouldn’t match with him unless his soul was equal to theirs. His body almost melted with relief at that realization. A weight off his shoulders he never fully grasped was still there. 

Of course there was the worry of why exactly his soulmate had so many injuries. For a hero, it was obvious they would get injured (although they tried to have as much protective padding as possible to limit that possibility. But some injuries still got through.) Yet the amount of injuries Kon’s soulmate sustained were far more than that (because Danny lacked proper padding  and didn’t think he had to worry about a soulmate. Most injuries looked worse than they were anyways due to his fast healing). And on the contrary, Kon’s skin was perfectly clear. With his kryptonian biology, even if he got hurt, it never left a mark. So all the injuries and bruises sustained on him were purely from his soulmate. And there was enough for two people. On the bright side, it helped with his cover, on the downside, Kon started to worry about his soulmate. (Meanwhile, Danny didn’t notice a difference. Sure, sometimes he would feel a temporary ache or sharp pain but no mark was left so he just assumed the pain was sore muscles from a previous battle or that one of his rogues were hitting harder than he thought.) 

As for Kon, he and his team used every resource at their disposal to try and track down Kon’s soulmate. They did this for every member of the team as hero soulmates were in more danger than most but they paid special attention to Kon’s soulmate due to the rapid accumulation of injuries. 

Kon would fantasize on what his soulmate would be like. Would they be tall? Short? They would probably be able to fight. Boy or girl? It doesn't really matter. Kon knew opposite gender soulmates were more common but he wouldn’t mind a guy either. His days were filled with dreams of a mystery person. Someone he could hold in his arms and protect. Who would comfort him after patrols and who he could introduce to his friends. 

After a while, Tim finally found a lead. Some doctor records of a boy in a small town called Amity. Apparently he was prescribed pain medicine to help with ‘soulmate injuries’. The lost of injuries were extensive and after looking at some pictures, they realized that his scars and Kon’s scars lined up. A perfect match. So it wasn’t long before they made a quick road trip to Amity. 

This place was already on the Justice League radar. It was a town that appears to have a permanent portal to the afterlife and was attacked often. (Which might explain why Kon’s soulmate was so injured). The Justice League had not interfered yet because the town had a local hero as well. Someone who seemed good at his job and who Tim was even thinking of recruiting. So this was a good opportunity to hit two birds with one stone. Afterall, not much was known about this mysterious Phantom other than he dedicated his afterlife to protecting this one town. Once they got to Amity they would probably need to check in with Phantom before anything. And despite his impatience with finding the person who might be his soulmate, even Kon was excited to meet this hero. Apparently Phantom had vast experience but also a major power set. He might gain another flying buddy or someone he could wrestle with without worrying about his strength. Afterall, Phantom also supposedly had super strength and even if he didn’t, it’s not like you can kill a ghost. Yet no matter how hard they looked, they couldn’t find him. It was only by coincidence that they stumbled upon Danny instead and his group of friends. 

The first time Kon saw Danny, it was like coming home. He wanted to do nothing more than rush to his soulmate and hug him and vow to always keep him safe. He wanted to prove that he would be the best soulmate ever and he wanted to know everything there was to know about him. He was practically vibrating where he stood in his civilian disguise and it was only his friends that held him back from flying over and surprising the poor boy.

But before he could do anything, a ghost attacked. Kon barely had enough time to grab his friends and dodge when some kind of glowing creature crashed into a building. And while normally he would immediately find somewhere to change, Kon’s first instinct was to check on his soulmate, only to see the two people he assumed to be the boy’s friends but no sign of Danny. Frantically looking around, he didn’t notice the glowing creature behind him (was that a dragon?) but before it could reach him, another glowing figure intercepted the attack. They looked almost ethereal with white hair softly floating in the air and a suit that hugged his muscled form tightly. The figure turned around and gave a sheepish smile towards Kon. “You ok?”

And it felt like for the second time that day, Kon was rendered breathless. 

Someone was protecting him.

Someone was protecting him?

Yet it felt…nice. Warm.

Before Kon could gather his thoughts though the battle picked up in earnest. He and his team found cover and changed into their suits. When they came to help, the person Kon assumed to be Phantom looked surprised at their sudden appearance but it wasn’t long before he and everyone else started working together. Unfortunately, actually fighting the ghost seemed to be impossible. Whenever they got close, their hits just passed right through so Phantom quickly regulated them on defense and citizen protection duty. Occasionally getting a hit in when the creature was tangible. Watching Phantom fight was something. Kon could understand why he was elected to join their team. He had this sort of grace and power that couldn’t be explained in words but was clearly from the experience of many battles.

Despite not being able to do much, fighting with Phantom was fun. They seemed to be completely in sync and it wasn’t long before Kon started to enjoy his loud commentary and puns as the two ghosts fought.

However, one particularly hard hit made it so that the dragon’s claws grazed his chest. Leaving three shallow gashes, but Phantom took the close proximity that attack gave him and sucked the creature into…a soup thermos?

But Kon wasn’t focused on that. He was wholly focused on the stinging pain suddenly coming from his chest, underneath his untouched uniform that clearly had not been hit. Kon didn’t know how to process what was happening. Everything suddenly became louder and he vaguely tried to move but it was like his mind became mush as he tried to process what that meant. He managed to get away for a bit and undid his shit, looking down to see three shallow scratches along his chest. Scratches that perfectly mirrored Phantom. In the corner of his eye, Kon saw a head of black hair and witnessed as Danny reunited with his two friends he had been separated from in the chaos. And as Danny twisted to hug them, his shirt flipped up enough to see another identical 3 scratches along the boy's stomach. Perfectly mirroring Phantoms. 

It was only later that Kon and his team did some more research on the town and it’s ghosts and learned the unofficial secret that Phantom and Danny were dating. That Phantom had Likely come back from the afterlife to protect the town his soulmate lived in. On the bright side, at least now he could confirm Danny really was his soulmate. And he knew where all those injuries were coming from.

Kon had found his soulmate.

Correction, he found his soumates

And they were already bonded to each other.

…

….so where did that leave him?

There are now two options. 

1: Kon decided that he just needs to woo both his soulmates and starts doing so both as Superboy and as Conner. Danny is very confused who these people are (because as far as he knows, he doesn’t have a soulmate, and since Kon doesn’t visibly show injury, there is no sign (unless Danny somehow injures himself in a place that is visible but he’s been trying to avoid that to make everyone worry less.)). Kon goes all out. He gets flowers, chocolates, writes poetry (whether good or not doesn’t matter) starts wooing Phantom in hero form, showing off his strength and skill whenever possible. (And unfortunately, also his dork side when he isn’t paying attention while flying) Asking to hang out, insist on paying for everything. Danny sees this tall Hunk who is paying attention to him and he doesn’t know what to do. And there are TWO OF THEM! (Also, in this version it might be funny if people suspect Danny and Phantom are dating but don’t know for sure and since they are never around each other, people might assume they just don’t know. So Sam, Tucker, and Jazz are all for Danny possibly starting a relationship with Kon along with Kon���s team who are cheering them on and trying to help the poor clone boy who has no experience with romance. Meanwhile literally everyone else in the town who likes Phantom is trying to run interference and get Danny and their hero together. 

2: The angst option. Kon decides that the fact that he has two soulmates who are together is likely a result of him being a clone. It’s not that he had someone waiting for him (how could he think someone was waiting their whole life just for him? How stupid was he?!) Kon had just hijacked a different bond. So he tries to stay away. Unfortunately, Tim had talked with Phantom while Kon was out of it so now they have started to team up. This makes avoiding him very difficult as he keeps running into Phantom. Moreover, he runs into Danny because they need him for the ghost hunting equipment. And slowly but surely, Kon falls in love with ‘both’ his soulmates but doesn’t want to get ‘between’ them. And Danny wants to know why one of his new teammates is avoiding him.

[hanafubukki]

Malleus: -trying to flirt-

YN/MC/Yuu: -clearly confused-

Lilia, the wingman:

YN/MC/Yuu: Oh, why don’t we date first?

Malleus: -happy dragon noises-

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: [Astarion x Tav/Reader] Human contact had always been violent or contractual for Astarion, until he'd made your acquaintance.

Three occasions when touch defined the relationship between you both.

Content: Angst, romance, humour, pre-relationship, budding feelings, violence.

Rating: M

Dividers by: @xurengu0

(i)

The road isn’t kind to those who aren't prepared.

You can see, in the way that each of them dress their wounds, that they’ve all seen their fair share of the hardships that long (and solitary) journeys can bring.

Your companions are a strange contrast of familiar and new; the sharp edges of mood and tongue, smoothed out by the weighted comfort of a back pressed against yours in the heat of battle.

You barely know them, any of them, and yet you do know that Karlach’s footsteps are as light as a cat’s, in spite of her muscular frame, that Shadowheart’s hands smell of incense in the evenings, that Wyll’s breathing sometimes stills completely when he sleeps, and that Lae’zel’s skin feels slippery to the touch right before a fight.

And Astarion.

Astarion with his cool, barely calloused palms. Astarion, who had learned how to smile such that his canines didn't drag against his lips. Astarion, whose laugh sounds particularly mocking when someone thanks you for your help. Astarion, who can mend the delicate lace of his collar with the same deftness that he uses to slide a blade home between the ribs.

Your attention never wanders far from him. He compels it, and you feel a small sense of chagrin that he is fully aware of the fact. Even with that, you can tell that something about you confuses him, that sometimes your reactions are not the kind he has been expecting.

You are aware of it even now, watching him nearby as he winces. It seemed, to your observant eye, that the slash across his side had not been adequately seen to with the healing potion he’d consumed earlier.

He is subtle about it, realising with dissatisfied resignation that he wouldn’t be able to tend to the wound, before slumping over on his side, pale skin set aglow by the campfire. Resting on his cushion, he looks, for all intents and purposes, as if he is simply relaxing after the skirmish.

Then, he notices your eyes on him. You don’t bother looking away. A lazy smile drifts across his face, the corner of his mouth curling in a manner both seductive and knowing. He traces a finger down the middle of his chest and you bite back a laugh. You shake your head and the finger stops in its passage, one fine eyebrow arching in silent query.

It's as close to an invitation to talk as you’ll receive. Rising, you make your way over, dropping into a crouch beside him.

“Does it hurt?”

His eyes open a little wider in feigned innocence.

“Does what hurt?”

“Now isn’t the time to play coy, Astarion.”

“My lovely dove, I’m quite sure I don’t know what you – “

You reach across, before he has a chance to recoil and prod his side gently. Hissing like an angry cat, Astarion straightens and shoots you a glare.

“My little dove certainly wants to get her talons into me.”

“Keep still.”

The flare of healing energy across your fingertips silences him for a moment. Grudgingly, he shifts closer, expression rather petulant as you place a palm over his side.

Astarion does not give off the heat of living flesh, but there is something substantial to him, something that stakes its claim here, under your touch, in a way that demands acknowledgement. You can feel the slight shift of lean muscle in his flank under the soft linen of the shirt, the tension that eases, the small exhale of relief.  

He does not thank you, not right now, but a secret smile finds a home on your face when he closes his eyes and turns away from you, shutting off any further conversation. To anyone else, it would seem like a snub. You know better.

Astarion had never fallen asleep with his back to another.

Not until now.  

(ii)

It’s a rare occurrence to get your hands on some truly stellar ingredients, and when you do, Gale takes over all culinary matters as soon as possible.

When the boar you’ve hunted has been appropriately prepared, some of the choicer pieces set aside for curing and tomorrow’s pot, he begins to dice the meat finely on a smooth wooden plank he has procured for the purpose.

You join him after watching for a minute, curious. Gale chuckles and hands you the herbs, which you wash in a small basin.

“This is a recipe I found in an old cookbook. Herbed sausage, best with pork. You use the cleaned intestines as a casing and fry them in fat in a pan. Delicious with a savoury root mash.”

You’re practically salivating at that description.

“Sounds wonderful, but … what’s that for?”

Your chin jerks in the direction of the pail beside Gale, containing strained pig’s blood. His eyes lift, dart past you momentarily, and a small smile shifts the trimmed edges of his moustache.

“Well … you know how I love to experiment … “

“With blood?”

“Trust me.”

When it comes time to fill the cleaned casings, Gale mixes the blood with the herbed meat mixture in some of the prepared sausages. He sets these aside with care into lightly heated water, as opposed to the robust frying the plain sausages receive.  He teaches you the technique, and soon you take over that particular duty.

It’s only then that you notice Astarion, seated elegantly on a nearby tree stump, book in hand, watching the proceedings with more attention than usual. You catch his eye and wave him over. He puts down the book, sauntering towards the campfire.

“Not like you to get involved with more than the hunting, darling,” is the rather snippy comment he offers.

You grin slyly up at him, and flex your fingers, still coated in a sheen of pig’s blood. Astarion’s bravado falters, for just a moment. You see a glimmer of hunger, of interest, in his gaze.

Well then.

Your resident vampire normally gave regular food, and its preparation, a wide berth.

Gale cleared his throat.

“So, Astarion, would you give us a hand with the blood sausages? They require more of a skilled touch so that they don’t break.”

There is the briefest moment of hesitation before you feel Astarion pass behind you, out of your line of vision. He can be deathly silent when the fancy takes him, probably the reason you hadn’t picked up on his presence earlier.

Then, he is crouching beside you.

For a rogue with razor-edged tongue, steel and eyes, he always surprises you with the subtle gentility of his presence. Soft curls ghost against the edge of your cheek as he leans forward, the brush of his sleeve against your bare arm like a breeze that blows in from the sea. For all the times he has traced playful fingers across your form, for all the suggestive remarks he’s aimed and fired your way, for all the times his body has made overt, teasing contact with yours, it is this barely perceptible touch that has a tiny army of raised hairs stand all along the skin of your neck.   

Together, you work the mixture into the casing, his knuckles grazing yours in a slow, steady rhythm. You find that it is easier not to think, to simply indulge in the sensation of being this close to him, in the faint, now familiar aroma of the geranium-scented soap he uses to wash his clothes and the cool fragrance of his hair.

Astarion is unusually quiet, and you chance a glance sideways to see a rare moment of focused tranquillity, the relaxed set of his shapely mouth, the earnest expression as he tries his best to portion the filling within the casing with accuracy. The blood, its slippery copper tang rising from both your hands, seems to lure him into a contemplative trance, as opposed to the feral hunger you’d seen from him when you’d allowed him to taste your blood.

When you are done, he transfers the chain of sausages to the pan of simmering water with finesse. Gale’s smile is infectious as he thanks you both for your assistance, his attention already taken up with the brisk stirring of his root vegetable mash.

“Don’t get used to it,” comes Astarion’s quick rejoinder.

“Oh, come now. You’re actually pretty good at this. Deft hands and all that.”

“My hands are suited for less mundane pursuits.”

“Nothing about cooking is mundane, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, Gale! After all, I haven’t just watched you take an eternity to skin some anaemic-looking spuds.”

Karlach and Wyll chose that moment to make an appearance, drawn in by the scent of food. Astarion uses the distraction to make a graceful exit.

You’re about to call after him, to enquire whether he was really not interested in trying the food, when you spy the small plate in his hand, bearing its treasured load of blood sausage. You don’t know when he’d managed to sneak that from right beneath your nose, but Astarion’s sleight of hand is not a thing to be taken lightly.  

What you don’t miss is the cheeky smirk he sends your way as he dips a slice into a small bowl of what you can only assume is your own stored blood, and the manner with which he slides it into his mouth. Sharp fangs glinting with red-tinted glee, Astarion’s moan of satisfaction is nothing short of excessive.

(iii)

There is no such thing as an easy battle.

There are no rules to combat, at least, not the kind you’ve always been party to.

Bandits don’t wait for you to draw your weapons. The might of a wizard is not always a guarantee of victory after a targeted silencing enchantment. Nature, the Gods that walk an elevated plane, the Weave, none of these elements beyond your full knowing roll the dice to your advantage on every occasion.

Separated from the rest of your group, surrounded by enemies in a shadowed temple, you have nothing to rely on beside your weapon, your wit, and Astarion. Strangely, under these perilous circumstances, his presence is a fleet-footed, death-dealing comfort.

Perched quietly on a ledge, in order to give you the advantage of higher ground, you scope out the room below. Your superior vision in the dim light of the few torches allows you to follow the vampire’s movement along the edges of the room.

Faint, imperceptible to the senses of others, Astarion’s stealthy passage is less than a minute shift of shadow in deeper darkness. A thing of beauty, to anyone who had appreciation for such things. You certainly do.

Fingers tracing slowly over the feathered fletching of an arrow, you sight the position of the enemies below. Breathing controlled, posture relaxed, scenting the slight shift in the current of fresh air that comes through a vent in the ceiling, you hold your position.

Astarion strikes.

Body uncoiling from the shadows, his mouth finds the throat of the nearest bandit with unerring accuracy. A gurgling gasp is all the man manages as a dagger sheathes itself in his back.

The distraction is what you’ve been waiting for. Your first arrow sings through the air, straight through the heart of the rogue who holds no candle to Astarion. You could have spotted him a mile off in his poorly selected nook.

Astarion moves left, and you to the right. You know this dance.

Leaping lightly to another rafter, you spin on steady feet, watching as a ray of something brilliant lances past Astarion’s ear. Holy light is, indeed, a worthy attack to use on a vampire. You have to admire the warlock who ‘s clearly thinking on the fly. She must have been a great asset to her party, but no longer, not with your next arrow tearing through her neck, spinning her in a violent arc across the stone sarcophagus she had been crouched against.

Even with three members of the other group down, neither you nor Astarion slow the momentum of your attack.

There is no such thing as an easy battle.

This you know, as you watch the paladin prepare for action, now that he’d bestowed the necessary blessings upon himself.

This one was strong. He bore the scent of practiced slaughter, gaze unflinching even as he'd witnessed the fall of his companions.

You cannot take him head on, that much is evident.

Astarion isn’t hiding. Your eyes track his movements, the slow, taunt in the flourish of his blade. The paladin leaps, the downward sweep of his greatsword powerful enough to bisect a living being from scalp to groin. Astarion doesn’t move, not even as the clean, razor edge comes hurtling towards him.

Your arrow finds the paladin’s knee, knocking him entirely off balance.

Then, and only then, in a perfectly timed breath of illusion, Astarion vanishes into the surrounding darkness. Muttering a quick incantation to still gravity’s effect on you, you drop from the rafters. Your arrows become knives as you plunge them into the paladin’s back, the muscles of your thighs absorbing the impact before you leap lightly away.

The one-armed swing of the greatsword nearly catches you off guard, its metallic breath ghosting along your collarbone. The paladin is slower, though. The poison you’ve coated your weapons with is taking effect, but with an enemy like this, you cannot let your guard down for a moment.

It is now that you feel him, the slow, cool brush of his palm against the inside of your elbow.

Astarion.

He has used your presence to hide his own, a cunning manipulation of awareness. You know that to the opponent’s eyes, his form will appear all but invisible, his limbs lightly shimmering extensions of your own. In bright light, the illusion may not hold up to inspection, but within the high-ceilinged halls of this windowless tomb, it is all too effective.

The paladin lunges, his strike steady, but already lacking speed. You dodge around the blow, circling. Astarion moves with you. Changing tack, a leg kicks out, aiming to knock you off balance. You are too nimble for such ploys.

Here, away from the concealing safety of the high ground, danger fogs the air you breathe, electric, heavy. Blood pounds in your ears, your muscles quivering eagerly, on the cusp of reflexive movement. Astarion’s feet shift across the floor, in tandem with yours, and his grace bleeds into the soft sway of your torso. His fingers trace fine lines of fire across your back, down the rippling curve of your spine, and you know that his own lithe form echoes each movement as if he has become one with your shadow.

He is here, with you.

He is the soft return of a bard’s final note, the plaintive song of a thrush in an empty forest, the slow, visceral dance of mortality enshrined in the red, red touch of his skin on yours.   

There is no honour in this killing, no higher aim other than to survive.

But elegance, oh yes. There is plenty of that.

The next assault, goaded by your inaction, is a wide sweep, designed to slash and maim. You drop into a crouch, and you see the fierce triumph in the paladin’s eyes. Forcing you into limited movement had been his primary aim.

Such excellent control, even now, as poison floods his veins.

It’s a pity, really.

You brace yourself as Astarion’s feet leave the floor, his back rolling smoothly across yours and you heave upward, launching him forward. From formless to tangible, his twin weapons lash out, once, twice, severing the jugular of the warrior. Your thrown dagger finds the wrist of the arm that holds the greatsword a moment later, and your opponent slumps to the floor, a vivid spray of crimson decorating Astarion’s face and your jerkin with acrid warmth.

Your breathing evens, slowly, your eyes stinging from the perspiration that slides down across your brow.

It is over.

Your body, however, remembers. Astarion turns to you and smiles through ruddy blood splatter. His eyes are darker than the depths of any tomb, and infinitely more delightful.

The spoken word is meaningless here, and now, between you both. He extends a hand, and you take it, his strong, supple fingers enclosing yours with all the delicacy they lacked when they dashed out the lifeblood of your common enemy.

Your dance is complete, for now.     

There is no such thing as an easy battle, and death had never been beautiful to you, until Astarion had courted it by your side.     

@tattoo-of-a-bird Thanks for the encouragement!

[mikeluciraphgabe]

Wade: Oh! Em! Gee!

Peter: Wade-

Wade: dat ass looks uh-may-zing

Peter: *deep sigh*

Matt: in his defense, it does.

Peter:

Peter: YOU’RE BLIND STOP ENCOURAGING HIM

[seagreenstardust]

Izuku being oblivious to all the ways he deserves love and therefore oblivious to the love the people around him show him is so real though

And Katsuki being the only one to finally get him to understand that he is loved is THE hill I will die on

Just like Kats was the only one who could make Izuku stop running from Class 1A, he gets Izu in a way no one else ever will and that is canon

[frozen-seagrass]

Thinking about Mav being unsure of what Ice's eye color is

Of course he's not going to do the normal thing and ask the man, so he settles for finding ways to get up close and personal to try and see for himself without being obvious (-> he fails)

But every time he gets a close enough look they're different. One day they look blue but the next they look hazel. One moment they look brown but then he turns his head and a different light catches on them and they look almost green

It turns into one big game of "How close will he let me get? How much will he let me see?" And it's not until he's gotten to the point of being a breath away from Ice's face- close enough to brush lips- and standing under the bright white LEDs that he realizes that they're gray

[goatyuuji]

Tojikuna fics where Sukuna baits Megumi using his crush on Yuuji to get closer to Toji has become one of my FAVOURITE things ever!!!

BIG SHOUTOUT TO THIS FIC

[shotmrmiller]

toni help i’m feeling very lesbian and i just feel like the boys would be such bad wing men in that sense. getting them to help me pick up girls is a terrible idea but it sounds hilarious

price has been loyally married since HS so he has no modern game. commodore 64.

kyle is still single, god only knows why, soap says, but it's cuz he can't pick up any sort of cues. he thinks any potential girl/guy coming his way is just being nice :)

soap is too aggressive. whilst his face is pretty, his abrasive attitude isn't. yaps their ear right off talking about nothing then offers them a walk back to his place. yikes.

and ghost. walking danger sign. anytime a girl looks at him, all she hears are those air raid sirens and knows to steer clear. hasn't been laid in years. game nonexistent.

[lilacgyuvin]

out of my league — k. gyuvin

pairing: nerd!gyuvin x popular!gn!reader

synopsis: it’s valentine’s day! what better way to confess to your longtime crush (and the highschool’s most popular student) than with a letter shoved through their locker. just don’t let jiwoong find out.

wrd count: 6.3k (DAMN OKAY BITCH!!!)

warnings: highschool!au, slight hurt/lots of comfort, bully!jiwoong (srry someone had to do it), bullying, one km s joke, reader isn’t a bully, eunseok of riize sneak, jiwoong is really mean 😭 a little crack, funeral talk, not to be taken seriously this is fiction!!

a/n: yk i had to write smth with valentine’s day coming up!! i lobe gyuvin gyuvin pls be my valentine pls plsplspls

“I put a note in their locker.”

It probably wasn’t the best sentence starter, which Gyuvin realizes only after Taerae starts to choke on his strawberry soda mid-chug. Despite his eyes practically bulging out of his head paired with a boisterous gasp amidst hearing Gyuvin’s doings, Eunseok reaches a lending hand out to his suffocating friend’s back.

“You what?!” Eunseok screams in a hushed tone, despite being the only three occupants of the classroom. If Gyuvin didn’t think it was a stupid idea then, well, he certainly does now. He honestly wasn’t going to tell anyone at first; the embarrassment mixed with the fear of rejection almost made him drop the whole plan as a whole. However, binging 3 romance dramas back to back gave him the confidence he’d never thought he’d have otherwise if it weren’t for the male leads and their suave ways, which is what leads him to where he stands today: sending a confession letter to his longtime crush which also ended up being the cause of his friend’s premature death. Thanks, Choi Woong!

Taerae unfortunately survives his cough attack and uses his regained ability to breath properly to discourage Gyuvin’s efforts even more. “Jiwoong’s gonna kill you man.”

Yes, that’s exactly what he wanted to hear right now. He decides against answering with sarcasm and opts out to rolling his eyes as hard as he can at the mention of he-who-shall-not-be-named.

“He didn’t see me put it in,” He certainly didn’t, and Gyuvin knows this because he showed up an hour earlier than normal to slip the note in, partly to avoid Jiwoong and to also beat his inevitable numerous contenders. “Plus, they’re not even dating. They don’t like him.”

Eunseok and Taerae share a glance. They look back at Gyuvin. “Did they tell you that.”

Gyuvin’s starting to get tired of rolling his eyes. Of course they didn’t tell him that, they’re nowhere near close. While they’ve coexisted in the same space for the past four years, their friend groups are on complete opposite sides of the spectrum. They’re admired by everyone, in numerous clubs, and is practically known by the whole school. The only club Gyuvin’s a part of is the Epic Gamers Club™ held at Eunseok’s house every other day. And as far as being admired goes…

“Yo. Gyuvin.”

Oh fuck, it’s so over. Gyuvin is going to die. What’s-his-face is here and Gyuvin is going to die, all because he couldn’t confess to his crush like a normal person. How did Jiwoong even see him? It’s not like he handed the letter to them in plain sight, and there’s no way in hell Jiwoong showed up to school an hour early.

Well, none of that matters anymore. Jiwoong is now walking into the once peaceful confines of the classroom, his goons right behind him, and Gyuvin’s about to meet his end.

All he asks is that Y/n is at his funeral.

Despite coming into the classroom for Gyuvin, Jiwoong is kind enough to make time to mess around with his friends first. Wedging himself in between the three desks facing each other, Jiwoong snatches Taerae’s glasses off his face and tosses them to the floor, and at the same time shoves Eunseok’s tuna mayo kimbap out of his hands. So much for escaping the lunch room.

After watching his friends scramble for their discarded items, Jiwoong turns his back to them in favor of facing Gyuvin, his signature smirk plastered on his face.

Kim Jiwoong: The entire school’s boy crush and simultaneously Gyuvin’s worst nightmare. Going into high school, Gyuvin didn’t think he’d have problems with anyone, his plan was simple: make a decent amount of friends, stay in the honors program so he can get into his dream university, and best his all-time score in Super Smash Bros Ultimate. Oh, and get into his first relationship (since the girl he ‘dated’ in the second grade didn’t count, according to Taerae).

He guesses he strived too hard at the second thing though, as in their freshman year Jiwoong was left at second place in their classes overall academic ranking, and Jiwoong was never second.

Ever since then, Jiwoong has tried everything to sabotage Gyuvin’s grades, which ended in failure each time. So, he just stuck to messing with him. Now Gyuvin wouldn’t really mind if he had got reprimanded for his actions, but he gets away with it— every time. Sneaking slaps upside his head when passing him through the halls, pushing and tripping him during gym, and ‘accidentally’ spilling his drink onto his uniform (which is what initiated classroom lunches amongst him and his friends in the first place): he got away with it all, for four damn years. All because of that facade he puts up in front of everyone. With his perfect grades combined with his charm, he’s adored by students and faculty alike— all but the few who were unfortunate enough to be victims of his ridiculing, Gyuvin included.

The devil himself opens his mouth once again. “I haven’t seen you in a while, you hiding from me?” His smirk forms into a smile, yet it doesn’t reach his eyes, and it holds the same sinister tone as his previous expression did.

Gyuvin looks up at him, disdain hidden behind the neutral shield he’s learned to master in favor of avoiding a swift blow to the face (not that it ever stopped Jiwoong from landing one, anyway). “No.”

At that, Jiwoong’s smile drops, his eyebrows furrow in fake confusion and he starts to look around the empty room. “But… you’re having lunch. In an empty classroom. When there’s a perfectly good cafeteria waiting for you downstairs.” Jiwoong’s friends snicker by the door as he leans down to be eye level with Gyuvin. “Don’t you find that rude, Gyuvin? The staff make sure the cafe is cleaned spotless for scum like you to eat, and you’re eating in the classroom?”

Literally what the fuck is he even talking about. It isn’t uncommon for students to eat in the classrooms, and he knows this because Jiwoong’s literally done it before. It’s in that moment that he realizes Jiwoong just came in here to mess with him, which means he doesn’t know about the letter which means that he won’t die today. Looks like he’ll live to see another day after all!

His newfound happiness isn’t long lived, as in the span of one second, Gyuvin blinks and his food is nothing but a pile of solids and liquids on the classroom’s floor.

Jiwoong gives him a mean snare, despite the fact that all of Gyuvin’s attention is to his now germ-infested food. “And now look, you made a mess.”

Gyuvin can barely hear him and his friends laughing with the way his ears are ringing— no, practically blaring throughout his head. His bulgogi over rice is on the floor. His fucking bulgogi over rice, the last of its kind (as his mom let him have the last of the leftovers), is now nothing but a concoction of soggy meat and rice sautaed with his strawberry milk.

Usually, Gyuvin would be the bigger person and walk away; he’d shut his mouth, clean up the mess, and go about his day. But for some reason, he doesn’t feel like being the mature one today. Maybe it’s the never ending grating laughter coming from his friends, maybe it’s because he’s tired of Jiwoong pushing him around, or maybe it’s just because his mom’s bulgogi is the best bulgogi, and now he can’t have any, all because Kim Jiwoong was bored.

Without a second thought, Gyuvin rises from his chair, lifting his arms to push at the chest of an unexpecting Jiwoong, who stumbles onto the desks of Gyuvin’s friends behind him (he’ll apologize to them for that later). Jiwoong unfortunately finds his footing rather quickly, and doesn’t waste a second as he roughly grabs Gyuvin by the collar, dragging him to the nearest wall and slams him against it. “You fucking crazy? Huh?!”

Those dramas must be really getting to me, Gyuvin thinks. It becomes obvious when he doesn’t shut his mouth after Jiwoong’s question. “Fuck you, Jiwoong.”

He doesn’t even mean to spit in his face, but it happens when he speaks, and he can feel his past self crying tears of joy. He’s been wanting to do this for four years. Maybe the bulgogi sacrificed itself for this very moment. Thanks, Bulgogi. I’ll never forget you.

Jiwoong dryly laughs, lolling his head to the side like the psycho he is. “Yeah, you’ve clearly lost your mind. I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

Okay, remember when Gyuvin thought he was free from begging murdered and would live to see another day? He’s starting to think he spoke too soon.

It’s like things are moving in slow motion; Jiwoong releasing a hand on his collar in favor of making a fist angled straight at Gyuvin’s nose, his friends standing from their seats in dreadful anticipation, and the swift breeze that comes from the door being swung open.

“Leave him alone, Jiwoong.”

Ah, his guardian angel.

In less than a millisecond, Jiwoong’s vice grip on Gyuvin’s collar is released, and the fist ready to knock him out is lowered to his side. A deep sigh escapes his throat before he turns to the agitated student. “Go back downstairs, Y/n. This is nothing.”

Gyuvin almost laughs wholeheartedly at Jiwoong’s weak attempt to redirect them. As if he could get them to do anything he said.

Y/n cooks their head to the side, which in Gyuvin’s book is a telltale sign that they’re about to read the fuck out of Jiwoong. “Yeah, it was nothing, until you decided to come in here and bother them for literally no reason. Do you seriously have nothing else better to do?”

Gyuvin can feel an amused smile crawling onto his face as he watches Jiwoong scramble to find an excuse. Seeing Jiwoong try his hardest not to physically deflate in front of his friends would never get old.

And neither would his good-boy facade, apparently! Despite being caught in the act by Y/n for the millionth time, Jiwoong still attempts to save face by pulling out the puppy eyes plucked from the deepest pits of Hell, paired with the fakest apologetic look Gyuvin’s ever witnessed, and turns to be face to face with Y/n, caressing their arm in what he thinks is a comforting gesture. “Come on, don’t be like that. What, you want me to apologize?”

“Yes.”

Like he’s just heard he’s due to get castrated tomorrow morning, his hand’s cease the petting motion and Jiwoong does a double take. “You serious?” He looks into their eyes for any signs of humor behind them (which is stupid for issuing an apology, Gyuvin thinks), and when he doesn’t find any, he drops the act faster than Gyuvin can say ‘COD sucks’ and pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out the loudest groan known to man. “Oh my- fine.” Jiwoong looks to his right, locking eyes with him, “Sorry for knocking over your piece of shit lunch, Gyuvin.”

Piece of— his mom’s bulgogi?! Of course Jiwoong wouldn’t know the significance the lunch held for Gyuvin, but he wouldn’t care anyway, so Gyuvin breaks eye contact and rolls his eyes as far into his head as humanly possible.

Gyuvin, now making his way to his book bag to retrieve napkins for his late lunch on the floor, can’t see the look of disbelief on Jiwoong’s face, but he sure can hear it. “What, you’re not gonna accept my apology?”

Gyuvin doesn’t stop fetching for the tissues even when he hears Jiwoong’s footsteps approaching him, and neither does he stop when they come to a halt. “He doesn’t have to do anything,” When he finally retrieves the napkins, Y/n is at his side on the floor, grabbing the empty plastic bag on his desk. “Now if you aren’t going to help clean up, then leave.”

Jiwoong furrows his eyebrows. “You don’t need to help them, Y/n.”

“I also don’t have to meet with you at the cafe after school.”

Oh, Gyuvin knows that one hurt. Everyone knows Jiwoong’s been dying to ask Y/n out for a while now (mostly because he’d never shut up about it), and boy was Gyuvin right. He stumbles over his words as he raises his arms before dropping them. “Come on, Y/n. It’s Valentine’s Day.”

Despite the obvious hurt in his voice, they don’t even spare him a glance, focusing on the mess in front of them. “..So? We’re not dating, take Minjeong or something.”

A beat of silence passes, and he thinks Jiwoong died of embarrassment until a scoff erupts from his throat. Okay, there was no way Gyuvin would miss out on seeing Jiwoong’s face after getting rejected before he could even confess, so he raises his head and fully suspects Jiwoong to be sulking or something. He was so wrong. When Gyuvin looks up, Jiwoong is staring right at him, his eyes holding nothing but disdain and revulsion. Wow, Gyuvin thinks, if this is how he reacts to them just simply helping me, what’s he gonna do when they accept (which they hopefully will) my confession? He’d rather not think about that right now actually, and he doesn’t have to any longer, as Jiwoong turns on his heels and makes his way out of the classroom, his goons behind him, but not before mumbling a parting gift for Gyuvin. “Fuckin’ freak.”

So original. Anyway, Gyuvin’s just glad he doesn’t have to deal with him for the rest of the lunch period. His friend’s are quick to his side, and he reassures them that he’s fine. “I’ll go get more napkins.” Eunseok nods and rises from the floor, and is halfway through the door before he stops when he realizes Taerae isn’t behind him.

He cranes his head to the side, and from the corner of his eye he can see Taerae still at Gyuvin’s side. Unbelievable. “Um, Taerae.” He raises his head to his friend standing, and doesn’t get the hint until Eunseok is nudging his head towards the hallway in a ‘get-the-fuck-out’ sorta way.

He looks between Gyuvin and Y/n before his whole body straightens, finally getting up from his crouching position. “Oh! Um, yeah. I’m going to get napkins too.” While Taerae walks towards his other friend, Gyuvin raises his head, and Eunseok gives him a thumbs up in support. It’s in that moment that Gyuvin decides pizza’s gonna be on him at tonight’s Epic Gamers Club™ meeting.

A beat of silence passes, only the sounds of his poor lunch being scooped up into the bag are heard, until Gyuvin musters the courage to start the conversation.

“Thanks for helping me.” He doesn’t have to stop his task to know that they’re smiling. “Of course, I’m sorry about him.” They say in a remorseful tone.

Gyuvin hates the way they apologize on Jiwoong’s behalf, but at the same time he can’t help the way their kindness makes him feel all warm and gooey inside— They're just too good for this world. “You don’t have to apologize for him. You’re not his babysitter.”

His last comment seems to make Y/n laugh. ‘Huh, I’m just funny like that, I guess’ (It’s what he’s thinking, but his friends would agree to disagree.) “It sometimes feels that way.”

Gyuvin hesitates to ask his next question; they’re not exactly close, but he’s been feeling all sorts of confident recently, so he does anyway. “Why do you hang out with him? With them?” ‘Them’ being the rest of Jiwoong’s posee who think they’re hot shit; being all types of mean to other students just because of their looks or their parents’ social statuses. Gyuvin doesn’t think he hates anything more than a snobby rich asshole, which is what induced Gyuvin’s question in the first place, because Y/n isn’t a snobby rich asshole, yet they hang out with a group of them. It’s a question he’s been dying to ask for years now, and all it took was for Jiwoong to fuck up his lunch. Gyuvin almost mentally thanks him, but he barfs in his mouth a bit just thinking about it.

A few seconds pass, and it seems like they’re trying to find an answer to the question themselves. A nervous sigh passes through their lips as they wipe at the strawberry milk staining the floor. “Well, I guess I just fell into it? The friend group, I mean. When I first transferred, I thought they were really nice. At least they treated me that way. I don’t know why.”

‘Because you’re smart and all types of talented and you’re fucking gorgeous’ and a thousand other things is what Gyuvin wants to say, but he keeps his thoughts to himself and lets them continue. “But yeah, they’d always push me to hang out with them, and I guess by the time I realized who they truly were, everyone had already established their friends groups.” At this point is where they ran out of napkins and there was still a bit of the mess left over, so the two sit across from each other, leaning on the legs of the desks behind them. Despite loving the alone time they’re getting, Gyuvin hopes Eunseok and Taerae come back with more tissue soon, or else he’d have to explain the mess to his teacher, thus taking the fall for Jiwoong once again. His sulking that came from just thinking about the possibility is interrupted when Y/n speaks again, in a more hushed tone this time. “I guess I’m just scared of being alone.”

Woah, Gyuvin’s never thought of it that way. Having no friends was a valid fear, hell, Gyuvin felt that way before he met his. He can’t imagine how it would affect Y/n. The school’s most popular student: a loner— they’d never hear the end of it.

He hates that they feel like they need to hang out with pieces of shit to avoid being lonely, when that isn’t the truth at all. As delusional as it may sound, Gyuvin is right here. Who cares if they don’t have similar interests? They can introduce each other to all their different hyper fixations and special interests. And so what if they’re from seemingly different worlds? Gyuvin would swim across all the oceans and walk over thousands of miles if it meant getting to be with Y/n. Every time they’re paired to work on an assignment together, whenever they congratulate him on yet another academic achievement, when Y/n spots him in the hallway and stops to talk to Gyuvin and only Gyuvin. It never gets old, his heart beating a million times over with how kind and effortlessly funny and drop dead gorgeous they are. Fuck, he thinks, I don’t know if I’ll be able to go on if they reject me.

Gyuvin never wants them to feel alone, he needs to let them know that such a thing can never happen. He can tell his silence goes on longer than expected with the way they start to nervously fiddle with the edges of their uniform sleeves. He says it before he can think about it for another second. “You don’t have to be alone. I-I know we’re not close, but you can talk to me.”

With the speed in which their head lifts from their fixed view on the ground, Gyuvin doesn’t know if he’s successfully swooned them or if he effectively fucked up his chances at being anything to them. He needs to save face, so he raises his hands in defense, his eyes widening in pure fear. “O-only if you want to! Like. Just in case you felt like it or whatever.” Yeah, it totally wouldn’t put me into anaphylactic shock if you were to seek me out in any way shape or form!

Gyuvin lowers his hands, leans back on the legs of the desk, and watches as Y/n’s expression transforms from one of shock, to pure adoration. Their eyes soften in a way Gyuvin’s never seen before, and if he were to look a little closer, he swears there are tears swimming at the brim of them, threatening to fall.

‘FuckifImadeY/ncryI’mgonnaenditall’ is the one thought running through Gyuvin’s head as he waits for a response. He isn’t joking either— he’s sorry to his loved ones and all that, and he supposes the Epic Gamer Club™ would have to go on an indefinite hiatus with the emotional trauma it’d leave on his friends. He wonders if his dog would be brought to his funeral?

Turns out he won’t have to plan out his funeral arrangements after all, that becomes clear when a warm smile meets their eyes, and the tears dwindle to a glassy thin layer over their eyes. “I’d love to. Thank you, Gyuvin.”

Oh Gyuvin thinks his heart just exploded, but like, in a good way. A love explosion, if you will. He doesn’t waste a beat before he’s sporting a smile of his own, sitting straighter than before. “Anytime.”

His friends aren’t back, the period isn’t over yet, and he doesn’t want to stop the conversation there. So, he talks about the thing that’s been plaguing his mind for the past week. “I saw your locker. You got a lot of letters.”

Y/n laughs bashfully at the mention of the hundreds- no, thousands of letters they received today. When they arrived at school, they opened their locker and was bombarded with a sea of pink and red cards that practically drowned them, and by the time second period rolled around, their desk was stuffed to the brim with even more advances in the form of candies and cute plushies. “Yeah, I haven’t even gotten to a single one yet! I’ll do it before school ends, though. I’m glad people like me enough to get me things.”

They’ve got to be kidding. The spring semester of freshman year was absolutely rocked by the wave that was Y/n’s arrival. Despite coming from a normal, middle class family, they were quick to rise in popularity. At first, it had just been their beauty that seemed to draw everyone in, but as soon as they were able to showcase their physical and academic skill, along with their endless heaps of kindness, they became more than just a pretty face, and the whole student body can testify to that. Unfortunately, by the 4th day into the new semester Jiwoong and his loser-ass friends had already sunk their claws into Y/n and scooped them up before any other group could. But yeah, anyone who doesn’t love Y/n is crazy and is probably most definitely going to hell.

‘I hope you read mine.’ It’s at the tip of his tongue, he’s straightening his posture to sit taller and ask them with his whole chest, and—

“More napkins!” is the opener Taerae decides to go with as he and Eunseok barge into the confines of the classroom. “Uhh sorry we took so long, we were arguing about…” he turns to Eunseok who just shrugs his shoulders before turning back to the two. “.. who the strongest avenger is.”

Gyuvin wants to roll his eyes, partly because they couldn’t have come up with a lamer excuse even if they tried, they unknowingly sabotaged his unplanned confession, and cause the strongest avenger is obviously Scarlet Witch.

He decides against it, rather locking eyes with Y/n who he finds is already staring at him, and they exchange equally bashful smiles. Gyuvin isn’t mad at his friends, not when they invade his and Y/n’s space to help clean the last of the mess, and not when they use the rest of the lunch period to bombard them with questions like, ‘have you read kimetsu no yaiba?’ and ‘where would you go if a zombie apocalypse broke out?’ (they answered with staying in Seoul, which prompted Taerae to blatantly tell them they’re going to die, which in turn earned himself a slap from Gyuvin).

He isn’t mad because he still has a chance: today, at 3:00 in room 124 after school like his letter specified. He hopes, some way, that through the piles of letters and candies and plushies and whatever the hell else, they somehow recognize Gyuvin’s from the crowd, and pick him.

It’s time.

It’s time, and Gyuvin’s got it all figured out: Although school’s ended 45 minutes ago, he knows Y/n is part of the cooking club, so he isn’t keeping them behind or anything. He used that time to run to the flower shop a few minutes away and get them their favorites along with a stuffed animal. The classroom he initiated the meeting place in was one that was barely used by students, let alone teachers, so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Oh! And it’s on the first floor, so if Jiwoong happened to find out about his advances and decided to sabotage him with his friends, then he could jump out the window without sustaining any injuries.

Gyuvin’s got it all figured out, so why’s he practically shitting bricks right now?

There are a lot of reasons really— the main one being the fear of rejection which he’s afraid he’ll never be able to live down which will lead to him maybe most certainly doing something drastic.

But it’s 2:58, two minutes before Gyuvin’s letter says for them to meet, and he has to pull himself together. He decides pacing around the room a billion times isn’t gonna do the trick, so he opts out to sitting on the teacher’s desk instead, setting the flowers and plushie behind him. He pulls out his phone and at the same time receives a text from Eunseok.

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)>: let us know how it goes 🫡 also please don’t die today

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)>: taerae brought danganronpa and you know how he likes to voice the lines aloud. you’re nagito we need you

Along with Taerae’s ridiculous gaming antics, Gyuvin finds it amusing how Eunseok also thought about the possibility of Jiwoong finding him out, and it makes him laugh, somewhat calming his nerves down. It’s comforting to know that if this confession doesn’t end up going well, he’ll at least have his friends to fall back on.

“What’s so funny?”

The sudden voice echoes through the empty classroom and Gyuvin almost lauches his phone through the ceiling with the way he jumps.

His heart drops a million times over and he nearly passes out, but he doesn’t, as an angel was sent before him. The angel, if you will.

Standing by the now closed door was Y/n, the sun cascading over their skin to only amplify the seemingly everlasting glow on their face. The same tender smile that they gave Gyuvin a few hours earlier was back, and he looks down and—

They’re holding his letter.

Out of the swarm of all the pinks and reds, through the heart-shaped candies and the softest plushies, none of them are in sight but Gyuvin’s. Gyuvin’s, with the stupid Evangelion washi tape on the side preventing the envelope from falling open after he accidentally ripped it, the one with animal crossing stickers plastered every which way because Y/n mentioned the game once, the one with emoticons drawn on by Gyuvin himself in hopes of standing out in the sea of letters: it was in the grasp of Y/n’s hands, fiddling with the edges as they approach Gyuvin in what to him feels like slow motion.

He honestly feels like he could cry. Oh shit, is he crying? Gyuvin sets his phone down to raise a hand to his cheek, which is thankfully dry, but the action brings him back to reality and he realizes that he’s been staring for longer than normal, so he manages to use the little breath he has left to muster what he can.

“You came.” It’s not much, but it’s the best he can do, and way better than just staring at them in pure silence.

“Of course I did.” They say it like it’s the most obvious thing ever, which only serves to throw Gyuvin off even more.

“But- what about everyone else?” What he really wants to say is ‘why me?’ Throughout the day he’d pass by their locker, their desks, even Y/n themselves; everyone seeking them out were more than worthy candidates. Whether it were their looks, their popularity, or the fact that they were confident enough to confess straight to their face— all of them were more worthy than Gyuvin could ever be. So why were they here, at 3:00 pm in room 124 like the letter read?

They shrug, a knowing smile plastered on their face. “You said you wanted to talk?”

“Oh! Right. Yeah.” He opens his mouth, breathing in a handful of air before speaking again, “...I forgot what I was gonna say.”

It wasn’t a total lie! He was caught completely off guard, it was kinda expected to forget the speech he’s been practicing for weeks now. It doesn’t seem to phase Y/n though, for they simply shrug again, and begin to remove the letter from the envelope in their hand. “That’s okay. Maybe if we read your letter it’ll jog your memory.”

‘Dear Y/n,

I know we aren’t close, but you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before. Please meet me in room 124 @ 3:00pm today, so that I can express my feelings in full.

— Kim Gyuvin’

It sounded like poetry when Gyuvin read it in his head, aloud in his room, and then to his mom for a second voice of opinion (she said he was better than Shakespeare, which went straight to his head). But now Gyuvin isn’t too sure how that made the final cut, he cringes a million times over when they read it out loud.

He scratches the back of his head and tries to hide his mortification as much as possible. “Sorry, I know that’s pretty vague..”

“It’s okay! You can say whatever’s on your mind, I’m all ears.”

Holy shit, this was really happening. He doesn’t know why, but he wasn’t expecting to get this far. Maybe he thought Y/n was too good for him, and he really did think about the possibility of Jiwoong finding him out, but none of that matters anymore— not when his dream come true is standing right in front of him, when they could be doing anything else right now and they decided to be with him. The fact that they’re even giving him the time of day is enough to fuel him with more confidence than those romance dramas ever could.

He stands up from the desk, and takes a deep breath. “I really like you Y/n, I have for a while now. You’re smart and funny and really pretty, and you’re always nice to me. I know we don’t like all of the same things, but that doesn’t bother me. I want to learn more about you, I want to learn everything about you. I hope you feel the same way, and if not, I understand. I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if we graduated without letting you know how I feel.” Without turning around, he reaches for the flowers and stuffed animal, trying his best to steady the nervous look creeping onto his face as he holds the items out between the two of them. “Please be my valentine! And then something more. If you wanted to.”

Gyuvin’s rant has finally come to an end, and he doesn’t realize they’re tearing up until he’s holding the items up for them to take.

Oh my God he’s seriously made Y/n cry, he’s got to end it now. It’s what he’s thinking until his personal space is being invaded by the warmth of the bone crushing hug Y/n has them in before Gyuvin can even apologize.

Despite their face being shoved into his chest, tears wetting his uniform vest, they still manage to muster a coherent response. “I’m glad you told me before graduation. Of course I’ll be your valentine.”

Wait, what? Gyuvin stiffens in their hold when he both realizes that he hadn’t returned their hug and that they said yes?! “Oh my God really? Wait. I’m sorry, I know this is what I like, wanted, but can I ask why?” their hold on Gyuvin releases a bit as he continues, “Is this just you being nice? Cause if so—”

In the span of two seconds, their warmth is gone, and Gyuvin can’t even sulk the lost feeling before he’s being punched in the arm. “Ow!”

Their tear stained face holds a look of offense, like Gyuvin just wronged their entire lineage. “You think I’m crying just to be nice?” Oh, he thinks, thats a good point. “I like you too, dummy. You’re really smart, and you never stoop to people like Jiwoong’s level whenever they bother you. Also, you get really cute when talking about your dog or those games you like.”

They actually listened to his stupid rants? How could he not blush at that? It spreads from his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears, and fails to go unnoticed by Y/n. “And when you blush. You’re just a big cutie.”

Oh Gyuvin’s having one of those love explosions again, but like, a million times worse. This can’t possibly be good for his health. In a poor attempt to hide his bashfulness, Gyuvin brings his hands up to cover his face, his words muffled by the makeshift shield. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this is happening.”

And apparently Gyuvin’s suffering is funny? Because now they’re laughing, coming closer and raising their own hands to grab at Gyuvin’s wrists, successfully pulling them away from his face. “Don’t be shy now! You’ve come so far.”

They’re right, he has come so far. So why cower away now? He’s quite literally got them in the palm of his hands (or vise versa, he should say), and he’ll be damned if he lets them slip away now. With their hands now holding his wrists at their sides, Gyuvin doesn’t have half the mind to think before he’s leaning in, landing a feather-light peck to their lips. ‘Oh fuck, am I doing this right?’ It isn’t until now that Gyuvin remembers he’s never actually kissed anyone before, and panic follows quickly as he pulls away, their faces still mere inches away. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t really know what I’m—”

Their lips are suddenly on each other again, but it’s Y/n who initiates the kiss, and it's beyond better than Gyuvin’s. It’s light and refreshing, like how Gyuvin feels whenever they’re around. Their lips are as soft as their hands in his grip, and he can feel them smiling against his as they continue. He never wants to let go of this moment.

He ends up not minding when it does end though, for when they both pull away, Y/n finally lets his wrists go in favor of holding his face in their hands, which has Gyuvin practically melting into their touch. “If you apologize one more time, I’m going to punch you again.” They smile, despite having just threatened him.

Gyuvin doesn’t mind, though. They could hit him with the force of a hundred meteors, and he’d still forgive them. So he just smiles, basking in the warmth of their hands. “So, what’d you wanna do now?”

Y/n ponders for a moment, and perks up not long after. “Wanna go grab food?”

Oh, Gyuvin could cry. Y/n came straight from the cooking club, where they make full course meals that they get to eat at the end, so there was no reason for Y/n to be hungry. Yet Gyuvin’s lunch was ruined by what’s-his-face, and there was no way he wasn’t starving by now, and they remembered that.

He doesn’t wanna ruin the mood with his crocodile tears, so he sucks up his tears as much as he can, and smiles fondly instead. “Sounds perfect.”

Gyuvin’s still in a minor state of shock when they walk out of the school's doors. The person who he’s been pining over for the past four years likes him back, and they’re going on a date. Is this a date? He doesn’t want to ask, rather basking in the sun from both the sky and the one right next to him. He’s kind of worried that Jiwoong is gonna find out, but he can’t find it in himself to care all that much when his valentine is holding his hand as they make their way to the train station.

He takes note of their warning from earlier, but he has to ask. “Are you okay? Sorry for making you cry.”

Gyuvin’s ready to take a punch, but he’s lightly shoved instead, making the both of them lose their footing a bit before walking in tandem again. “It’s okay. And yeah, you’re just really sweet.” They turn to him and smile, squeezing his hand lightly. “Okay, let’s learn more about each other starting now. What kind of ramen do you like?”

“Wanna check out the new spot downtown and find out?”

Gojo’s boy toys (◕ε◕*)

3:40 pm

You: bros.

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> : bro??

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : was that a good bros or a bad bros

You: we kissed

You: we’re going out for ramen now

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : ?$/;&/??@

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : BROOOOOO

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> : omg i’m crying

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> : gyuvin im crying

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : he is crying gyuvin

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : we’re so happy for you bro.

You: thanks guys 😄

i’ll still be home in time to play so

just sit tight

taetae ˶^•ﻌ•^˵ : tell y/n i say sorry for saying they have zero survival instinct!!!

eunseokie <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> : AND FUCK YOU JIWOONG

a/n: in no way am i implying that doing things like reading manga or playing smash bros is weird, i just took things that’ve gotten me called a nerd 😭😭 also being a nerd isn’t bad i love my nerds 🫡 stream beautiful monster stan p1h get get get get a guitar bai

[rainybyday]

Obito would be the kind of kid to say he has a crush on someone and only tell Rin it's Kakashi. But word got out, and it did not even last a day since he wasn't quiet about it. When confronted to ask if he had a crush on Kakashi he would deny it, pretending to have a crush on Rin while publicly showing his distaste towards Kakashi so no one connects his publicly known crush to Kakashi.

They all believe it except for Rin since she is the only one to know.

[renonv]

I can't stop thinking about them 😭😭 help

[milo-igidk]

in my head ro is a lesbian and has a gf btw. if you even care.

[undertheredhood]

jason accidentally trauma-dumps to this masked vigilante who he’s somehow immediately comfortable trusting while willis todd who is not dead and is very much still alive (but still hasn’t told his only living child yet) is internally screaming “WHAT DID THEY DO TO MY PRECIOUS BABY BOY?!?!?!?”