#i i guess lover because it has higher highs?

[finnickodaiir]

Reputation or Lover this or that. Ready for It or Cruel Summer? End Game or Paper Rings? Delicate or The Archer? LWYMMD or Me!? So It Goes... or I Think He Knows? Gorgeous or London Boy? Getaway Car or Death by a Thousand Cuts? Dancing With Our Hands Tied or Cornelia Street? Dress or False God? This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things or I Forgot that You Existed? Call It What You Want or Lover the song? New Year's Day or Daylight? Reputation or Lover?

[feistyvirghoe]

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒₊˚*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆ ❝ 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐘? ❞𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒₊˚*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆

*this is not meant to stir up drama or to be messy, i was curious and in this digital age that we’re living in it’s easy for people to keep up with you by also staying hidden in the shadows, this is just uncovering the who and why this or these people have been keeping tabs on you, weird weird world we live in but it’s good to be aware instead of oblivious.*

pick a card disclaimers ೃ🩷⁀➷

pick a pile u feel most called to, the one u cannot look away from, the one that is pulsing, go with your gut, always trust yourself, and if u feel called to more that’s cool baby boo! there’s more for u!

these are general and for a vast amount of ppl, don’t get ur undies all twisted up bc it’s not resonating, it’s normal and it’s fine, this just wasn’t for u! <3

these are extremely general collective timeless readings and they’re meant for entertainment purposes, please don’t take things so seriously and also realize my readings are for people above 18!

╰┈➤ ❝ [ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ who ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡> i feel like this is a person you guys have moved on from, like you’ve accepted them for who they are and whatever happened between the both of you. it’s like remembering this person has you breathing more deeply, to stay calm and not exaggerate the feelings you have towards them.

> this person is like really obsessive over you, to keep you fucking stuck and confused. like they’re still holding onto something like a grudge against you, but you’re more peaceful and zen

> this is an ex lover for you, or someone you were close with at some point. i keep saying “keeping pile” like they’re trying to fucking keep your energy attached to them, like anything they can find on you they’ll just engage and get lost in you, your business, what’s going on with you.

> this feels like a person with heavy masc energy who’s coming off as a bit arrogant, as if you’d never walk away from them. okay so they’re just giving off conceited, a bit delusional vibes, like they’re hyping themself up and putting themself on a pedestal but they’re honestly someone who floats around, like they’re onto the next and they can’t stand that you left them, basically u just walked away and said enough is enough and let them go, but THEY still want to keep that fucking rinky dinky ass chain strong and durable, but there’s nothing there for you.

> there is so much strife and chaos and just a bunch of messy shit going on in their life, they can’t escape it so i guess the only solution is to go back to the person they screwed over omg what?!

>it’s like they want you to feel like it’s your fucking fault for whatever happened.

>yall are so over it omg, i was about to wrap this shit up bc i was just getting like annoyed, like that “what the F ever” type of vibe

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ why ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡> i feel like they’re keeping tabs on you because of this worry, some sort of deep regret and they’re scared, idk being haunted by thoughts of you. they’re everywhere and they seem a bit unstable tbh, they aren’t thinking clearly at all.

>another thing here is that you probably have been through the ringer with this person and you have moved gracefully, not going after them and avenging yourself by seeking revenge, you took the high road and just left this person where they are

> now that you’ve moved on, they feel as if you’re outshining them, you probably are and you don’t see it, but you’ve learned so much and gained a lot of helpful fucking information to help u grow and move on to something better and healthier for you, so now it’s like for them, you’re shoving in their face, this is giving like EXTREME DELUSIONAL ENERGY.

> see you are shining bitch! i am not sure how they know or think they know so much about you but you’ve listened to god or whoever you believe in (i persona think they’re all one but don’t quote me) but you’ve just listened to even your higher self because you know what’s best for you. they’re handing you this beautiful majestic, bright fucking stick and it’s yours, it’s all yours to take and this weirdo is disturbed by your new beginnings as if it shouldn’t be meant for you uhhhh wtf?? i mean unless you’ve done some shady shit i can understand but i don’t think so boo, this or these people are just fucking coming from a place of heavy insecurity and feelings of being inadequate. this is for you and what do they say, what is really meant for you will never pass you by.

> you’ve taken back your power, your energy, just you took back you, lol taking yourself to the fucking car wash to clean all that weird shit off of you, coming out squeaky clean ready for the brighter days ahead of you! and that’s amazing as hell, bc this is can tell was not easy and probably caused some crazy shit to happen to you as well, but you’re not a problem boo and don’t take on their projection and warped narrative of you!

> live your life to the fucking fullest and never apologize for that shit! esp no apologizing to fucking bozos who have done you wrong and then want to gaslight you into thinking that you’re the problem and that everything was your fault. shit happens for some reasons we can’t even understand and i know it frustrates me too but it’s outside of our control and we have to accept it and move on and that’s what u did, i mean im seeing it here rn boo w the 5oC reversed. you did it, so be proud of yourself because overcoming these tough ass emotional and mental challenges is fucking scary and tiring.

take care to you lovely people and embrace this new beginning okay <333 i love you. ] ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ [◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ who ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡> this is someone who you cut ties with, someone who you ended things with, im getting someone who feels heartbroken by you and left out in the cold

>could be more than one person, like a group of people, but these people are struggling right now

>these are people disturbed by your happiness, your joyful spirit wth, anyways, they’re not doing so well, like things have been taken away from them whether that may be literally or figuratively, but they’re feeling like their scorned, as if this is your fault

>this is someone who doesn’t want to grow from whatever happened, the first card i pull is always the person who’s reading this, their energy and you’re coming out as the sun, a youthful spirit, someone young and childlike, like the innocence not like acting like a child lol

>but this person could also be acting childish too, like a bit ignorant and petty. do you even know these people, there’s so much going on here

>this pile is so confusing, we have a queen of swords, a queen of wands, king of pentacles and the prince of pentacles, like who are these people??

> idk why im crying right now and in tears lmfao, like this pile is confusing me heavy and it’s really annoying me, maybe it’s like this person or these weirdos want you confused

>the energy is just really frustrating and irritating me so i’m pulling newer cards for you to get better messages.

>this person is just annoying the fuck out of me bro, but it’s someone with many fucking options, someone who can’t seem to stay committed to one thing, they’re pulled every which way and idk if it’s your irritation or their irritation i’m picking up on, someone who wants you back

>this person could be an air sign or have those placements somewhere in their chart aqua,libra, gemini

>they feel like they’re down in the dumps right now, someone who just played with you, they see you moving on and now they’re feeling some type of way about it, they’re very emotionally unstable

>they could also be a water sign, but this person is just in shambles, freaking out emotionally, missing you heavily, but they’re just so fucking unstable dude, they have a low self esteem and feel like they’re being overlooked by everyone

>nothing seems to be going their way and it’s pissing them off, maybe that’s why i was irritated, like they’re throwing temper tantrums bc that emotion that took over me was gross and i wasn’t acting like myself, someone fucking pent up over you, not to be rude but this mofo may wanna come in with some weird fucking energy/vibes

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ why ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡> they’re trying to change their ways it seems, or their just being slapped in the face with the realness that comes with living life here on earth as a human.

>they want something new with you and as in new i mean love, like they’re want to come back and re-light a spark in this connection. but there is none, nothing is happening and they’re purposefully being blocked off from talking to you

>but even if they did come close to you, the whole thing seems like it may turn into like a fucking emotional meltdown, like spazzing out on you

>they’re not allowed near you bro, it’s like they want something new with you but they’re not giving up their weird party lifestyle, like always clubbing and drinking and never really taking much responsibility, it’s sad, they’re not confident within themselves and they’re just watching you shine

>watching you move on to newer paths that have been set out for you, like they’re seeing you as a temptation too, wanting u sexually, i mean you turn this person on yeah but their energy is just weird, like “look at me”

>i don’t understand why they don’t want to give up on this, like extremely fixated on you, as if it’s their job to fucking watch you, they’re a fluid person but they ain’t fucking committed

>like listen to this line “i just wanna fuck my 🥷 in piece but all of my old 🥷 still love me” from hiss by meg thee stallion, hmm, all bc u either literally moved away from them or just got your ass up and left them where they are, it’s like they’re still holding on to this thought of you taking them back, as if you’d welcome them with open arms..

>does this person just grind your damn gears because i’m extremely repulsed right now, idk why they can’t give up, it’s like you’re their last option, how insulting in my opinion

>like oh now im seeing you for who you truly are, excuse me?? as if they couldn’t appreciate you when you were there in their fucking face!! talk about a delayed reaction to you leaving their ass behind, sorry i’m so blunt yall (just fucking weird energy from this person)

> you’re coming out as an empress/emperor and honestly you just need to let go of this person, like i would recommend not engaging with this person, their intentions are creepy, ugh ew, like they’re worried about who you’re basically with right now

>like so fucking consumed and obsessed with you, why do they care so much ahhhh but then the “i don’t know why im so obsessed with you” card came out LOL!

>girl/boy/YOU…just let your spirit team take care of it, like seriously they are there and it’s not your duty to fulfill, they’ll reap what they sow, and it’s like they’re reaping it now..

>during this pile i was just so frantic and overwhelmed my goodness! please take care of yourselves and idk if they’d ever reach out and say something maybe that’s why they’re just watching u bc u intimidate them, you don’t fuck around and you’re not dumb so for them to think that they can come in and try to get one up on you is delusional.

>i do have to say this though, there was another group of people but they were all fucking confusing too, like it was a mix of good and bad yall

>someone is watching u quietly and waiting for an opportunity with you, to give u good good love but it was like taken over by jealous, envious people, like i could be wrong but that’s how it was feeling, you got many eyes on you and whatever you’re doing, cleanse yourself baby bc some of them are good and want to approach u for good reasons but then there are the weirdos, ughaahhahahah your pile is wild dude and i can go on and on about it!

>like i honestly want to do a reading for you all and ask about the people who aren’t karmic that are keeping tabs on you…like the decent kind people who are keeping tabs on you and why, like getting into it and uncovering what spirit wants to show me so i can pass it onto you.

>i hope u enjoyed or well got something interesting out of your reading, this pile felt so crazy lol, babe it’s probably how u have people over you, just going crazy like you’re living in their head rent free

>i mean yeah they’re keeping tabs on you to see what you have going on in your life, so impulsive too, like they don’t know how to control themselves..like they want to get into your secret club, they don’t want to let you go bro, like still holding on to any piece of you and of course there are pieces of you on the internet esp if you have some sort of platform where you post and what i mean by post is posting anything, just being urself on your social media accounts..

> i pulled some more to see why they want to get into your lil club and it’s literally coming off as hedonistic? to just like have fun like how yall used to, it’s sex sex sex for them, that and also what they can get from you, you’re so understanding and it’s like they miss how generous you were with them

>but u have so much of yourself to like get nothing back dude, this is all about taking from you, as if it belongs to them, i swear this person just needs to get it figured out and fucking heal and do some shadow work, like just take a look at themselves and see the ugly shit they seem to avoid my goodness!

>yall got people obsessed and squirming over you lmao! love u guys and be safe okay mwah! <333 ] ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ [◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ who ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡> this is someone who has young feminine energy, even if they’re not biologically a female, it’s what’s coming out, basically a page, but there’s resistance here.

>this is someone who’s life is just feeling out of place, i mean karma is just doing its things, seems like this is someone who burned you. did some weird shit regarding your relationship with them.

> again an ice out feeling, they may be an aries, sag or leo, or scorpio, pisces, cancer, you or them. i feel like this person may want to contact you but they’re not sure how to go about it.

>i mean they’re feeling heartbroken, i feel like they can only watch from afar, as if they’re scared to get close to you? it’s weird, they’re lonely rn like just keeping to themselves away from people

>whatever happened between you two has them not wanting to give up, that’s a bit of why they’re lurking on you, but this is like tearing them apart inside, this break up between you two, doesn’t have to be romantic but it could.

>this is someone coming off as insecure to approach because they may not feel good enough to come back to you, you cut them off and now they’re just erratic, i don’t know if they’d actually try to contact you bc this isn’t that reading but even if they did im not sure it’ll get through to you.

>they hid some shit from you, or they’re just hiding, stalking you, i mean this is that reading, who’s keeping tabs on ya 🤣 but this is like a lil charmer, they seem to know how to get their way.

>literally a prince charming here, but mr charming is out here fucking around w weirdos, and what i mean is like the enabling of people that we surround ourselves with, it’s not a good crowd, people who like to party, idk drink, fuck around with each other, do drugs and shit, and another thing is they may also be feeling like it’s not that emotionally fulfilling.

>i mean fucking around with people who aren’t really good for you and who don’t care about you, that’d make someone who has a heart feel a bit bored with their peers.

>they could be a pisces or have cancer in their chart, or they’re also disillusioned, not seeing things clearly, making up stories, even gaslighting themselves into believing a different scenario. you could’ve been really close like they were apart of your family type of close, someone apart of your close circle, they just feel close.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ why ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡> seems like they want to hold onto you because you fulfill them emotionally, like your love, your heart, your tenderness, they miss you, like they’re don’t want to see you with anyone else.

>trying to find you, figure you out but maybe you don’t even post crazily and they can’t find anything out about you..like a dead end.i feel like they’re holding onto hope that you’ll open up yourself to them again.

>this is just sad dude, you probably impacted them in a way that most people don’t, your sweet heart and how you can give so much of that love that’s within you, so effortlessly, they just miss you a lot.

>you guys probably did so many things together, like little adventures and exploring with each other, happy times with you and they’re reminiscing, i mean they can’t get over you, you’re all they can think about.

>they could be the avoidant type, not really addressing what the real issues are and brushing them off, if they hurt you and treated u badly don’t hold resentment in your heart, forgive for you not for them and if not that’s okay, do what feels best for you.

> i feel like they’re not meant to be riding along with you on this journey we call life, like whatever happened between the two of you, it’s irredeemable and it’s like they know they fucked up bad but they can’t seem to to take those heavy emotions so they just go and escape, avoiding their feelings in front of others but alone they’re in despair and just fucking depressed, heavy feelings, just melancholy…i feel like this is forcing them to take a look at what happened and address those issues but they’re holding out.

>they could be looking at old photos of you, pictures of yall together or just you alone…like that’s another way for them to hold onto you, they are also holding on to you and keeping tabs on you seeing when the right time is for them to come back in and speak to you

>they’re feeling you, like missing you sexually, they’re desiring you, lusting, obsessing over you, i mean they could even be jacking off to you, masturbating to your photos, they’re definitely angry, idk these feelings mixed together is scary, like the obsession, then the desire and then the fucking rage, ready to pop off and do some unhinged shit.

>i feel like the divine stepped in for you and pulled you away from them for a good reason, weird intentions on their side and it’s like they want to stay hidden until their timing is correct and then they’ll attack? or want to try and attach themselves to you again, please don’t fall for the bullshit and be discerning for real!!

>there’s this needy feeling to them, like they’re a big man on the outside but a baby on the inside, hiding who they really are, were they a bit iffy when it came to expressing emotions? and being vulnerable. this could go so many ways but was this like public or many people close to you knew about this, like people had to get between you two?

>know your worth and my advice is to just leave them alone if they do try to come your way again, let yourself explore the newer finer things coming into your life or just embrace where you are right now even if it sucks ass, at least you’re not near this person, they’re a karmic for ya, someone who just brought a bunch of chaos and drama but lessons too, take time to yourself to heal and not jump into anything too fast, don’t blame yourself for anything and take this lightly, i don’t wanna stir up too much for yall omg.

>thank you for reading this and taking your time to check out my pac :), hope u guys have a lovely rest of ur day <333] ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ [◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡> who ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡>> okay so this is weird and i really hope this resonates with someone but it seems like this is a gang of fools, yeah i said it…like a group of people you don’t even know and they’re trying to seek some sort of justice but u probably know who the ringleader is, apparently you know something about the stalking, the creeping, the fucking lurking.

>they’re hiding yes, just watching and spying on you, im not sure if you’re the one who’s completely oblivious to this but it’s like a family dynamic, maybe it’s a group of people who are like family to each other, but there’s this secretive shit going on.

>it seems like u barely know any of them, they’re strangers, and then there’s like a mother figure or someone who’s like in a group and their the “mom” friend. they could have cancer or aqua somewhere in their birth chart. or that could be you im picking up on, place it where it fits and if it doesn’t that doesn’t mean it’s not your pile boo!

>this is catching me off guard, im feeling a group of people that travel together, like all locked in w each other spying on you, this is so fucking weird. a group of people that are working together or just watching you together pissed, mad.

> i feel like they’re gathering and like mocking you, berating you together, are these people that barely know each other but they’re pulled together and clicking bc of their secret animosity towards you. they’re trying hard as fuck though, to keep this shit a secret.

>we have the “beware of anyone from the past wanting to enter back into your life” so it could be someone you were sexual with at one point and they’re feeling some type of way, or they did some dirty shit involving sexual relations..

>if they keep it up they’re gonna experience some weird ass shit coming their way, like freak accidents by trying to send the evil eye your way, seems like this is a team effort bro, like fucking gang stalking wtf, please take cleansing baths, like throw some florida water in w your soap, or sage before you jump in the shower, whatever works for you, palo santo, sage, dragons blood sage, cedar sage etc.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡> why ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡>> because they’re jealous of you and have nothing else better to do with their life. envious of your belongings because it seems like they don’t have shit for themselves, i mean with how negative this energy is, i can see why shit keeps delaying and failing, cmon dude.

>lemme break it down, they’re envious of what you have and your image, how your coming off to those around you, your beauty and maybe even how naturally alluring you are, it always sound cliche but your light you emit.

>it’s like they want to be you, they hate you so fucking much but want to be you, even your money as well, or the abundance within you, but it also feels material, like you may look “wealthy” “rich” “high maintenance” my goodness???? and this disturbs them, just a group of hateful envious mean people.

>they’re either hiding behind their screens just jealous, you must be a fucking god/goddess bc this envy is disturbing like hating someone because they’re pretty, i understand being a lil envious of other people’s features and being lighthearted about it, like awww i wish i had her nose or whatever, but you still accept yourself and your “flaws” were all different and unique.

>i personally think it’s a bit fucked up how everyone wants to look like everyone they see on social media, and we don’t even look like that, it’s all a facade, like we age, we gain we lose, we grow, we’re always fucking growing and changing dude…shit happens to us in life..just go out and walk around your town and see how uniquely beautiful we are, so many different forms of beauty, just like with flowers too, it’s boring being the same and looking the same and doing the same thing as someone else, be true to you and accept yourself for who you are, we can always change! it’s the way of life fr!

>no this is a bit deranged, it’s like a habit for them to watch you and stalk you basically, that’s what they’re doing. this may be a scorned lover but it can go a MANY WAYS hahaha..they’re like trying to make u feel insignificant by literally indirectly talking shit about you on their social media.

>this feels like one sided beef bro…i mean it may be put to a stop and if this is a fucking full on deranged stalker im sorry and please keep yourself safe and well. take the right precautions and keep your accounts private if you’re on any social media accounts. these people are so weird(you’ll notice i keep saying it but that’s what it is, fucking weird…disturbing)

>they clearly don’t like you even if they pretend to and they’re like the little minions from despicable me, just a bunch of clones, trying to get people to shit on your name and full on slander you but oh they’re behind closed doors because they’re cowards.

>i feel like you’re just making your fucking money, minding your business, doing what you gotta do and these people have the audacity to just yap and yap about you, especially if you take care of your body or do whatever you need to, to make sure you stay healthy and happy.

>it’s giving, they really really dislike you because of your self care routine, whatever methods you use to just flat out take care of yourself. this is just weird dude.

>i feel like you figured something out about this scorned love, someone who feels betrayed by you but i bet they did some weird fudged up shit and you broke the fantasy, you opened up your eyes.

>major confirmation is the “they secretly keep tabs on your every move” card, damn…just stalking you, it’s fucking weird and creepy, like keeping up with whatever you got going on eeugh

>youre effortlessly shining and beautiful, honestly even if you’re not a woman you have the the empress. divine feminine energy is just radiating off of you, a calm passionate, sexy, patient, gentle loving person bro! i feel like they really hate your fucking looks, why are people so envious and jealous nowadays.

>but they’re the same people to copy you and try and steal your shit as if they did it first fr! a bunch of damn copycats, people who aren’t comfortable with themselves, they don’t know how to be content in their own skin, but then they’re also beating others down and shit talking, a bunch of nasty ass poopoo breath yapping and spouting nonsense.

>im in so much pain right now wtf, like a punching feeling, in my gut and then my back as well, so i’m not sure if you’ve been feeling that way too but like i said above, cleanse yourself!!!! go on etsy and find a good practitioner to help you do a protection spell, even if you do or don’t know these individuals just explain what you’re feeling to them and the situation and they’ll do the rest, all you have to do is believe <3 but you’ll be okay, just don’t feed into the drama, these people have self esteem issues and i can relate but this is just beyONNND just out of hand like wtf??!

>seems like their behavior is about to be put to an end, keeping up this BS, you’ll see how shit plays out, you may hear from someone or see it for yourself but they’re not gonna be able to run away and hide what they’re fucking doing..

> please go and seek someone to help you cut these cords, like hex breaking spells/rituals, someone who’s legit and real with you. protect yourself and your energy, they have shit intentions and its deliberate. all of this is just to fuck with you and make you feel some type of way and i’m sorry pile four yall don’t deserve that shit from these weird folk. they’re adamant about hating your gifts, your spiritual gifts.

>i hope you guys remember who tf you are and stay in that damn power, know thyself fr! all parts of you, knowing they can’t fucking mess with you, knowing that they’ll get their karma and it’ll hit, it won’t miss.

>sending you guys love and support, hope u have a good rest of your day and prosper, go shine you beautiful angel!!!] ❞

thank ya thank ya thank ya, for stopping by and checking out this PAC, thank you for the support and i appreciate it in advance to lmk what ya thought by liking, reblogging and commenting, i like hearing from yall, like how it resonated lol and if it didn’t don’t be an ass man haha ass man 💀 anyways thank you again and i’m sending love to you guys, MWAH MWAH MWAH!!!!! 💋

@anitalenia for the cute ass dividers <3

[deerlino]

DENYING THE OBVIOUS

— “i'm not falling in love,” he says, while he's actually falling the hardest. minho's in such deep denial, it's like he's drowning in the nile.

words ༯ 0.8k / pairing ༯ lee minho x gn!reader / tags ༯ best friends to lovers (kinda), childhood friends, mutual pining, fluff, humor, teasing & banter, arcade games, unspoken feelings, slice of life / content warnings ༯ fluff and more fluff !

a/n ༯ eh, this one's not my top-notch work, had a few bumps and hiccups, but hey, it's alright. took me ages to write tho. 😭 wanted to really nail that denial part, but i guess it's decent enough. hope you still got a kick out of it ! <3

“I’m not falling in love,” he says.

You stare at Minho, half-smirking, half-annoyed. He’s sprawled out on your bed, flipping through one of your old comic books, pretending he’s way cooler than he actually is. His hair is a mess—he’s too lazy to even run a hand through it properly. You roll your eyes.

“Sure, Minho. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you say, tossing a pillow at his face. He barely dodges it, laughing. It’s that laugh that makes your heart skip a beat, but you refuse to admit it.

“Why would I be falling for you?” he teases, grinning. “You’re like... my best friend. And you’re a pain in the ass.”

You snort. “Right back at you, loser.”

He sits up, crossing his legs and leaning forward. “Let’s be real. If anyone’s falling, it’s definitely not me. I’m the epitome of self-control.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, right. You cried watching Toy Story 3.”

“Hey, that was emotional!” he protests, eyes wide in mock offense. “Andy grew up, okay? It’s relatable.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, shaking your head. You grab your phone and plop down beside him, scrolling through your messages. He leans over, way too close, trying to peek at your screen.

“Who’s texting you?” he asks, curious.

You nudge him away. “Nosy much? It’s just my mom.”

“Tell her I say hi,” he says, leaning back on his elbows.

You do, and your mom’s quick reply makes you giggle. “Tell Minho he’s still grounded for breaking my favorite vase last year.”

“Mom says you’re still grounded,” you say, showing him the message. He laughs again, this time falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach.

“Man, your mom’s got a long memory.”

“Yup,” you agree. “So, Mr. Epitome of Self-Control, what’s the plan for today?”

He sits up, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint you know all too well. “Let’s go to the arcade. I bet I can beat your high score on Dance Dance Revolution.”

“You wish!” you exclaim, jumping up. “You couldn’t beat me if your life depended on it.”

As you both head out, the playful banter continues. At the arcade, it’s as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s just you, Minho, and the flashing lights of the game machines. You watch as he concentrates intensely on the dance mat, his tongue sticking out slightly. You can’t help but think he looks kinda cute like that. Not that you’d ever tell him.

“Ha! Beat that!” he shouts, pointing at his score. It’s higher than yours by a mere point. You roll your eyes.

“Beginner’s luck,” you mutter, stepping up to the mat. He watches you, that goofy grin still plastered on his face. You nail the moves, one by one, beating his score by a landslide.

“Told ya,” you say, smugly.

He pouts, crossing his arms. “Okay, okay. You win this time. But next time, you’re going down.”

As you both leave the arcade, he drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. It’s a casual gesture, something he’s done a thousand times before, but tonight, it feels different. Warmer. More... significant.

“Hey, you hungry?” he asks, steering you towards the diner down the street. It’s your usual spot, a place that holds countless memories. As you slide into your favorite booth, Minho immediately starts teasing the waitress, who’s known you both since you were kids.

“Two milkshakes, please. Extra whipped cream for her because she’s extra,” he says, winking at you.

You stick your tongue out at him. “And fries. Don’t forget the fries.”

When the food arrives, you both dig in, talking about everything and nothing. It’s easy, comfortable. But there’s an undercurrent of something more. Something unspoken.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asks suddenly, looking at you with those deep, thoughtful eyes.

You pause, a fry halfway to your mouth. “Sometimes. Why?”

He shrugs, looking away. “I dunno. Just wondering what it’ll be like. If we’ll still be... like this.”

“Like what?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He fiddles with his straw, avoiding your gaze. “You know. Best friends. Hanging out all the time.”

“Of course,” you say, nudging his foot under the table. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

He finally looks at you, a soft smile on his lips. “Yeah. You’re right.”

You both finish your food, and as you walk home, the silence between you is comfortable. His hand brushes against yours a few times, and each time, your heart skips a beat.

Back at your house, you sit on the porch, watching the stars. Minho leans back, propping himself up on his elbows, looking up at the sky.

“Thanks for tonight,” he says quietly.

You glance at him, surprised. “For what?”

He shrugs, not meeting your eyes. “Just... for being you.”

Your heart flutters, and you find yourself smiling. “Anytime, Minho. Anytime.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, it’s as if the world stands still. Then he breaks the gaze, looking embarrassed.

“Okay, seriously, I’m not falling in love,” he insists again, more to himself than to you.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Keep telling yourself that, idiot.”

But as you both sit there, the night wrapping around you like a warm blanket, you know the truth. And maybe, just maybe, he does too.

© deerlino (est. 040624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3

[lovebugism]

forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick &lt;3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss. 

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you. 

But he is. 

Quite dreadfully so. 

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town. 

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room. 

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand —  the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford. 

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign. 

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is.  “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.” 

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence. 

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect. 

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed. 

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend. 

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to. 

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work. 

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve. 

You want to. You just don’t know how. 

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.  

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least. 

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him. 

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again. 

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that. 

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet. 

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him. 

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge. 

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store. 

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him. 

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook. 

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it. 

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile. 

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records. 

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you. 

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway. 

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval. 

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with. 

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly. 

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room.  That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride. 

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head. 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care. 

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend. 

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy. 

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside. 

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation. 

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows. 

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal. 

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway. 

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp. 

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you. 

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette. 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be. 

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one. 

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now. 

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you. 

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones. 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes. 

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into. 

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers. 

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot. 

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts. 

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him. 

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms. 

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy. 

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. 

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for. 

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect. 

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage. 

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get. 

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun. 

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way. 

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work. 

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face. 

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim. 

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so. 

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge. 

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward. 

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it. 

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought. 

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you. 

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. 

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary. 

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true. 

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine. 

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day. 

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke. 

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you. 

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful. 

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you. 

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong. 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of. 

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake. 

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be. 

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket. 

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor. 

Until now. 

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing. 

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it. 

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power. 

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead. 

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.” 

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke. 

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do. 

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought. 

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze. 

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again. 

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real. 

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for. 

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you. 

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue. 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you. 

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it. 

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him. 

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month. 

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone. 

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door. 

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup. 

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits. 

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation. 

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive. 

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer. 

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch. 

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs. 

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect. 

[izzyspussy]

honestly i think the root of ed and izzy's communication problems was not that they were unwilling to talk about their thoughts and feelings to each other - although of course that is also true and certainly didn't help. no, the root of the problem, and the foundation of their relationship dysfunction, is that they don't think they need to talk about it. they each think the other one already knows.

see, izzy thinks he's simple and ed's complex. it's not that izzy's unintelligent, in fact he'd say he's quite clever, and frankly smarter than most of the men he's sailed with (in his opinion). but he thinks in one fucking straight line, and- well, he frequently doesn't understand even his own feelings, but it seems safe to assume they follow generally the same path. it's just that one straight line, point a to point b, and that's it. no matter how much he tries to bend or take a different direction he just can't do it without someone else dragging him along every step of the way. it's just a matter of fact that he could never understand ed, who is so much more complex and dynamic that he's practically a higher life form. no one would ever expect him to, not without a detailed guide. but of course since ed can think every which way like breathing, looking down izzy's straight line is surely the easiest thing in the world. so obviously ed always knows how izzy will take things. and when ed says or does something that doesn't make sense to izzy and ed doesn't enlighten him, ed is choosing to withhold an explanation. forcing izzy to have to guess, or setting him up to fail completely. maybe to humble him or maybe to punish him, or maybe just to remind izzy (again) that they may be fucking and they might even possibly be friends but they're not lovers and izzy's desire to be so is definitely unrequited.

meanwhile, ed thinks he's nuts and izzy's sensible. it's not all bad to be nuts, you know the line between genius and insanity and yada ya. most of the time he likes being different, he likes being chaotic, kind of indecipherable, ineffable like a god. to most people anyway. because most people are a little bit nuts too, but just a little bit, not enough to do anything really interesting or cool with like ed (also not enough to be as volatile as ed, as dangerous. inhumane - you know, like a god). but not izzy. like obviously izzy has flaws. he's temperamental and high strung and he's got a chip on his shoulder almost as big as he is and he can be absolutely fucking ruthless. but he's logical. he makes sense, and he always notices the little fucking details ed misses and he never loses track of anything. he's so neatly put together and he makes everything around him fall into order too - the ledger, the store rooms, the men (or so ed thinks). obviously if izzy can be so objective about all that shit, he can do that with ed too, solve for him in his head like he does with sums. hell, izzy's so meticulous - and so obsessed with ed - he probably understands ed better than ed himself half the time. he must have all of ed's feelings mapped out like the ship's course. if he ever seems not to get ed, it's only because he's decided ed's feelings are just too fussy and convoluted to humor, or else he thinks they're not even worth pinning down in the first place.

so izzy resents ed for tricking him and for rubbing his nose in his shortcomings, and he never tells ed he feels that way because the only thing bitching about it will accomplish is for izzy to look weak as well as foolish. and ed resents izzy for judging him and ignoring the parts of ed he doesn't like, and he never tells izzy he feels that way because izzy would just double down and tell him to get over it.

the fact that they've spent the majority of their lives in a dog-eat-dog world of treachery and gratuitous violence where any vulnerability is taken advantage of and/or belittled is just one of many icings on top.

[sjywrites]

Hii can I request Sophia x reader academic rivals? 🥺 u can do whatever u want w the plot pretty much please and thank u so much <3 :)

༊*·˚ ACADEMIC RIVALS LOVERS?

𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza x 𝓖n!reader. (no pronouns used). 𝓖enre. fluff, angst if you squint 𝓢ypnosis. our two favourite academic rivals have a lil fight, but the situation turns bad, and people realize their feelings. 𝓦𝓒 . 824 𝓒𝓦 . mentions of being hospitalised (sophia), a little angsty!

𝓝ote! this is a little messy since I wrote it during one of my breaks, but please lmk if you want like a part two cuz I really liked this plot!

---

This is purely fiction and is not meant to interpret how the idols act in real life!

,, not proofread + english is not my first language ! ೃ⁀➷

At this point it didn’t even matter if you were better than everyone, you just had to be better than her. It started off very simple, both of you wanted to be better than everyone, academically that is. Eagerly waiting to get tests back and see who got a higher score, a smug grin on one's face when they got a better result than the other. No harm in that right? Wrong, that’s what started all of this.

Sophia walked towards me with her head held high, her uniform as neat as ever and her hair styled in a way making her look almost angelic. Wait, what? “What were your results?” She said, slamming her paper on top of my desk, I shook out of my daydreaming to answer her. “96.” I said while looking down in my maths book, trying to solve an equation but still focusing on what she would respond. She looks away and a teasing smirk spreads on her lips, and moves the finger that covered her results, 97. “Guess I’m just better than you huh?” She said proudly, staring down at me “Just because you got one point more than me doesn’t mean you’re better than me.” I said, pouting a little at her accusation.

Lately I’ve been feeling kind of… weird? Even if Sophia gets a higher score than me, I can’t find it in me to give a fuck. “Well, you’ve been slacking off a lot lately, I’ve gotten higher scores than you on the last four tests. So, I think that makes it obvious who's smarter!” Sophia states like it was the most obvious answer to what I said. Staring at her for a moment, I reply. “I've been busy okay, not everyone has that much free time to spend on studying, and you're talented in general, no wonder you get high scores” She looks shocked at my statement, then she smirks a little, “Did you just admit that I'm smart?” She looked proud in some way or another, “Not what I meant Sophia, but whatever floats your boat.” I grab my things from the desk and walk outside the classroom to my locker, a little frustrated at the whole situation. I did miss her response,

“I study that much so you won't think I'm stupid.”

A week goes by, no Sophia in sight. She missed two assignments, she's usually here every day. Even if she's sick, which I don't get why she does, but still. Did something happen to her? Was it something I did?

“You've been zoning out for the past like, three periods, what is going on with you today?” Lara, my best friend asks. “Do you know where Sophia is?” I ask, not really thinking before I ask. “Why do you want to know, don't you guys like, hate each other?” She looks at me with a very questionable look, suspecting something I cannot grasp, “Yes? No? I don't know Lara, but do you know where she is?” I say, a little confused and concerned. She looks at me with sad eyes before replying, “Y/N, Sophia got really sick out of nowhere, I heard she's at the hospital.” My eyes blew wide at the shocking news, why didn't she tell me? No, why would she do that? We're not even friends.

—

Am I really doing this? I think to myself as I open the hospital doors and stumble up to the kind-looking man in the lobby. I strike up a casual conversation with him as he guides me to a room, I thank him quickly before he scurries away.

There in the little window on the door I see her, Sophia's sitting down on the bed. Her hair is a mess and her clothes look ridiculous, it looks like she hasn't slept for a few days too. I gently open the door and her gaze falls upon me, it's easier to see her face now. She looks tired, really tired. “Hey…” I say, she looks away from me and cuddles up in her sitting position. “What are you doing here?” she tries to sound annoyed, but it just comes out in a tired huff. “I heard what happened, I… was worried about you. I brought some notes from the classes you missed.” She looks shocked at my confession, she relaxes her posture and her gaze becomes soft. “Thank you… I really appreciate it.” She smiles a little as she grabs the papers I handed her, our hands touching softly.

I look at her, really look at her. For the first time actually having time to admire how pretty she looks, how perfect her flaws are. “I just came to give you that… so if you don't need anything else, I'll go.” I turn around to walk away, grabbing the door knob and turning it around, “Wait! Will you… please stay with me a little longer, I need it.

I need you.”

this is so messy I'm sorrrrryyyy!! I wanted to post something today at least :((

[f2e5b1]

bitter orange — okkotsu yūta [1/3]

pairings. okkotsu yūta + f! reader/original character (main); past!orimito rika + f!reader; past!okkotsu yūta + orimito rika warnings/themes. mentions of death, jealousy, hints of obsession and possession. just a lil dark romance practice (which is barely any dark romance tbh who am i kidding) sprinkled with food motifs but i dont know what im doing im just here for the vibes :P mostly sfw with nsfw themes but nothing sexual bc im too scared to go down that dark path (also no use of y/n bc i started writing with an original name and it unfortunately stuck lawl... can be treated as either or it doesnt matter tbh i cant write anything outside of 2nd person anwyay) word count. 2.8k words nothing too crazy xd playlist. knuckle velvet by ethel cain; velvet ring by big thief; pure by cigarettes after sex; only in the dreams by the marias; be my mistake by the 1975; mary by alex g

it’s been a long time since i have seen my beloved. the moss has grown on that abetachibana tree

PART ONE: ichigo daifuku

Gojō Satoru tells you that love is the most twisted curse of them all.

He had said it in passing after your first solo mission, right as you were entering the car back to Jujutsu Tech before talking your ear off with his lame jokes. The mission had consisted of exorcizing a curse that had persistently haunted an abandoned apartment complex in Omotesandō, assigned to you by the higher-ups in accordance with your newly promoted rank as a Grade 2 sorcerer, having decided that a Grade 1 was doable enough for someone of your caliber. The curse itself wasn’t anything special, though, only repeating gargled confessions of its love to some ‘Chiyo-chan’—whoever she was—the whole time you were dodging its attacks, which was incredibly annoying. You liked your battles in silence, quick and succinct, but curses make that difficult to achieve.

Gojō muses it could have been a past lover, this Chiyo-chan—its love for her having cursed itself. You didn’t really care. If you keep up the good work, complete your required missions and get another recommendation, you could be ranked a Semi-Grade 1 by your second year, then a Grade 1 by your third and nothing else after that because unless you were someone like Gojō Satoru, then you are capped forever at Grade 1.

“So anyway—snacks you like?” said sorcerer asks, finally done with his previous tale. Something about an old coworker. “Mochi, senbei, or taiyaki? Personally, I'm a mochi ice cream type of guy!”

You look at him.

“Why are you here again?”

“... Is your memory that small, Ume? I was proctoring you,” he tuts, mouth turned downwards. “Congrats on the promotion, by the way.”

You shrug. “Ichigo daifuku is good, I guess.”

He smiles, wryly.

“You’re joking, right?”

+

The building facing your childhood home had been home to Orimito Rika, an unsuspecting property with a decent front yard and the occasional street cat or two often shooed away by her irate grandmother. “Mean granny,” you’d often call her, the insult drowned out by your hushed giggles as you played with your dolls. Rika wouldn’t say anything about it, wouldn’t dare verbally agree with you, but she would always nod her head down, the corners of her lips turned up too high.

You didn’t particularly hate the old woman, but there was a certain kind of satisfaction to saying it behind her back after all the times you’ve caught her looking at her granddaughter in unbridled scorn, your own little form of revenge. You could never understand how her only remaining family could look at her like that, not when Rika was so beautiful and kind; like the cherry blossoms during spring, falling gently along with the wind. Sure, she could be a little cunning at times, and none of the other kids at school liked her because “something’s odd about her, can’t you just hang out with us instead?”—but that’s what makes her interesting, right?

Rika isn’t weird, she’s pretty, and you’re the bee drawn to her. She’s only older than you by a year, ten instead of nine, but she always played with you, taught you how to make flower crowns at the park, and when you walked home from school she’d always hold your hand. Her smile is blindingly bright, the sound of her voice a song you couldn’t stop listening to. Selfishly, you wish it would always be the two of you together; playing with your dolls, walking home with your hands intertwined.

But when she came back from the hospital, so did Okkotsu Yūta.

You could never see what she saw in him; he was short and just a little bit pathetic, always trailing after her like a lost puppy at first. You could push him off the swing and he'd move on with a sniffle, the kind to give up the plastic shovel even though he desperately needed it to finish his sand castle because he didn’t want to fight a girl. He smiled shyly and hid his hands behind his back, looking at you like he was looking for your approval. Of course, you never gave him the time of day, because it felt like he had stolen Rika—your Rika. It was supposed to be just you and her, but that wasn’t the case anymore. Now there was Okkotsu Yūta, who held Rika’s other hand after school, who took away her attention from you so easily.

“He’s so cute, isn’t he?” she asks often, a light blush dusting her face.

“I guess,” is your reply.

“Ne,” she calls, presenting to you a small, black box. You look at it in apprehension, wincing when she eventually opens it. “What do you think of this ring? It was my mom’s. I’m gonna give this to Yūta-kun, do you think he’ll like it?”

The ring was immensely simple, a silver-colored band with a small diamond in front, glinting under the light. Nevermind the fact that it was too big for a child’s fingers to fit in, Rika presented it to you as if it held all the answers to the world. Although her parents were dead, and she had definitely stolen it from her grandmother’s dresser, the ring spoke full of promise. When she takes it out of the box and lets you inspect it, it feels heavy.

“... You really like him, don’t you, Rika-chan?” you ask, quietly.

Rika looks at the stupid piece of jewelry, painfully smitten.

“Mhm,” she affirms. “I really like Yūta-kun. I want to be with him forever! Of course, I like you too, Ume-chan. You and Yūta-kun are my favorite people in the world!”

You close the box, handing it back to her. When Rika looks at you expectantly, you realize then that you could never bring yourself to take that happiness away from her.

+

The koinobori flies.

“It’s so pretty!” Rika exclaims, eyes wide and staring up at the sky where the huge, windsock carp moves around. It’s bathed in all sorts of colors—from red to blue to white to green—dancing along the azure expanse in commemoration of Children’s Day. The weather is just right, not too hot nor too cold, and the wind caresses your skin gently, the sun not too harsh. It makes the color of Rika’s hair shine in all the right ways, adds more sparkle in her already bright eyes. She’s wearing a yellow sundress, a nice change from her usual blue one. The cream-colored hat you let her borrow covers her face with the shade, but her smile remains bright and blinding. She looks pretty.

She gives you all of her ichigo daifuku, and shares Yūta’s snacks. She doesn’t even like chimaki.

“Are you sure, Rika-chan?” you ask, looking at the two sweets in your hands.

She beams. “You like them, don’t you?”

You keep them with you until the end of the event.

The day passes by incredibly fast, your little trio having exhausted yourselves from running around the park alongside the other children. Yūta chases Rika around the park, and you watch them squeal and laugh at each other and hold hands. You watch them take a nap under the shade, their pinkies intertwined, and you watch as the ugly color of green blinds your eyesight. You leave them be.

Sometimes, you wish you’re the colorful koinobori flying in the sky. You’d let Rika hold on to you, let her fly and hear her amused laugh as the wind tickles her skin. Sometimes, you wish Yūta slapped the ring away from her hands when she handed it to him. Wish he stomped it on the ground and at the same time stomped on her heart. Wish he didn’t take it with a huge smile and agree that he’d marry her when they get older; he’s not the one who’d wait long lines just to get her the best ichigo daifuku, not the one who’d jump at the other kids when they so much as think of insulting her, and he won’t be the one who’d choose to stay with her when she’s all gray and old cause he’s a boy, and boys would never do that.

Sometimes, you wish he never liked her at all—because he never deserved her in the first place.

Okkotsu Yūta could never love Orimito Rika like you.

+

He sits beside you at lunch.

Rika’s been bedridden for the whole week, which subsequently ruins your week. Yūta doesn’t seem to mind her absence all that much since he doesn’t see her a lot during classes anyway, but they’re supposed to be engaged. He should always be thinking of her, should be acting as miserable as you even at the unripe age of nine. He looks too okay with her absence when he shouldn’t be.

“What’s this?” you ask, pointing at the small bag of snacks he had placed on the cover of your bento.

“Hm?” he looks up. “Oh, it’s norimaki senbei.”

“... And?” you prod.

He tilts his head. “You don’t want it?”

“... I don’t want it.”

He looks at you thoughtfully.

“But you like them, don’t you?” he asks though he’s acting like he already knows, like you’ll take it regardless of what you say. It’s annoying.

You look at the seaweed-wrapped rice crackers—the stupid norimaki senbei—in mild contempt. “Why are you giving it to me?”

Yūta’s smile is small, knowing. “Because you don’t like sweets.”

You frown.

+

She’s a sweet girl.

You think of Orimoto Rika like that because it’s true—she smiles sweetly, she speaks sweetly, and she likes sweet things. She tells you that her favorite snack is ichigo daifuku, the very same confection you always begged your parents to buy for you just so you could share them with her. It pays off all the time because then she’d look as sweet as the daifuku itself, her cheeks as red as the fruit within it. She also likes hanami dango, but she doesn’t like the green part because she doesn’t really like the subtle taste of yomogi, so you eat the rest for her because she doesn’t want to waste it. She likes cold tea instead of hot, sweet instead of savory, like yuzu iced tea or bubbly ramune in comparison to the nutty taste of hōjicha. When you go to the store, she always gets the kompeitō with some random anime character on the packaging because those were the “cutest kind of kompeitō,” and Rika likes cute things.

She also likes the color pink, but when you ask her what her favorite color is she’d say it’s blue. It’s blue not because she wears that blue dress all the time, but blue because it’s the color of Okkotsu Yūta’s eyes, bright and round and always looking at her. Rika likes it that way—she likes how Okkotsu Yūta is always looking at her with his blue eyes, unwavering and full of adoration for her and her only.

You think Orimito Rika is a sweet girl, but sometimes she’s more than that. Sometimes, when the other kids get brave enough to drag you away from her, tell you to stop hanging out with her, they say it’s because Rika doesn’t like anyone else but Okkotsu Yūta.

Sometimes, when they tell you that, you wonder if Rika liked you at all, way before Okkotsu Yūta came into the picture.

But most of the time, you don’t really care. Even if Rika didn’t like you, you’d still like her. Even if she’d only have her eyes set on Okkotsu Yūta with his stupid blue eyes and his stupid norimaki senbei and stupid chimaki that he shared with her on the fifth of May, you’d still like her because she’s Rika—beautiful, kind, and wonderful Rika.

She has things she doesn’t like, too, such as other people but never Yūta-kun or Ume-chan! She likes it when people compliment her and praise her looks and give her free stuff like ramune or ichigo daifuku or Sailor Moon-themed kompeitō from the store, but sometimes she tells you that she dislikes this certain group of girls from Yūta’s class, dislikes the boy assigned as your seatmate, her homeroom teacher, the “weird” guy who works at the konbini a street over, and dislikes it even more when her grandmother looks at her and tells her she killed her own father without even saying anything at all.

You know all those things because you know Orimito Rika. You like her even if she holds intense dislike for the people outside her circle, people who tick her off just a little for you to see her smile crack at the edges and go stiff, the little twitch of her brown eyes, and most importantly, you still like her when all she wants in the world is the attention of the boy who wears her deceased mother’s ring.

You’ll always want sweet girls like her.

+

“Where’s Rika-chan?”

“Her grandma won’t let her go out today,” Yūta says, sitting next to you on the bench. “So it’s just you and me.”

He says it dejectedly, but it’s not enough for you. If he was really sad, then he’d be as sad as you are, so you start packing your belongings. “I’m leaving, then.”

He startles, standing up. “Huh? W–wait! Don’t leave just yet!”

“But Rika-chan’s not here,” you frown. “There’s no point in hanging out today.”

He falters, looking down at the ground.

“Even if she isn’t here, we can still play together…” he offers, looking up at you timidly. “We’re friends, too, aren’t we?”

The green-eyed monster stares at the silver chain wrapped around his neck, the ring acting as its pendant tucked underneath his shirt—like an unattainable treasure trapped inside a chest with the key thrown away somewhere you cannot find it. We’re not friends, the monster says with a snarl, stay away from me.

If there is one thing you know, then it’s that you have never wanted to be friends with Okkotsu Yūta, not after he took everything from you. He can butter you up by sticking to you during class and sitting next to you at lunch and even offering you some of his not-ichigo daifuku, not-yuzu iced tea, and not-colorful anime-themed kompeitō but you will and have never liked him for the green-eyed monster will always sit on your shoulder so long as he wears that ring on his person, a physical manifestation of his promise with Rika. Your Rika, even if that’s not really the case.

You will never like Okkotsu Yūta, because—because he—

“... What’re we even gonna do?” you ask, slowly.

He immediately brightens up.

“… Wanna get ice cream?” he offers. “There’s a new flavor I wanna try!”

His suggestion does not entice you at all, but when he stands there with an outstretched hand waiting for you to take it, like it’ll matter if you reject him, you find yourself at a crossroads. But you make your decision soon enough. Like it’ll matter, like the green-eyed monster isn’t there, staring.

“Okay,” you say, moving past him to start walking. He blinks incredulously at the blatant rejection before gathering himself and following after you, a prep to his step regardless of your actions.

You try to ignore the warmth of his body next to yours.

He’s too close.

+

“Yūta-kun’s birthday is in a few days,” Rika announces, lying on your spare futon. “Did you get him anything?”

You didn’t. “... Yeah.”

“Really? What is it?” she cranes her neck to face you. “What’d you get him?”

She doesn’t want your gift being better than hers, it checks out. “Um… just a toy. A garbage truck.”

“Oh, okay,” she turns back to face the ceiling. “I made him a scrapbook with photos of us. I worked really hard on it… do you think he’ll like it?”

“He’ll like anything you give him.”

She’s already given him a ring—what else could compare to that?

Rika smiles. “I guess… you’re right.”

Soon enough, she goes to sleep, breathing softly beside you as your fan fills the silence of the night. You continue staring at the ceiling, making out the little dents despite the lack of light. You squeeze the hand that holds your under the cover, before closing your eyes.

You hear her softly breathe on a steady beat alongside the fan whirring in the corner, and you close your eyes, squeezing her hand tighter underneath the covers of your too-close futon.

You’ll have to ask your parents for some money tomorrow.

+

“Rika-chan isn’t here again,” Yūta says dejectedly. “Her granny’s too strict.”

“She hates her,” you say quietly.

Yūta looks at you, confused. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing. Your birthday’s coming up soon, what are you doing that day?”

“Uwah—you remember?”

“Rika-chan told me.”

“Oh, well,” he smiles sheepishly, “we have school that day, but after that I’ll be celebrating at my house. I’m thinking of just inviting Rika-chan and you over… um, so, will you come?”

“I’ll go if Rika-chan is going.”

He blinks, before a smile blooms on his face. “Okay! I’ll see you, then.”

+

It happens when you aren't there.

It never should have happened at all.

Orimito Rika is pronounced dead at the age of eleven, her body unrecognizable under the heavy weight of a blue truck.

next

[wontshutup]

"Not even if they were the last people on earth"

Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

HI! It has been a fairly long time since I've written something, anything, I was stuck in a years long writers block but I've finally decided to write a small Megumi x reader one shot.

Enemies to lovers kind of situation, very cliché hahaha.

Hope you enjoy

Warnings: none I guess, probably a swear word or two, I don't really know. Reference to violence, not very explicit.

Word count: 1356

English isn't my first language.

“Aaand here we go again” you said pouting mockingly towards your partner as he gave you an irritated look. 

“Shut up” he gave you a side eye while pressing an ice pack to his head.

“You know, you could’ve avoided that if you actually listened to me instead of going all with this treasure I summon at the slightest inconvenience” you then flinched in pain as a sharp pang in your rib cage made you fold. 

“Yeah right, because you had the situation all under control there” he rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth at the strong headache he had, unable to pin point if it was due to his injuries or due to your nagging. 

In the front seat your teacher, Gojo Satoru, listened amused at your arguing. He knew the two of you wouldn’t get along even if you were the last people on earth, aside from that you were his strongest and most experienced students, knowing your dynamics as classmates was very different from your dynamic when on missions, your usual banter turning into calculated and effective analysis and strategies with a high success rate, which is why he had been deep in thought all the ride back to Jujutsu Tech as to how was it that your mission had been more challenging than predicted, that was until one of you started to point out the flaws of the other throughout the mission.

“Now now, stop it you two! You need to save your energy to heal!” he said more mockingly than caringly. “Tell me, what happened?”

As much as you felt the need to prove your posture right about Megumi’s reckless actions you acquired a more serious posture and gave your outlook on the matter “turns out the intel was actually not precise, that curse was at least a grade 1 and the intel said it was barely a grade 3” you started

“There also wasn’t any sign of evolution in the course of the mission which means this had been it’s grade since the beginning, so either the intel was wrong..”Megumi continued

“ Or planted” finished Gojo, nailing exactly the point the two of you were getting to.

“Good thing you managed to get out of there alive” he continued, his tone being more serious 

“Barely” you added, earning a glare from Megumi as he knew you intended to put the blame on him.

“Yeah, barely” Gojo took your remark as a point to take on account “you listen to me, as far as we know by now, if the information was planted and sent from the higher ups that means you by now have a target on your back. Not really surprising considering you both have remarkable techniques and names, making you both notably dangerous, not to add, you’re under my tutoring and well, we know they’re not very fond of me either. Whoever did this knew how things would go and what they wanted” he adjusted the rearview mirror for you to be able to look eye to eye “you can’t tell anyone about this ok?, as long as we don’t have the identity of whoever did this, better to lay low and don’t let anyone know that we know, understood?” 

You and Megumi nodded, a deep silence settled between the three of you as you arrived at Jujutsu tech and the infirmary. 

Shoko tended to your wounds and walked out the place to talk to Gojo, knowing she would be a trustworthy person, as you tried to listen in what they were saying you could listen to Megumi groan in annoyance

“So nosy” he referred to you as he rolled his eyes, getting a similar reaction

“At least I care enough to not get killed in the future, not that you know anything about valuing your own life” you poked at how he always seemed so eager to give his all without caring for his sake when a mission got harder than expected.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about” His tone had raised now, anger clear in his voice “not that you know anything about sacrificing yourself for anyone in a mission, you selfish coward” he was harsh with his words, knowing you had struck a chord he attacked back.

You widen your eyes at his remark, stepping closer to him “sorry for wanting to get out alive! What good would my death bring to anyone anyway huh?” you were now gritting your teeth together “what good is a noble sacrifice if that is your last noble act?”

His eyes didn’t falter from you, you were right in your words, he knew you had won this argument, but now he wouldn’t dare to back off, towering more at your stance, inching his face near yours 

“Idiot” was the one thing he could mutter as he knew you had the upper hand, your expression turning smug at noticing this.

“What is it Fushiguro? No righteous argument to shoot back?” you raised your eyebrows at him, being able to see each of his reactions due to your proximity. 

Not ever had you been so close to each other, except when sparring sessions came around, also ending up having the upper hand over him most of the time. “And once again you’ve lost”

“You” he hissed as he clenched his fist, now getting closer, both of your breaths mixing with each other, making you slightly blush at the feeling, a tingling sensation. It seemed that you were noticing for the first time how beautiful his eyes were.

He too was feeling a certain anxious feeling rise within him, a feeling he had felt multiple times when he had you press on top of him while after defeating him in hand to hand combat. His eyes traveled to your face noticing how your cheeks were a soft pink hue. He still held his body tense but now more due to the proximity, his anger now forgotten. 

At noticing how the atmosphere had changed you pulled back, much to his dismay, both your faces heated up as you turned your back to him.

“We should leave you know” you didn’t look back at him, trying to calm down this weird feeling you had experienced. Out of anyone on campus Megumi Fushiguro was the last person you wanted to feel that way towards, the thought alone had made you squirm in distaste at times but now…you weren’t so sure.

“Y-yeah, I guess we should” Megumi was snapped from the daze he was, a lot of different thoughts had run through his mind. No, he refused to give in to acknowledging what just happened. He didn’t like you, he couldn’t like you. You and him had done nothing but jab at each other since the day you met, there was no way he would just forget about all that due to some closeness with you, then again, it wasn’t the first time he felt that but honestly he had just attributed it to “teenage rushes”.

“Happy to see you two managed not to kill each other while we were gone!” said Gojo in his usual cheery tone, his six eyes telling him what had really been going on but refused to put you in that embarrassing spot, on the other hand, he would talk about that to Megumi later, he couldn’t wait to see his annoyed reaction.

“Ha- ha real funny sensei” you said, still cooling down from what had happened.

Megumi rolled his eyes at them.

“Anyway, the both of you get some rest. Shoko and I will get on today’s little incident, we will keep you updated as soon as we can get some information” he kept going

“In the meantime rest and do as your teacher instructs you” completed Shoko, giving you both a sympathetic smile

“Understood” you said as Megumi just nodded and left for your rooms unaware of the way Shoko and Gojo shared a complicit smile.

“Yeah right, not even if they were the last people on earth, don’t make me laugh” Gojo scoffed earning a laugh from Shoko.

A situation neither you or Megumi found funny.

[xiihyunn]

Tara Carpenter NSFW Headcanons (18+)

a/n: hold your cunts, it's abt to get spicy. and tara is just so mommy here, fuck.

> masterlist

She’s a switch, but she lowkey loves it more when she’s on top and who’s in control.

Her sex drive is high, higher than Sam’s even. I guess it runs in the blood?

Prefers vanilla sex than kinky sex, because she gets more turned on when she sees you getting high with her dirty praising.

Talking about praising, she has a praise kink, either receiving or giving both works for her.

> “Oh baby, look at you being such a good girl for me.”

She loves it when you both scissor, just feeling your wet and hot pussy against her own dripping cunt drives her crazy.

When shits gets a bit heated though, oh you are one fucked mf’er.

Buys and uses dildos that barely fit you. They’re long, thick, and veiny, just how she loves to see it pumping in and out of you in a drunken gaze.

> “T-Tara baby.. I don’t think it’s gonna fi—” A moan interrupted your sentence, when Tara suddenly forced the silicone dick inside you. Your head drops on her pillows from the burning feeling on your core, panting from being full and filled up to the brim by your lover’s cock.

“See princess? I told you it would fit.”

Your skin would be filled with marks, bites, bruises, and hickeys, especially your tits. She became a titty person when she saw your pairs for the first time.

Loves to fuck you missionary style just to see your melons rocking back and forth from her thrusts.

> Tara smirks as she looks down. There you are underneath her, legs spread wide open as she rams the strap on inside of you, your wetness running down onto her sheets, as your round perky breasts are jiggling from her rough movements.

“Fuck Y/n, you look so hot right now.”

After having sex, she would stay in bed with you for a couple of minutes until you’ve calmed down from your high, then get up to go to the bathroom to get a towel and clean you up. Tara then goes back to bed with you, and you both cuddle naked while sleeping in each other’s arms.

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

Do you/Lya/Lyah have any opinion on Avery? I don't think I've ever seen him come up on the blog before.

Right right, of course...

Personally, I feel Avery and the Great Hawk are the two most "lack of content" LIs. I don't know man, I just think Avery has so much potential, their social position, their status, how they have so much money, are they involved in the town's crime system, do they know about the UB or UF and if yes do they benefit from those?... So many questions and yet I can't seem to find answers in the game, at least with just the basic level of a perfect prized sugar baby that goes on a date with them once every week.

I know maybe Vrel had answered those questions somewhere on their blog, but that does not count. I want in-game content and the sole Cafe grand opening event is not enough. Avery has so much potential, I need to emphasize it one more time, and, if I could be so bold as to assume, by getting closer to them, PC can have more opportunities to discover the Town's government system. Big company? Fucking hell they can have a fucking helicopter to come to pick PC up from school, lol show off. Inside influential? Relationship with Quinn? Bla bla economic and political stuffs.

What I mean is, I guess, yeah pirate and Island sound nice, and yeah more religious mysteries and rank-climbing on the Temple server are nice too, minus we still can't fuck Jordan,... But I'm still quizzical at the political system of the town and how they decided to make Avery so unappealing... I will elaborate more about this later since my PCs have different opinions about Avery.

Even if the devs aren't planning on getting too deep into the political or economic sides, maybe I could at least expect something more... emotion-related kind of development? What's in there for me if I don't want the money, but to get closer to Avery and be an actual soulmate-lover-partner? If Avery is only there to be an emergency ATM then they don't necessarily need to be a LI?? What kind of "love interest" can make you stay so uninterested and emotionally detached like Avery? Or is that what actually is meant to be in a relationship with a middle-aged successful businessperson? Okay? If that's so I guess I placed my hope too high. Sorry Avery to me you'll be the first one out if this is a dating game show if you keep up that husband-who-going-for-business-trips-all-year-long-and-getting-cucked-because-the-wife-he-left-home-is-fucking-horny attidude.

Okay now that some of my bitching is over (lol not I can bitch forever) let's proceed on how my PCs see Avery through their POV.

Lya basically doesn't even know he exists. Mind you, her early game phase was confusing, she can't remember just some man she met only once at the Park? And because of the game mechanics, she only grew more and more confused because why the fuck does a man she had never spent time with one day just get out of his car and demand she get in or get beaten?? "I never knew you??" she thought to herself as she frantically reloaded the save file to go in another direction.

Then she came across the social tab only to see "Avery thinks you're insolent." in a tab she never really paid any attention to. No love, just 100% Lust, that's normal, the barbarian in the forest is the same. But there's another scary-looking icon - 100% rage. What? What did I do? He looked like any random man in a car, randomly pulled at her, and demanded an encounter. She never wants a car fuck, she hates car smell, she doesn't even get on a bus if not strictly needed even so she always... Oooooh, she sees, he's special, he has a place in the higher-up Social tabs, among other certain boys at school, this Avery person is a Love Interest, and she fucked up her potential relationship with him even before it started, without her knowing.

Oh well, whatever, he has a fucking "Rage" stat, he seems violent and has angry issues, so he's not a good person, like Robin or Sydney, and fuck it if he looks old enough to be her parent if she ever had one? Judging by his expensive suit and car, he's rich, so if he's so bitchless to the point of beating a young orphan because she refuses him, he can go fuck himself. Lya had more than enough to worry about.

But then stuff happened. The trauma Chobi was spat out, Whitney tried selling her, she saved him only to continue to be bully. She snapped. Lya's first phase officially ended, and she approached her second phase - the depressed phase. She sold Whitney, got Kylar's ass into prison, and then dismissed Avery too, and that's the end of the story. Even now, looking back, she has no regret. She never knows Avery.

Lyah has a more lenient view of fem Avery. He was born with Lya's experience and his creator's - my wish to explore more potential of the world so his attitude toward the LIs is more laid back. He knows how to benefit from them and handle them.

He sees Avery as a lonely older woman and is willing to accompany her as a rented escort, no more no less. And if she wants more sexual things, she'll pay higher, so there's no problem, he's willing to go with her flow. The only drawback of going on dates with Avery is he cannot sleep in Robin's bed those nights. But that's something he can work with, he needs to visit the Hawk sometimes anyway.

If you ask him what he thinks of Avery, Lyah will answer with something like: "I feel kinda sorry for her. She must have been too focused on her career when she was younger and now she's awkward with her own love life. Gaining that much power and wealth in this town as a woman is not an easy task, and she's willing to pay to have some little company, fair and square, is that how I should put it?."

Then he would stop to think a little, and chuckle: "Lucky me, never had a real "parental figure", otherwise it would be pretty awkward to be seen with her, I admit. But, I know as long as I act professionally she won't get mad and target Robin. Also even if she does she won't cause nearly as much trouble as Kylar so I don't see any problem going out with her once every week."

[drunkenlionwrites]

the amount of fics ive read with vash having fangs and biting good LAWD 💕💕😩😩 can we please get some Vash smut with him covering his signigicant other with bites?🫸🫷

Vash biting (nsfw) Yes, yes to teethies! This man's canines honestly make me shiver. Warnings: afab reader, oral (f receiving), love bites

You’ve been lying on the bed, just how Vash loved you to: sticky with sweat, panting and wiggling under his hold. His strong hands holding your legs by the calves, while he was slowly pressing sloppy kisses to the insides of your thighs. You’ve been overwhelmed by the sensory feelings of his warm mouth, wet slick tongue on you, his hair tickling your sensitive skin, his breath fanning over the wet spots on your legs left after his kisses. Then you’ve felt a sharp pain as well, whimpering and opening your eyes to look at your lover with raised eyebrows.

He turned his gaze back at you with a guilty and flustered expression, his forehead glistening with sweat, his eyes resembling ones of a guilty child. “Um…sorry Mayfly…you were just so soft and pretty…I…I couldn’t…” he gulped audibly after the confession, and he looked so devastatingly adorable at that moment, that you could just giggle and plop back to the pillows. “Never took you for a kinky person in bed. To think that just few months ago you’ve been so shy you couldn’t look me in the eyes for longer than a second in this predicament.” You said with an airy laugh.

Something dark glistened in his eyes at your words, and he sank his canines into the plush of your thighs once again, a bit gentler this time, which was compensated by more bites immediately following it. Now that he’s shown this little weakness of his, he couldn’t stop, huffing and groaning and biting you again and again, ascending higher up your thighs after each bite. Nuzzling just below your aching core and rubbing his cheeks against the upper portions of your thighs he purred out “Sorry sorry, guess your silly plant man has his weakness out in the open now.”

“Well, you can continue with this weakness of yours, because I think it is now a guilty pleasure of mine. Bite me all you want, baby. It is kinda hot, you know?” you said with laugh, but there was mirth present in your voice not hidden by the lighthearted giggles. Vash huffed, making you wiggle under his hot breath and moved lower to at last pay attention to your leaking pussy, sliding your panties to the side with two fingers, and pressing his soft lips against your sex. He kissed it, licked it, nipped at it and bit tenderly your lower lips, sucking them into his mouth.

Between all this stimulation, the soft caress of his plush lips, the wetness of his saliva and your cum, the sting from his continuous bites of your tender flesh, his nose brushing just there on your clit so deliciously, it took you only few short moments to unravel under his overly eager affections. He wasn’t stopping while you were mewling and shuddering under him, just hardening a bit his hold on your legs to keep you in one place, alternating between soft long stokes of his tongue and nibs on your clit, that made you see and count all the stars in universe.

When you returned from your high to your shared bedroom, opening heavy lids and gazing at your lover, you couldn’t stop yourself by bringing him to your face level, hands planted on his cheeks. Pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses, you made sure your tongue slipped past his canines a few times, feeling a slight scratch. Vash moaned and giggled at your actions, stopping the kiss and pressing a few more bites to your neck. “You should not restrict yourself from now on, toothy boy” you said, your fingers caressing his hair, a fucked-out smile plastered on your features.

If you enjoyed the work, please reblog!

[sillyromance]

Good day everyone!

Recently I have come across a beautiful character Time from Tim Burton's "Alice through the Looking glass" and decided to write a small fanfic about him and my OC for this universe. Hope you'll like it!

A deeper meaning

Time was listening. Chronometers were ticking gently above him, counting seconds of each life in Wonderland. Every day it was a day of someone's death and birth, new grief and new happiness. Tears and laughter, dancing and agonizing, love and loath - so many things, so many emotions contained in a simple monotonous sound: "Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock..." But Time could read it through like an open book. He knew everything - and didn't judge, but watched. Time cherished all living beings lying at will of his hand.

Suddenly his attentive ears caught something different.

Fast little steps. Shallow breath. Harsh heartbeat.

Time turned around. He saw Hannah a few meters away, her cheeks rosy due to running; she was panting, her plump lips opened just slightly. Grey wings were wrapped around her tiny figure not being higher than a quarter of his leg. The girl studied him nervously, as if asking if he was mad at her coming here. Though, it still was a glimpse of hope in her eyes. Time couldn't get angry even if he wanted to; she was small and weak, just a fly comparing to him. Now, when she was that tiny, it was brutally clear that even an originally six feet tall girl was yet nothing but a girl: young, awkward and fragile. A girl who was hard not to fall in love with.

- What is it, Hun? - He lowered down and made a welcoming gesture. - Why did you leave your apartments?

She rushed closer, but stopped right beside his hand, throwing shy glances at it.

- I just came to ask if you need anything. You overworked. - She murmured, opening her wing "shield" a little bit, but didn't come any closer.

Witnessing her hesitation, Time smirked kind-heartedly and leisurely picked the girl up from the ground. Fluffy, tiklish feathers touched his cheek and the man’s smile grew wider.

- I guess you are right, dear. - Time sat her on his shoulder and took his hat off revealing his beautiful brown hair - the same color Hannah had. – And… don't be afraid of me so much. It has been much of me already!

- M... Hm... - She nodded, moving closer to his face and settling in her favorite spot beside his neck. Young valkyrie dared to look in his shiny, sky-hue eyes and saw nothing but kindness and warmth.

- I guess it's a right time for dinner, since the Time is rather hungry!

The man turned on his heels and headed straight to the exit. His passenger giggled at the joke and hid in her thick feathers from the wind. She wasn't always that shy, actually. It was just... Him. They had been living together for two months, however, that uneasy feeling was too stubborn to set her free. Sometimes, he would scare her: with his loud voice, soldier pace, piercing gaze, hot temper – his breathtaking largeness, at the end. Besides, he was a lover of a mad woman who once wanted to force Hanna kill innocent people only because she was a valkyrie. A monster, as they say... She was kind of glad she drank that mixture and became small - at least, she wouldn't be that easy to find...

And, despite all that, Time accepted her. He knew who she was, what plans Red Queen was making about her, but he didn't tell a soul she was here. Why? It was hard to say for sure. Hanna wanted to believe he liked her, though it would be too good to be true...

The pair went through the Time-shaped corridor and took their course to the private quarters of the castle. The huge building was a unique piece of art: high ceilings painted by the best masters of Underland, the walls decorated with gold and black wood, specular floors so clean that, if you looked beneath your feet, you would think you were floating in the air like a balloon... It would be difficult to describe the whole glory of that wonderful place. Hanna never got tired of gracious, harmonious lines, of endless columns and pilasters, complicated patterns and pictures fascinating viewers with their colors and stories. There was a tale of the whole Wonderland written by hundreds of generations and carefully kept by Time itself, remembering each day, each life, each destiny.

At such moments, Hannah always thought about connection between a person who gave her shelter and a huge dial in the main hall. Behind a facade it was an immortal, the most powerful creature in the world, not just a cute man with funny German accent.

Maybe, that was the reason why every time she talked to him her knees shook, despite everything she had gone through.

Finally, they found the right door and Time laid a hand on a door knob, but suddenly a low metallic grumble thundered in the halls. The echo roared:

- Where is this clock head!? Find him immediately you fools! I know she is here, and he won't get away with this now! Oh, how angry I am! And he was telling me he loved me! Liar! Liar! Pathetic, disgusting liar!

Hannah would recognise that crispy, deafing scream from the thousands. She tensed and her eyes got poured with horror.

If they had come for her - and they definitely had - she was dead. She turned to Time – his face darkened. Gears on his neck were moving with abnormal activity.

- Don't worry, she won't hurt you. – He whispered gently, concern and anxiety in his artificially blue eyes. – I'll make sure of that.

Something about his tone wasn’t right, though Hannah didn’t pay much attention to that - and instantly regretted it. She couldn’t possibly imagine what was about to happen. Hanna let him reach her, hold her in his hands, bring her close to his lips and...

To say that she was terrified was to say nothing. She tried to struggle in his grasp, but his grip on her torso and wings was firm - it was impossible to make a move, and if she did, she would hurt herself, cutting her skin with various rings on his fingers. Her legs were squeezed by his throat, and no matter how hard she tried to kick them out of there, they only slid further downwards with each gulp. Very soon she saw a row of white teeth over her chest. The girl shut her eyes and waited for him to cut her head off, but... It didn't happen. Instead, very gently, she was guided to the pharynx and swallowed whole.

It was slick, and humid, and dark, and tight; strong contractions of the flesh – or whatever material it was – quickly overwhelmed her. The girl felt dizzy and nauseous – something between terror and disgust occupied her quivering soul. Time promised to protect her, and instead he did... This...

Why? How it supposed to help?

Was it a trap all along?

What… What if she was going to die?

Everything around her was ticking, scratching, whining, rotating - it was like being thrown in a huge old mechanism which the man actually was. Though she couldn't see, the girl could sense every cog doing its job. There were no organic sounds at all, and that startled the valkyrie even more. Still wiggling in poor attempts to at least slow down her glide, she was travelling along a slimy - or rather oily - tube to the core of Time and trembled, predicting what awaited her when she would reach her destination.

Suddenly, the walls squished the girl more intensively than usual - with a pitiful moan, she was expelled in a bigger room. It was soft and a little stiffy like an old laundry; as she crawled forward, her hands dove in a pool of viscous liquid. Like a mouse from a cat, Hanna jerked from it to the side and pressed her little palms against slippery inner surface of the pouch.

- Time! Time, don't leave me here! Please, let me out! What did I do wrong? Please, I'm scared... Time...

The valkyrie hit that elastic flesh and cried. She didn't get an answer, no matter how much she yelled into the pitch black nowhere. It was pointless - it was all pointless. At least... At least it would save her from the fate of becoming a murderer. There he was right - Red Queen wouldn't get to her here. No one would be able to get to her ever again.

Soon she stopped protesting and pleading, and just laid limp on the soft floor, burring herself in her wet feathers. The stomach was warm, and plushie - not the worst way to pass out. But he abandoned her. He... She thought, he was her friend.

Well, she forgot - time is a friend to no man.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Meanwhile, Time was at a very critical situation himself. Iracebeth came across him at the very second he felt his stomach swell, and that was good - she didn't know where Hanna was. However, the woman was so furious, Time could start worrying about his own well-being. She unceremoniously dragged him to the side and pushed into a living room where two guards stood beside an armchair. He was thrown there, and his "lover" sank him in an ocean of questions which were constantly interrupted by her complaints, threats, lamentations and drizzling of broken items she ran into while restlessly wondering around like a tiger in a cage. Although, it wasn't like Time really listened - his hand was on his middle, and he carefully examined his sensations coming from within.

He had to warn her...

Time heard Hanna's desperate screams, they broke his mechanical heart, but he couldn't reply to them, thought he really wanted to. She must have been very scared in there. She must have thought she was going to die... Poor girl. She suffered so much already, and now, when it seemed he managed to help her, he destroyed everything again. The only good thing was that she would be fine. He really hoped she would - if not mentally, then physically. Though, he couldn't really say he was fine - all that happened left him in pure shock.

Rubbing at the spot where he could feel the valkyrie's little body, Time mutely stared at the pissed off Queen and waited for her hysteria to burn itself out. His long experience with that woman taught him that at such occasions patience was the best tactic.

As he expected, thirty minutes passed and she gave up. After breaking one more vase, Red Queen, breathing heavily, sat on a sofa before him and gave her partner a venomous look. She was exhausted.

- ... And after all of that you don't even try to defend yourself? Fool.

- Why would I need to? - The man replied calmly, his gaze confident and clear. - I'm not in any trouble. You were definitely tricked, your majesty.

- What!? How dare you say such nonsense!

- I do dare because the girl you are talking about is not here and I have never seen her in my life.

- I hardly believe it. - The queen took out a big handkerchief and wiped her teary eyes. – And don’t call her that! She is nothing more than a beast. Ah! Even you deceived me!

Time accumulated all his will not to show sarcasm. He could understand everything - Iracebeth's aggression, her hatred towards sister, her sadness and tears, but sometimes her manipulative habits and cruelty were just too obvious. He would still feel bad about her no matter what since, unlike many others, he could see the whole picture of her bitter fate. But that time he stood on the other side of the barricade.

He had to make her leave. And, which was not less important, to keep their relationships in a safe bay.

- Well, I challenge you to test my devotion, love. Order your guards to look around my castle - I can assure you, you won't find any evidences against me.

- Your assurance doesn't worth anything. - She scoffed, turning away. - But you gave me a good idea. Guards!

The red soldiers immediately straightened up, waiting for her words.

- Search through this palace - look under every stone and on every shelf, shake it from the roof to foundation, but find me that winged freak. Alive! And don't stand like useless statues, go for it, now!

The guards obediently left.

While Red Queen wasn't looking, Time exhaled, relieved – Hannah’s quarters were hid well, only he knew the path. So, the game was already over.

At the meantime, in his stomach, the girl who seemed to settle down, suddenly came to life. Oh, it was pure luck only he could catch her voice out here. She sobbed. Gosh, that pretty tiny bird would give him a heart attack! Time didn't stop secretly stroking his taunt middle through the clothes, feeling how the clock in his chest ached as if someone stabbed it with a knife. He tried to convince himself she would be all right. Just some more minutes. He could afford it.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Hannah heard him speaking to someone, possibly Red Queen. Nothing bad happened yet, and still she felt very helpless, and hopeless. It was unnerving to be stuck in complete darkness, figuratively and literally. The only "entertainment" she had was something touching her back lightly as if in attempt to soothe her, however, the valkyrie couldn’t know for sure – perhaps, it was just her lively imagination. She felt indescribably lonely. And that unchanging, never-ending ticking - cold, indifferent - it drove her crazy! She wanted, no - she demanded to get a sign, to hear a single word meant for her, anything showing that he remembered...

Hannah got up again and dug her fingers into the silk flesh once more, struggling to reach the source of slight sensation. Her lungs burned of crying. Choking and sniffing, she called:

- Time, please!.. Please, say something. I can't bare this anymore... Answer me!..

No respond. The girl pushed harder, but the wall softly sprang under her hands and Hannah slammed over the bouncy floor. Her wings felt numb and sore – lack of space didn’t allow them to stretch even on a half of their capacity. Moreover, they were soaked in that oily liquid and visibly weighted: the valkyrie couldn’t stay straight for long or it would make her back dangerously creak.

Time didn't hear her, or pretended that he didn't. The girl didn't know what was worse. Her love for him had a violent battle with disappointment and sorrow. It wasn't like she hated him, no. She just couldn't understand why. Now, when she thought it was the end, "why?" was the only question lingering in her tired mind.

It was inevitably the last question, every fucking time...

Old memories waltzed before her gaze, rapidly turning darker and uglier as they did.

It was definitely all her fault... They were right - it was her fault!...

Powerless, she gave up on the attempts to squirm. But, hiding her dirty face in her palms, she continued occasionally calling out for him.

She didn’t believe he would answer anymore.

But it was the only thing she could cling on just to stay conscious. To stay alive.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Time closed his eyes. It was almost over - they didn't find anything and soon the queen would be out. Regardless, any moment prolonging her stay gifted him with a new wave of agony.

- I'm scared... Don't do this to me... I... I beg you - don't be so cruel... – He heard a new faint shout from within and clenched his teeth.

Why didn't he come up with anything else? What was the reason he thought that swallowing Hannah was the best - and the only - option? Analysing it now, he saw countless possibilities aside that one. But... Back then it was something Time couldn't control. He had to keep her safe, yet close, because only then he could be certain the girl wouldn't get harmed. He rarely felt such strong emotions, and that made it difficult for him to find any proper explanation of what it was. But undoubtedly, it was something primal, subconscious. Something like... Hunger.

Time wasn't a human, though he looked like one; he didn't need to eat like normal people did. When he made a joke about dinner, in his case the man ment consumption of things that would simply keep him going, like oil, for instance. So, average hunger or starvation were unfamiliar to him.

However, that pang which struck him at the moment of danger tore a hole in him - at least, that what he felt. The man couldn't help himself, he knew - that was the right choice: to take her in, to become her alive armour, a tower no one could conquer where his tiny princess wouldn't fear anything. To satisfy that empty feeling. And his opened his mouth, and swallowed her whole despite protests and cries.

The only goal he achieved was that now, she feared him.

- I guess, I was wrong about you after all, my darling… - It was incredibly difficult to focus on Iracebeth, but Time forced himself to stand up as she jumped off her seat.

No one would expect so many controversial emotions to fight beneath the mask of courtesy on his face.

- See? I wouldn’t go against you, love...

- But I’m still mad at you! - She interrupted him. Her foot in a high-heel shoe gave the floor a capricious tap.

- What did I do to cause your displeasure, your majesty?

- You knew I was looking for that creature all along and didn’t do anything! If you really loved me, you would have already brought her to me!

- My seconds are working days and nights on that… It seems she is quite smart. Although, not smarter than my dearest, isn’t she? She will be yours, my sweet queen...

His smarmy grin made Iracebeth visibly soften – she smiled back and let her partner guide herself and her servants to the exit.

" Ok, act casual - a smile, a kiss, a bow. Don't let her know. They almost departed."

- Time... Please...

Wilkins opened the gates and the guests finally crossed the last border of his territory. He watched impatiently as Red Queen crawled into her carriage and two bright red horses with long black plumes on their heads swept her away.

-Time…

Wilkins vanished too. Good.

-Say anything...

- Hannah!

He put all the pain he felt into that word. The man leaned to the locked gates and hugged himself - hugged her inside of him.

- I am here. Please, don't cry - I meant no harm. I... You are safe. Trust me, Hannah - you are safe!

He fought the wish to cough her up right then and there - it would spook the girl even more; she could get hurt. He prayed she would listen. Time have never thought that his own seconds could be that intimidating; the valkyrie in his belly went silent. Deadly silent.

- I'm sorry I didn't say it to you earlier. It would be too dangerous! I... I understand how you feel right now - I will understand if you don't want to speak to me ever again, but I'm not kidding, Hun. I meant no harm.

The last phrase turned into a whisper on his pale lips. He was counting.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

- T-Time?

Her voice was cracked and high-pitched.

- You didn't leave m-me? Is it really you?

Thank goodness!

- Hannah...

- I thought... I thought you would... - She trembled. - That you would kill me...

- No, no, of course not! I'm very sorry... Forgive me, Hun. If you can...

He slowly sat down on the floor. Strange, but oddly pleasant sensation of another life wiggling around inside him restarted. He could say she still was kinda edgy, though the movement appeared to be rather curious than panicking. Time pressed a hand a bit harder against his waist, tracing the girl’s way. In return the man received a hesitant pat.

-What is that, Time?

- Don’t worry. It’s just my hand.

- Oh… - Hannah flinched. She put two and two together, and late realization came to her. – So… You… You were with me… I… oh, Gosh... I was an idiot... I should have thought!..

Her emotions was so strong that she couldn’t finish – the valkyrie simply buried herself in soft wrinkles of the stomach and rubbed at the spot where she could feel his presence. All her worries disappeared instantly.

- I’m sorry for rumbling – you don’t like that…

Time laughed drily.

-Do whatever you want and don’t even TRY to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong! It was me who scared you. By the way, I want to tell you: you don’t have to watch your step every moment around me just because I’m “the Time itself”! Sounds ridiculous, I know. However…

He paused, trying to find the words.

– I require honesty, Hannah. You should be honest with me and yourself. I’m honest with you – I care about you! I’m on your side! I won’t hurt you just because I can – there are people like that and you met them often – but I’m not them. I call my seconds stupid. But they are my beloved children I would kill for. It’s as true as the fact that you are my… friend.

Hannah noticed the place heated up. Wait… Was he blushing?

-T-thank you… Time. No one ever said that to me after my parents passed away. – She said quietly. – And, frankly… I couldn’t be happier now. I’m shocked – and glad – that you see me in this way. Because you are my friend too. I like you.

He didn't say anything about that. The space suddenly got even more crumped and the clock above started ticking a little bit off the rhythm – but it was just silence. Not frightening, but rather… fluttering that time.

Mechanical noises coming from here and there lost their flat and unbothered tone – they talked. They sang. A trap turned into a temple; Hannah suddenly thought that she was actually inside of his body. Well, it was obvious. But earlier it sent chills of horror down her spine while now they were the chills of extreme adoration. Before he appeared in her head as an invincible god. In fact, he wasn’t invincible – he could feel pain, he could be broken. She could break him like, right at that moment – or any other moment in the past. Time’s abrupt – almost instinctual – decision to put her under his skin, to give her access to the most vulnerable part of him only to defend her instantly obtained a much deeper meaning she was only about to understand - and deeply appreciate…

She snuggled deeper into the warm flesh, listening to the melodic rhythm of his body. He sat there, curled around her possessively.

They stayed like this for long – it could be an eternity.

Although, everything, good or bad, comes to an end.

-I guess, you want out now. – Time’s voice was slightly tremulous.

-I… I do. No offence. - She admitted shyly. - My wings need some space.

-Sure. – She could feel him straighten up. His palm didn’t let go of her even for a second. – And by the way... After you get ready, we still could have that dinner together. If you still want it, of course…

[rosesocietyy]

Brilliant people have said everything that needs to be said about this much much better and I don't got anything substantial to add but I just have to get this off my chest cause y'all I'm still in disbelief

like this is a grown ass person btw oh I simply have to laugh😭

this perfectly exemplifies literally everything cringe af and wrong with these "assigned welcomers". this is just my scapegoat but there are way worse I've seen

First of all, get a job. how, at your fossil age, do you have time to spend all day scrolling through every single iwtv related post and arguing with people who say anything even slightly damning about lestat (which mind you, is literally just objective facts about things he did). I'll dm you a McDonald's application hell I'll even put in a referral for you out of the goodness of my heart.

Second, Lestat is not a real person. he's fake, a made up character, the figment of someone's imagine, non-existent, people hating him will not affect your life in anyway shape or form. He didn't assign you as his PR agent I promise you'll live. "They'll never accept him" ok and?!?

Question, and I'm genuinely asking, is this their first time in a fandom? why is someone having a different opinion about a character they love enough to send them into hysterics like?? 13 year olds on anime twitter have a better grasp on reality that y'all do get a grip!

And like the above posts have talked extensively about, I most definitely noticed whose posts a specific bunch of them love to go under to share their dog shit "explanation" that nobody asked for. When a black person sees Louis being brutalized by his white lover what do you expect their reaction to be? oaur wow this white french slut is so pussy cunt slay period queen? "but louis is flawed too" do you hear yourself? do you listen to yourself when you speak? can you activate the barest hint of brain activity to understand why we would react differently to what we're watching than you would and that knowledge of the source material has nothing to do with it? Just because you read those shitty books and posses no empathy for black people in media doesn't mean you gain some higher understanding of "gothic romance ".

"No but the thing is you don't understand this is a gothic romance and they're supposed to be monsters and lestat has suffered saur much and he's also the real main character so you must love him" so now how exactly does that negate their point about him being an abuser? quickly! sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up when black people are sharing their thoughts on the show cause who the fuck are you fr and what convinced you that you have the right to argue with them about THEIR experiences. that tweet that said white people act like God left them in charge, yeah.

Funny enough, half the people that are so gung ho about him now didn't even fw him at all when they only read the first book. wow it's almost like you were allowed to sort out your feelings about him on your own without insects disguised as people in your mentions calling you slow for not licking his feet.

I despise so much in this fandom. From the bottom of my heart I really truly do. I don't know what I was expecting, I guess more common sense and maturity because the average age in the fandom is quite high compared to other fandoms I've been in but nah, just mfs screaming and crying bc ppl don't jump up and down and scream yipee! everytime their white fav commits abhorrent, disgusting crimes.

I was so caught up in the euphoria of an anne rice property finally being given to skilled creators who'll pick it apart and say something poignant with it that for a moment, I forgot I lived in a world where majority of its audience would sadly be the anne rice crowd.

[moistvonlipwig]

BtVS for the favorite things ask game?

ok!!!

my favorite female character: Cordelia of course.....though if we're counting her more as an AtS character then it'd be poor beleaguered Anya, who has too much sense by far for the rest of the Scoobies to handle.

my favorite male character: Spoike my horrible little man who is faking his accent and cheats at kitten poker <3 he sucks sooo bad (affectionate) (also objectively true since he is a vampire)

my favorite book/season/etc: This one's tricky -- I think S5 probably takes it in the end, although I think the overall arc of S2 is very impressive and the highs are higher. But I prefer big sister Buffy to only child Buffy and the later seasons cast line-up to the early seasons cast line-up, and S2 has a lot of bad episodes, whereas S5's worst episodes are just kind of whatever. S3 is also very strong overall, but it doesn't emotionally grab me the way S2 and S5 do.

my favorite episode (if its a tv show): This one's even trickier! I think "Becoming" (especially its second part) is definitely in the running for its amazing character work for Buffy and the whole cast. "Lovers Walk" gets points for the sheer amount of fun it packs into its runtime. "Who Are You?" is another contender, largely due to SMG's absolute tour-de-force performance as Faith. "Restless" would be a contender if it weren't for the horrifically racist treatment of the First Slayer that infects the entire episode, which knocks it soundly off its otherwise well-earned pedestal. "The Gift" is very, very good as well. (I'm not as big on "The Body" as everyone else -- it's good, I just don't think it's one of the show's top episodes.) And I think "Dead Things" is probably the most challenging episode the show ever put forth, which I appreciate deeply. (I enjoy the songs in OMWF a lot, but as an episode I don't think it's super cohesive, so while it's up there for me, I don't think I can say it's the show's best.)

my favorite cast member: I honestly don't really tend to get super invested in actors, so, idk? I guess I'd say that, while she's nowhere near the show's strongest actor -- in fact I would argue she's one of those actors who is extremely good at playing one specific part and basically can't play anything else -- I nonetheless have a lot of respect for Eliza Dushku as a person, what with how she's spoken up about the sexual abuse, harassment, and mistreatment she's faced within the industry, and how she threw her full support behind the people speaking up about Joss Whedon despite having a positive experience with him herself.

my favorite ship: Most of my favorite Buffyverse ships are AtS ships, but my favorite BtVS ship is ultimately probably Buffy/Spike, despite, um, everything -- I think they have a lot of really fun interactions and I buy their friendship in early S6 and S7, and I appreciate that the show made some attempt (YMMV how successful it was) to deconstruct and problematize the enemies-to-lovers trope. That said, my ideal endgame for them is that they end up as friends, not lovers. And the way some people talk about that ship on here is......well. It's something innit. In terms of other ships I like: despite what I'm about to say about Giles below, I do like his interactions with Anya a lot and I feel like there were some romantic implications in "Grave" that weirdly never got picked up again in S7. I think a Giles/Anya romance would be a lot better than S7 trying to resurrect the shuffling corpse of Xander/Anya. ...Although, I'm also a "Willow should've killed Giles in Grave" truther, so, I'll also propose a Willow/Anya romance, because they had good chemistry in "Selfless" and it'd be funny.

a character I’d die defending: It used to be Dawn and Cordelia, but honestly the fandom has cooled off a lot when it comes to hating those characters, so, uh, I definitely still defend them ardently when needed, but they don't need it as much these days as they used to. Buffy still gets some very weird things said about her which I think she should be defended from, although I also think there's pockets of fandom that act like she has never done a single thing wrong in her life ever, which is a point of view I also don't subscribe to. Faith I think is in a weird position where she has done some legitimately awful things, which some of her more hardcore fans gloss over, but some people are strangely hellbent on making up things she didn't do to get mad at her for, which I can't abide. People are also deeply weird about Joyce, as you know, but, like, I'm not a Joyce Fan or anything, I don't even think she's a particularly amazing mother, I just think people seem entirely incapable of seeing things from her point of view and weirdly insistent that her relationship with Buffy was worse than it was. So, IDK. Most of the women, I guess. Except Willow. Sorry Willow, I'm sure some people are weird about you too, but the narrative is too nicies to you already.

a character I just can’t sympathize with: Yeah, it's Giles. He's the character who has gone down the most in my estimation over time, particularly as I've gotten older. S1 Giles is arguably sympathetic, with his fate somewhat paralleled to Buffy's, but as the show goes on, the character and worldbuilding develop to a point where it becomes pretty irrefutable that this is a guy who profits off of Buffy's suffering and could stop doing that at any time, who abandons her when she needs him most, and who then has the gall to act like he should have any say in the decisions she makes about her life afterwards. Additionally, the way he seems totally indifferent to Xander's home life and clear desire for a non-abusive father figure/masculine role model, and even more egregiously (given that it is literally his job to 'watch' her) the way he seems totally indifferent to Faith's lack of a home or family or any kind of support, is profoundly foul to me, and yet another thing that's made worse by the retcon that Giles is well-off and gets paid to do this. (The Faith stuff is even worse when you remember that Giles, too, has accidentally killed people, yet he makes no effort to try to reach out to her. Angel's attempt to reach out may have been bad, but at least it was an attempt.) I've read a lot of meta on here about how Giles was deeply affected by Jenny's death and how that made him feel like he had somehow doomed her by loving her, or even when Jenny isn't brought into it a lot of people will say that Giles thinks he is an awful person who makes people's lives worse and that's why he holds himself at such a distance, and like, that's a fine interpretation, but I don't actually see any evidence that that's true? To me that's in the realm of "Xander hates vampires because of Jesse" -- it's something that could psychologically make sense for a real person, and you could write about in a fanfic and have it be quite interesting, but I struggle to see any real basis for that idea in canon. And of course I should add that I think Giles should probably suck, for the show to work; if he's a good father figure the story doesn't really happen. But he sucks in such deeply baffling and unsympathetic ways to me that I just really don't like him anymore at this point, aside from the occasional Buffy-Giles emotional beat or snarky one-liner that makes me smile.

a character I grew to love: This one definitely goes to Buffy -- I think pre-Dawn Buffy is a well-done but ultimately fairly typical Campbell-style comic hero, whose character is largely elevated by SMG's iconic performance and by BtVS's strategy of using monster-of-the-week episodes to mirror Buffy's internal journey. I like her fine in the early seasons, but it's only really in S5 that she starts to grab my emotional attention, and it's in S6 that I truly love her -- S6 is a mess, but I think Buffy's arc in that season is utterly compelling and beautiful, and it gives me so much more affection and appreciation for her character. As for S7...well, let's just not speak of that, shall we.

my anti otp: With apologies as always to my Bangel followers & mutuals, I find Buffy/Angel to be not entirely uninteresting to think about (especially in S2, which is when I think the writers had the strongest sense of what they wanted to say with that relationship), but they are profoundly tedious to watch. Melodrama that is played straight is rarely appealing to me, and I can't for the life of me imagine them in an actual adult relationship -- what would they talk about? As Buffy herself admits, they were never actually friends, and so many of their conversations on the show just revolve around how they shouldn't and/or can't be together but they want to anyway. I also think, as the shows go on, they develop different values and their lives go in such different directions that I don't think they would work as a couple in the future, either. Both of them are better off, IMO, moving on and living separate lives.

[calxvace]

domestic tsukikage

"Great now everyone in your company calls you Mr. good at everything" Tobio casually complains as he closed the door to their apartment, this has been his thing ever since he knew that Kei was so popular on his work to the point where someone asked him on a date.

"Cut it off, I’m tired let's just change and rest" Kei responded hanging his coat on the rack beside him. Tobio smiled as if he got a million-dollar idea on his head. "they're wrong though, you suck at kisses"

Tobio chuckled as he escaped the scene because he knows Kei would stare at him like he wants to tear him apart, first because he is tired and anything annoys Kei and second, he hates it when Tobio mocks him. "haa? says the one who bit my tongue trying to get a oui kiss!"

Kei shouted across their hall just enough to be heard by Tobio, the other was just giggling on their room as he was changing to comfier clothes. 'fell right on the plan' he thought. "just say french kiss Kei it sounds weird plus you're the one who can’t keep up!"

Kei tugged his hem as soon as he got out of their room and closely stare on his eyes, "let's see who gasp for air first" Kei spoke as if it was going to be a battle on the court, picking it up Tobio smirked and led the way to their couch. "brings me back to high school, 3 sets?"

Since their first few months of dating back in high school they've been having this thing where they treat everything as volleyball, Kei suggested this due to Tobio being really slow when it comes to relationship things. Hugs? they challenge each other on who will let go first.

It’s the same with other forms of affection and eventually it just faded out as their relationship was strengthen with the time they spend together "no I’m the one to sit on your lap, I just did a bunch of paper works or maybe you got too weak to even carry me on your lap?"

Tobio snickered, he wanted to be cradled plus he can easily lead Kei while he's on his lap. Old habits never die, Tobio always wants to make Kei shut up whenever Kei speaks about his flaws on affection but this time he wanted to feel new things—just them switching places.

"Fine Tsuki, I guess you're tired that means I have a higher chance to win" Tobio chuckled as he stopped Kei from removing his glasses "wear it so you can see me clearly" Kei just did as he was told, he was tired really and he doesn't want to spend more energy arguing

Adjusting their position, Kei rested his head against Tobio's shoulder "tired already? we haven't even started yet" Tobio asked teasingly leaning back to Kei's head "I know your plan Kageyama, we've been together for few years, just ask me to kiss you"

Tobio giggled as he wraps his arms around Kei's waist "ahhh you saw right through me, I really just wanted a kiss but you seemed a little bit tired so I kinda mocked you to challenge me" Kei laughed at the way Tobio was speaking, "you're always like this"

Kei faced Tobio looking at him so tenderly, he planted kisses on the other's forehead down to his nose, cheeks and his lips "I told you, I’m fine with you kissing me anytime and anywhere" Kei assured his lover for the nth time, knowing Tobio this is what he wanted to hear

"I’m yours Kageyama, you're entitled to do so, ah just don’t do it when I’m shitting on the toilet that's gross" and with that their laughter filled the room entangling each other as the both of them adds whatever it is for them to prolong this moment.

"This is why I chose to be with you for the longest time Kei, I love you" Tobio caressed Kei's cheeks and leaned in for a tender kiss. Kei kissed back but it wasn't as soft as what Tobio did.

"A-air!" Tobio pushed Kei's shoulder gasping for air, he lowered down his head trying to breathe "i love you to Kageyama but I win" Kei announced standing up from Tobio's lap. "Now Mr. loser go cook our dinner as a penalty"

Tobio gave Kei a dirty look but deep inside he knew this was gonna happen. after all Kei always wins—even his very own heart. "Yes Mr. good at everything but be careful i might put some poison in it" he jokingly said while heading to the kitchen

"Doesn't matter, I’ve been poisoned since the day I met you" Kei replied while preparing his laptop "don’t give me that look I know you put love poison on my energy drink back then!

[gascon-en-exil]

What do you mean by "Diarmuid is gay by mechanical oversight"? I don't think I've come across that bit of juicy accidental lore before O:

@crabknight asked about this in a reblog, so I'll answer that here.

Diarmuid does not have unique lover conversations, meaning all of his romantic interactions are generic. Internally, he also has no base love points for anyone, nor any higher than normal love growth anywhere. No one else in either generation who can participate in the romance system has all of these traits - which makes it look like he has no particular interest in women.

I call it a mechanical oversight because that almost certainly wasn't the developers' intention, and that they simply forgot to include any romantic content for him. My guess is that he would have had something with Lene, who also has no lover conversations but who does have an extremely high number of love points at base with Diarmuid's cousin Ares. But as the game stands, Diarmuid's just not that into the idea.

Additionally, these same traits apply to his substitute Tristan. Even though they can't exist in the same save file, this gave me the idea to write an extended headcanon where I ship them together. IS is free to take notes for any remakes.