#i wrote this for class and i thought it was funny

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a ghost of the past. l Javier Peña. 

💔 a few ways to break your heart 💔

Summary: he broke your heart many times and now he's back

Warnings: angst, obroken heart, reminiscing about Colombia, engagement, some nasty words

A/N: the second season of broken hearts. I'm tired. I don't know how I wrote this. I'll probably regret it when I have to fix it.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

a few ways to break a heart [masterlist]

The first time he broke your heart was when you were seventeen. He kissed you while you were sitting in an empty school playground on a summer night. Your first kiss, and it was with him. Happiness filled you to the brim. The pages of your diary were filled with hundreds of words, describing his brown eyes, soft lips, big hands. Javier was your friend and you had been in love with him for a few years. A week later, you saw him with a girl from another class.

The second time he broke your heart was when you were hoping he would go to the prom with you. You looked really beautiful. You still remembered the color of your dress and the smell of the perfume you wore. Javier showed up to the prom with Lorraine. You were still his best friend. The only one he had.

The third time he broke your heart was when he showed up at your house at night. He said he could only trust you, that you were always there for him, that you were the only person who understood him. Your heart was pounding in your chest like crazy when he grabbed your hand. That's when you found out he had decided to propose to Lorraine.

He broke your heart a fourth time when you showed up at the church on his wedding day, despite everything, and he ran away. No. He didn’t run away with you. You were still clutching the flowers you’d brought with you to the church when Javier called and said he was flying to Colombia. “You’re my best friend. Wait for me.”

And you waited, even though your mind told you it was pointless. You finished college, found a job. Several men came along, but none of them stayed for long. How pathetic was it for you to keep thinking about that man?

Javier Peña. 

You were thousands of miles apart and you were sure he could sense you were thinking about him. You kept thinking about him even though you knew you were doomed. In your head, you were happy together. In your head, everything was better than the reality that was before your eyes.

That's when you met Matthew. He was a dentist, had his own clinic downtown. Tall, handsome, with warm eyes and smooth hands. He took you to the movies, on trips out of town, on good dates. He was funny and really listened to you. He never once broke your heart.

When the diamond ring sparkled on your finger, you felt you were doing the right thing. You couldn't live for a ghost, a specter that would never come back, and certainly not to you. Javier Peña was never yours.

And he never really wanted you either. All the memories of him, all the conversations you had, all the hours you spent together, you packed into a box and placed somewhere deep in your heart, ready to move on.

And then fate turned around and decided to play a trick on you. It wasn't fair. But when you opened the door and saw Javier on your porch, you felt like the ground had fallen from under your feet.

"Hi." he said in that same low and deep voice you remembered so well. He slid his glasses down his nose and looked at you, and you drowned in his eyes. "It's good to see you."

"Javier..." you barely heard your own voice.

He came back home. He was living with his father again to help him on the farm, he wanted to see you. He was driving by and saw the car in front of the house. He took a chance.

"I missed you." he said, a little embarrassed that he dared to say it. "I thought about you, every day."

Your heart sank.

"It's been a few years." you finally answered. "A lot has changed..."

"You haven't."

Was it really that easy? Javier stood before you, even more handsome than you remembered, staring at you like he meant what he said. You were that girl again, just wanting him to notice her.

"Pops said you were engaged." he finally said, putting his hands on his hips. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Does he treat you well or should I talk to him?"

That smirk. You rolled your eyes, leaning against the door frame. "Matthew's a fantastic guy." you replied. "And yes, he treats me really well."

Javier nodded. "Good, good. You deserve the best."

"Why do you say that?" he looked at you in surprise. You took a deep breath, folding your arms across your chest. "Why did you even show up? All those years of silence from you and now this? Why?"

He shrugged. "I wanted to see you. We're friends, right?"

"Friends." You repeated as if you were pondering the word. "You know, like I said, a lot has changed. I've changed too, Javier."

He watched you closely. Yes, he saw the slight changes in your face and figure, but he still thought you were a beautiful woman. He saw you as the same girl he had left behind in this city when he had fled to Colombia. To him, you were still that.

Only after a moment did he break the silence. "I thought... I guess I thought I could talk to you about what happened while I was gone. Like we used to, you know."

"Right. Because I'm always there for you."

"Of course."

You nodded, feeling tears gather behind your eyelids, a lump growing in your throat. “And who is there for me, Javier?” you asked with difficulty, keeping your voice from shaking. “Who was there for me when things were hard? When I was falling apart? When I needed someone to just listen, hold me, sit with me in silence? Not you, Javier…”

"I wasn't there on vacation." he muttered, trying to defend himself. However, he felt deep in his heart that what he said wasn't fair.

She nodded and quickly wiped away a tear that rolled down your cheek. “And I’m not here to hear your confession right now.”

Gorgeous brown eyes stared at you intensely. Although you were trembling inside, you tried not to show it on the outside. You didn't need a repeat of the past.

"We were teenagers then. I know you had a soft spot for me, but..."

“Go away,” you hissed, anger building inside you. Your fingernails dug painfully into your arms. “Get out of here, Javier, because I can’t vouch for myself.”

The anger was growing in your eyes, he could see it clearly. His friend, the only one he thought about while he was out of the country, was glaring at him. You had every right to be. He had let you down so badly, and now he had reappeared to take advantage of your good heart.

He wanted to say something else, even parted his lips, but the shuffling of wheels in the driveway distracted him. A nice car pulled up, and after a moment a man dressed in a neat shirt and carrying a bouquet of flowers got out.

"Sweetheart." he greeted you, approaching and kissing you on the cheek, and then looking at Javier. "Do we have a guest?"

“Umm, it’s Javier. A friend from school. Came to say hi.” You replied, trying to keep your voice natural.

Matthew reached out and shook Javier’s hand. “Would you like to come for coffee? I’d like to hear what my fiancée was like in high school.”

"Javier has to go back now. He's busy." You replied quickly, and Peña felt that he was no longer welcome in this place.

“Yeah, I just dropped by for a minute.” He mumbled, putting on his glasses. “Engagement, huh?” Matthew looked at you with a smile that didn’t go unnoticed by Javier. “Congratulations. Maybe we’ll meet in town sometime.”

He nodded and took a few quick steps to his car. Your gaze was glued to his back. You were her again, the one he needed, and yet the one who wanted him to suffer. But why were you suffering too...

[little-cereal-draws]

Mr. Einstein Has a Gun

Commander Rox sipped his coffee as he got out of his shiny black car. The parking lot of the aquarium was crawling with officers running to and fro; the lesser ranked ones were setting up barricades and commanding frightened families to stand back while the more experienced ones were clustered around large armored trucks, listening to equipment. Commander Rox confidently strode through the chaos; this was his playground. 

“Any progress?” he asked, stepping up to one of the vans. 

“Not yet, sir,” one of the officers responded. Her hair was pulled into a brown bun. 

“Hostages?” He handed his empty cup to one of the newbies. They scurried off to go throw it away.

“Seventeen, from what we can gather.”

“Hm. Any trouble yet?” 

“Not yet, sir. All the civilians have been safely evacuated. We’re pretty sure all the hostages are staff.”

Rox looked at the case brief he had been given when he was first alerted of the situation. “That would make sense given their proximity to the tanks. Do we have a line inside?”

“Yes, sir, we do. We have yet to actually speak to our perp, though. One of the staff members is acting as his ambassador.”

“Great. Patch me in.” Rox took a pair of black headphones from the back of the van and carefully put them on, careful not to bend the wire frames of his dark aviators. 

There was an anticipatory moment as the line rang. He had been doing hostage negotiations for almost thirty years and still the moment before the line was live tingled with anticipation. When he was younger, he would get the horrible thought that the perp killed all the hostages before picking up and everyone would blame him. Now, he knew that if that happened, his men would storm in and kill anyone who dared go against them. It was easier to stamp down the fear. 

The line clicked alive and a timid voice said, “Hello?”

“Hello,” he said smoothly, his fleeting fears forgotten, “this is Commander Rox with the NYPD. Who am I speaking with?”

“Um, Doctor Kelly Bluebond,” the voice responded.

“Excellent. Nice to meet you, Doctor. I apologize for the brief introduction of myself but I really must know if…” he checked the brief, “if Mr. Einstein is there.”

“Um, he is,” Kelly whispered.

“Alright. Don’t be afraid, Doctor, we’re going to get you out. Is anyone hurt?”

“No.”

“Fantastic. Can you ask Mr. Einstein if he has any demands?”

“Uh, he does. I was telling the other officer earlier, he wants oysters. But we can’t do that right now because they’re currently almost extinct from New York Harbor and the Oyster Project is trying to reintroduce them so we need to save them and we could get them imported but then they come frozen and he doesn’t like that and–”

“Excuse me, Doctor, but you said oysters? As in the food?” Rox raised an eyebrow. He had heard many insane requests in his day –private jets, millions in cash, full pardons– but this was a first.

“Yeah. And a $300 puzzle game he saw one of the keepers looking at on Amazon but we just don’t have the budget for that,” Kelly cried. 

“I– I’m sorry, a puzzle game?” Rox rubbed his temples. “We can get you a puzzle game. Wait– I’m sorry, I’m a bit confused. Your colleague, Mr. Einstein, is keeping you captive in return for oysters and a puzzle game?”

“Yes. And he can get very, very angry.” The sounds of Kelly crying came through Rox’s headphones.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Rox soothed. “You’re going to be OK. My men are the best goddamn men in New York. We’ll get you all out of there.”

“Thank you, thank you,” she whimpered. 

“Does Mr. Einstein have a history of being angry and violent when he doesn’t get what he wants?”

“Oh, yes, he bit me once while I was cleaning. He doesn’t like people touching his things.”

“He bit you? I… I’m so sorry to hear that. You should’ve filed a complaint with the police and we could’ve gotten him behind bars for assault years ago and avoided this whole situation. But I digress. None of that matters because we’re here now. I would like to speak with Mr. Einstein myself if that’s OK.”

Kelly sniffed. “You’re not going to get much out of him.”

“Don’t worry, I can break even the most hardened of criminals,” Rox said proudly. 

He felt a tap at his elbow and looked over to see the brown haired officer from before. Covering the mic on her headphones, she whispered, “Sir, Mr. Einstein is an octopus.”

Rox jumped back in surprise. “What?! Wait– what? Our perp –our seventeen hostage perp– is a fucking octopus?!” 

“I know, sir, it’s terrible,” the officer said, nodding gravely. “The NYPD has never dealt with anything like this before.”

Rox sputtered. “Wha– How– How the hell does an octopus even get seventeen hostages?!”

“Um, we informed you of the situation in your brief, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He flipped the manilla folder open to read the brief again. “You said Mr. Einstein –of course his name is fucking Mr. Einstein, that makes sense now– was, and I quote, ‘armed and highly dangerous.’ How the hell is an octopus armed and dangerous?!”

“Well, he has eight arms, sir.”

Commander Rox rolled his eyes.

The officer nervously continued, “Apparently he somehow got out of his tank and found… a gun. We’re not sure how yet, firearms aren’t allowed in the aquarium but admittedly there is no security enforcing that besides a sign on the wall. But somehow Mr. Einstein got a gun and immediately started pointing it at the staff. At first, they figured he thought it was a new toy but when he fired a warning shot into the air, they knew he meant business. One of them called the police before they were rounded up and we evacuated everyone.”

“My god. An octopus can’t operate a firearm!” Rox shouted. He turned back to his mic. “This is highly illegal, calling in a fake active shooter threat like this, Doctor!”

“Octopi are actually highly intelligent,” Kelly said. “I am not surprised at all that he figured out how they work so quickly. He’s gotten out of his tank before and we thought we could just put him back this time like we did before but then he pulled out a gun! He’s not supposed to have a gun!”

Rox wiped a hand down his face. “OK, OK. I’m going to put an end to this once and for all. I’m going in.”

He tore the headphones off and stomped towards the aquarium. 

“Wait!” the brown haired officer called after him. “It’s not safe to go alone! Bring a team! This is a gun!”

Rox turned around to face her. Sarcastically, he yelled, “There’s only one thing to do now, isn’t there? If Mr. Einstein the octopus has a fucking gun, so will I!”

He pulled his gun out of its holster and marched in.

[maruyaaya]

hihi ime (if u dont mind me calling u that) but once again i need ur help, so as you can i am making a fanfic in modern au (kinda filipino highschool love vibes) andndndnd i need your opinions on the characters from greek myth i will using (writing)

the character includes

neoptolemus telemachus peisistratus orestes nuisicaa electra iphigenia hermione nicostratus

andand if yk ppl from greek myth that like in the afterwar of trojan war plsplspls tell me so i can add them :3333 should i add the gods also? (also can i add on how would you think writing them i mean the other characters esp the women?) btw, im making this fanfic fluff and cheesy (NO ANGST!! i have enough of them) thank you mwamwamwaps

HELLOO!!! i absolutely do not mind you calling me ime!! my name is very difficult to pronounce for english speakers so i basically go by every variation of it ever LOL anyways i digress

so surprisingly enough, i actually haven't reread the odyssey in a very long time (i'm an iliad girlie at heart i'd sleep with that thing under my pillow like alexander the great) but, to nobody's surprise, i have a lot to say so i'm going to do my best!!

THIS IS A BANGER CAST THO the dynamics between them will be so fun thats so exciting. i love that its kinda a "younger gen" bc so often you see a focus on the achilles/odysseus/agamemnon generation and a lot of the children get ignored so this is really fun!!

maybe im dumb and stupid but i think youre asking abt how i write those characters so ill yap about that and if thats not what youre asking then idk me and my iliterate ass will just go fuck myself i guess? LMFAO i have written so many essays in the past week april is the worst month of the year i'm so dumb right now

neoptolemus is so... ugh i did not care for him at all until i started writing senses and then suddenly he became one of my favourites. neo is typically written as very abrasive with a short-fuse. he's very arrogant in his abilities, but like achilles, that arrogance is earned as he's written as a very good fighter. i think he should be written as very emotionally stunted—he doesn't understand other people's emotions but he also doesn't understand his own. this could be hilarious to me in a modern au because that man just does not understand anything that anyone says to him. he should have a resting bitch face. he always looks angry and he probably is angry. his self-esteem should be crazy wacky like he should be constantly telling people "i am the best and you are nothing compared to me" but at the same time, he should be constantly afraid of disappointing people. neo's characterization is really interesting bc most of the myths portray him as being needlessly brutal, but then you have ones by sophocles or euripides who portray him as actually having a lot of remorse for what he does and only does them because he thinks he has to. i think you could have a lot of fun deciding which of these characterizations you want to lean into.

telemachus is, to put it in the simplest words possible, a brat. he's very pessimistic and he's convinced everything sucks. basically in a modern au, he is your typical 16 year old going through an emo phase. i like to write him as very emotionally intelligent. he knows exactly what to say to piss someone off and he won't hesitate to do so. his favourite hobby is pushing at people's insecurities and seeing how they react. he also has a temper and he's very emotionally driven though i do think he's better at regulating his emotions than neo is. he's also very insecure. he is constantly afraid that he isn't good enough and i think that's very clear in his actions. he loves being annoying he's my fav brat and his words shoot to kill when he's mad (taylor swift reference even tho he would lowkey fucking hate taylor swift)

peisistratus is gay as hell (he and telemachus canonically share a bed in the odyssey btw). telemachus canonically refers to him as "joy of my heart" like i am so glad i'm a multishipper bc i could not come out of the odyssey and not ship telemachus and peisistratus. peisistratus has a fairly small role in the odyssey so you have a lot of free reign in how you want to characterize him (i'll be honest, i'm not 100% sure what fandom characterization of peisistratus is bc i've never been too into the telepeisi ship). in the odyssey, he's very well-spoken and eloquent. i like to think of him as kinda being impulse control for telemachus—he's better at controlling his emotions and not flying off the handle like telemachus does. he's also very horrendously down bad for telemachus. that cannot be ignored. he wants to hit so bad. he will laugh at so many bad jokes just to get a chance to hit.

orestes is so interesting to me! i think he's very logical and serious. i think he has a strong moral compass and gets very conflicted about whether he should stick to his moral compass or be loyal to the people around him. like after clytemnestra kills agamemnon, orestes doesn't want to kill his mother, but he does because he feels obligated to out of a sense of justice. he sees it as an act of loyalty to his father and the gods. and after killing his mother, orestes basically goes insane because he has so much guilt about it. i think he definitely does value justice. he wants to do what he thinks is right and he is willing to sacrifice himself for that . he's a very conflicted person. personality wise, i do like to think of him as relatively serious and not someone who flys off the handle or gets angry easily. i think he definitely thinks with his head, not his heart.

if you do want to include another character, there's pylades, who is orestes' cousin (and also rumoured lover (as is ancient greece) they could be written just as cousins tho or as romantic lol up to u. i’m pretty sure there’s some myths where they’re romantic where they aren’t even cousins at all and they’re just friends so u can do whatever u want really). when orestes can't decide whether or not he should kill clytemnestra, it's pylades who convinces him to go through with his plan. i kinda view pylades as being the impulsive side of orestes. they play off each other and where orestes is careful and logical, pylades is the guy who goes "fuck it we ball". orestes and pylades can have such a fun friendship. their relationship is very pylades: i'm gonna cut the sleeves off all of my shirts iphigenia: why? pylades: orestes isn't here and he's like 95% of my impulse control

(also btw orestes and pylades is where the “i’ll take care of you” “it’s rotten work” “not to me. not if it’s you” quote comes from so yeah. homosexual)

NAUSICAA MY BELOVED <3 some myths have her marrying telemachus after the events of the odyssey. she's extremely kind and compassionate. i like to think of her as being very trusting and like, she would give her life for anyone. she's definitely fairly emotionally mature, but i really like to think of her as kinda a hopeless romantic. she loves romance novels and daydreaming. however, this is not to say that she's naive bc i think the odyssey portrays her as pretty much the opposite of that. she's very aware of societal expectations and such and she knows how to carry herself in a way that ensures people will think of her positively. she's socially aware and intelligent. despite her hopeless romanticism, i think she's also pretty good at reading people and i like her and telemachus having that in common. they're both very good at reading each other. i think nausicaa's compassion and kindness should be some of her main traits when writing her. she should always be thinking about helping others out of the genuine goodness of her heart. i actually think in a modern au i would love to write telemachus and nausicaa having embarrassing puppy love crushes on each other like theyre so cute

ELECTRA IS SO INTRIGUING i'm honestly very attached to the electra, orestes, iphigenia sibling trio theyre so cute and tragic to me. as an interlude, i recommend the book clytemnestra by costanza casati! its a retelling of clytemnestra's myths and though the book has its flaws, i really love the way casati writes the dynamics between clytemnestra and her children. def worth reading it's very very good.

anyway electra is so <3 to me. she's one of my fav mythology figures. i think that she, orestes, and iphigenia should all be very close as siblings. that's what makes their myths all the more tragic. like not a day goes by that i don't think of the orestes: how could you recognize me after all these years? electra: what a stupid question. i was born knowing you exchange like oh my god it makes me sick. i think electra should be very emotional and that should be a point of conflict between her and orestes. orestes thinks things through logically, but electra follows her heart for better or for worse. electra feels things very intensely. she wants vengeance. she gets consumed by her grief and rage. i think of her as someone who very badly wants to understand the world. she wants to know everything. she wants to understand why she feels things so deeply. i'm very influenced by the way casati writes electra in her novel, but i love seeing electra portrayed as someone who is a little unsettling. like you look at her and you cant really tell what's going on in her head. there's a quote from casati's clytemnestra that says "sometimes electra says things that make [clytemnestra] suffer, and she wonders if her daughter does it on purpose. it seems unlikely, but a thought creeps through her mind, making her restless: what if electra can be as unkind as her father? what if she is not quiet because she is shy but because she is crafty?" and later in the novel, electra tells clytemnestra "broken people fascinate me". i love electra being portrayed as someone who is a little shy and quiet, but it's because she is feeling all these emotions so vividly and passionately and she doesn't know what to do with them all. and she wants to understand the world because she thinks it will help her understand herself. she can be purposefully cruel if she thinks it will aid her

on the contrary, i like writing iphigenia as someone who is very bubbly and outspoken. i like her as being very optimistic and likeable. she's charming and you can't help but fawn over her when you meet her. she and electra act as foils in this way in my head bc iphigenia is someone that you can't help but love while electra is someone who is very difficult to love (i say this in very simple words). i think iphigenia is very compassionate and also feels emotions deeply, but in a different way than electra does. iphigenia, i think, is very empathetic and likes to help people. i think she is objectively, the kindest and most likeable of her siblings which is what makes her sacrifice even more tragic. but i really do like writing iphigenia and electra as the extrovert/introvert duo. i think the orestes/iphigenia/electra trio is so fun to write because they all have such complex issues and i have so many thoughts on them. in a modern au, iphigenia is probably the popular girl of the school, but the popular girl who is actually really nice and everyone loves her. like she's head cheerleader, but she's also saying hello to everyone in the hallways and all the teachers love her and it leaves electra in her shadow a little bit. ugh i could talk abt electra, orestes, & iphigenia for so long theyre so <3 to me

hermione! i think you have to give hermione mommy issues. it would be really fun to explore how hermione is affected by having the most beautiful woman in the world as her mom and how it felt to have her mom leave her (or kidnapped depending on interpretation) when she was just 9 or so. i really like to write hermione and orestes' relationship as one based on love. i think they really do love each other and it's why orestes fights neo for hermione. i think hermione can def be entitled and a lot of it stems from her parents (her mother is literally helen of sparta like cmon now i don't blame her). hermione can be jealous and i love to write that as coming from insecurity—hermione grew up with the most beautiful woman ever as her mom. her self-esteem has to be insane like no wonder she's jealous; she probably thinks she can never live up to her mother. i think hermione probably lashes out emotionally because of that jealousy. a lot of her characterization has to stem from her circumstances—she's used as a political pawn for most of her life and that def affects the way she views herself. she needs so much therapy. if anyone has seen saiki k, i actually think of teruhashi a little bit when i think of hermione. hermione is definitely her mother's daughter and i see has as very similar to helen. i think hermione is definitely someone who acts as if she is much more confident than she really is—it's kind of a mask. you guys know the song oh no! by marina? the line that says "cause i feel like i'm the worst so i always act like i'm the best" that's so hermione to me.

now, i won't lie to you, i don't know much about nicostratus. i don't think there's many famous myths on him at all iirc? or at least, i can't think of any off the top of my head. i think he's probably a character you can have fun with it and shape how you like. you can def give him the same kind of parental angst from helen and menelaus that hermione has and giving hermione a sibling dynamic is so funny. but yeah, i don't know much about him so i'm not going to just lie to you and make stuff up LMFAO

as for other characters, clytemnestra has a few other kids you could include though they're not as interesting as the main 3 to me. there's also pylades that i mentioned earlier. there's polyxena too! she might be a bit older as she's a daughter of priam, but she is the youngest one. off the top of my head, i think she's described as being 18 in the final year of the war? this would make her a couple years older than neo who is typically between the ages of 12-15 in the final year of the war. so she could be included albeit she is slightly older (she was promised to achilles tho so again, she might be too old for the story you want to write). on a similar vein, there's cassandra and helenus who are in a weird age range of likely being younger than the achilles generation, but quite a bit older than the neo/telemachus generation. i love cassandra sm tho (i named my dnd oc after her LMAO) she's one of my favs ever. those two could be included if you want, but are older than polyxena who is already older than neo so idk if that's too much of an age range for what you want.

okay so as for the gods, one thing i really like doing is that in modern aus where they go to school, i love writing the gods as their teachers LMFAO. idk if that's what you wanna do, but i think it's so funny. like can you imagine poseidon being your gym teacher. or athena teaching you math or something??? it's hilarious. so that is definitely an idea

ALSO LOVE THAT THIS WILL BE FLUFFY AND CHEESY too much angst in this fandom LMFAO (i say, as i write my mcd neomachus fic)

I HOPE THIS HELPS i think this answer might be even longer than the last ask you sent which is genuinely a feat. oh my god i fear i have mental problems. VERY EXCITED TO SEE WHATEVER YOU WRITE <3

[crowempress]

i was late to an exam i wrote a few weeks ago bc of issues with my alarm + transport and I got it back today and i got 92%. Despite having 25 minutes less to write it. I think I might be a little bit good at school

[website-com]

when thinking of the word ‘mothered’ the first synonyms to pop to mind include that of doting, fussing or crooning, but the term ‘fathered’ is often only a synonym for insemination

[iridescentis]

my english teacher telling his class of girls not to go on a tangent about lesbianism in our exams might be the highlight of my day so far

[jowasfounddead]

I saw a Grammarly ad today and got inspired lol

pov: one, two Grammarly is coming for you

You hear Grammarly in the distance, their long nails scraping across the walls of the hall. You're trying hard not to hyperventilate. Hand flies over your mouth in horror when your childhood lamp falls, then shatters. The lamp was made by your late-great grandmother in 1939. She was a film writer with a side hobby of making pottery. You look at the ceiling, Sorry, Grandma, you inwardly apologize to yourself, and everyone you've ever wronged too. This is what it feels like when your life flashes before your eyes. The scraping stops, you inhale sharply. This is it, this is how I die, is the only thing you find yourself thinking. A soft knock follows shortly after the scraping stops, You imagine their tall pale head snapping towards your door, fingers clawing at it. Surprisingly there is no clawing, just a gentle knock. You check to make sure the door is locked, firmly. You whip out your phone, then put it away again. No use in calling the police now, it's already over for you. You know your family is next. A soft hum can be heard from outside your bedroom, then a loud slam. You peer out from your hiding place. A long, white hand with lengthy nails has broken through your door. There is a hole in the door, right above the silver handle. You retract your body back immediately, but you know it's no use. They will get you eventually. You are eternally doomed. As you expected, they sniff you out. The last thing you see is that haunting pale hand. The last thing you smell is fear. The last thing you touch is the fine brown carpet of your childhood bedroom. The last thing you taste is your bloody lip, which you damaged earlier in the frantic escape. You will never escape again. The last thing you hear is this quiet, almost angelic serenade, "Writing isn't easy. That's why Grammarly can help. This sentence is grammatically correct, but it's wordy, and hard to read. It undermines the writer's message and the word choice is bland. Grammarly's cutting edge technology helps you craft compelling, understandable writing that makes an impact on your reader. Much better. Are you ready to give it a try...?"

[dalishthunder]

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[meowdei]

the psychology of men (a guide to understanding how they work) — ft. phainon

if nice guys didn’t always screw you over, you’d have an easier time trusting that phainon isn’t the good guy full of bullshit. but he’s still nice enough to patiently wait for you to give him one chance, though

word count. ❤︎ 10.3k words — in literally one day. ONE

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; college au ; reader has a shitty ex boyfriend and trust issues — she is not perfect but she is human. be nice to her ; strangers to friends with benefits to lovers ; reader has a crush on mydei at first LOL ; mentions of alcohol and drunk sex ; phainon is a YEARNER ; resolved angst, miscommunication, and arguments ; phainon is down bad and reader is simply in denial that she is too ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read

commentary. ❤︎ i didn’t care about this dude until today. he possessed me so hard i wrote 10k words in less than 24 hours. white hair and blue eyed freaks will do that to you

LESSON ONE: MEN ARE ALWAYS PLANNING SOMETHING. THE NICER THEY SEEM, THE MORE SINISTER THE SCHEME!

You meet Phainon for the first time while you’re freshly out of a relationship, nursing a broken heart. Your ex-boyfriend pursued you with that heartfelt, fairytale sort of devotion, and you thought you’d be telling people at your wedding one day that you knew he was “the one” early on in your relationship. 

And then he dumped you as quickly as he “fell in love” with you. It wouldn’t be right, he’d said, it just isn’t fair to keep you around when I don’t feel the way I used to. He leaves you with not so much as a tear of sorrow, and you’re left with the aftermath of a devastating heartbreak. 

Not the sad, lingering kind—this one is the sort of heartbreak that makes you hate all men. Especially the nice ones—the ones that manipulate you into thinking they’re the good guys who won’t turn on you, but they do. They always do. The nice guys are the ones with the most potential to turn out dangerous. They aren’t upfront about their assholery. That shitty ex of yours is a prime example, and you refuse to fall victim twice. 

Your first impression of Phainon happens in some boring college class you take just for the elective credit and an easy gpa boost. He’s the sort of guy your attention doesn’t instantly latch onto—he’s sweet, sure, and funny but a little too gentle to be real. Too good to be true. Too much of a green flag to be interesting. Exactly the kind of guy you’re avoiding—exactly the sort of person who can worm his way into your heart slowly and lethally and then bite. Hard. (That sort of mindset is too pessimistic to be any good, of course, but you’re only just barely in your twenties as you navigate your dramatic breakup, and your prefrontal cortex is still developing.)

You find his friend a little more intriguing for the longest time, if you’re honest. The brooding blonde next to him always made your eyes linger for a second too long. 

“Hey,” he whispers, poking your shoulder from behind. You turn, slightly irritated by the fact that some guy is interrupting your dissociation in the middle of class—doesn’t he know you have false scenarios to run through your mind while you pass the time? Professor Anaxagoras has a strict no-phones-in-sight policy if you want to keep your participation points up, so the only thing to entertain you is your own head. Sheepishly, as if sensing your irritation, he murmurs, “Sorry. Can I please use your laptop charger?”

“I’m using it,” you blink. 

“Yeah, but it’s almost fully charged,” he practically pleads. The puppy eyes on him are unreal—you feel almost compelled to cave just at the sight of them alone until you realize it’s your charger, and he’s bargaining with you about why you don’t need it. Absurd. “I can see the green battery sign.”

“Are you serious,” you stare at him blandly, “it’s barely twelve pm. Why is your laptop already dying anyway?”

“I charged it,” he pouts, “but she’s old and on her last legs. It doesn’t last if I take the charger out for too long—I forgot to bring it with me. Please. If it dies in the middle of this assignment, it’ll make me start over! It took me an hour to google all these answers.”

Well. He’s convincing in that pathetic sort of way. Just the perfect mix between nice and genuine but still a tad bit needy that just tickles your gut in the right place to loosen you up. Without a word, you unplug your charger with a roll of your eyes and hand it to him as he smiles gratefully. 

“You’re the best!”

“You’re pathetic,” his friend grunts to him from beside him.

“Don’t be rude, Mydei!” he whispers through a wounded voice. 

They continue to bicker back and forth, but you tune it out—there’s only one thought on your mind for the remainder of your time in that room. 

You spend the rest of class thinking about the deep sound of his friend’s voice to care about anything else. Fuck, you think—you’re almost debating that strict no more men rule you’d set for yourself after your break up, ready to throw it all away for the grumpy looking blonde with red tips behind you. He’s hot. And honestly, he seems a bit rude and crabby, so really, he can’t be that bad—and yeah, everyone would think he’s the red flag, but you know how men go. You’ve figured out their psychology. The ones who are prickly on the exterior are actually very soft inside, and they’re not half as bad as the soft, cuddly type of men who turn around and bite you as soon as you’re close enough. 

This guy could be different. He could be worked into devotion instead of smothering you with it early on, only to have ulterior motives and get bored. What was his name again? Mydei? Sounds decently moanable in bed, you reason. He certainly seems like a keeper. 

It’s not long before the lecture ends, and you walk off with all your thoughts consumed by the grumpy blonde guy who said maybe only three words that you properly heard before he possessed your mind like a fucking demon. So much so that you forget to ask for your charger back, and that clever asshole never gave it back on his own accord like a proper human being. 

So, the next time Phainon walks into class, you’re glaring at him right at the entrance of the room with an outstretched hand and an unimpressed curl of your lips. 

“My charger,” you say blandly, “you took off with it last class. I need it back.”

“Oh!” he flushes, quickly digging into his bag and pulling it out—at least he kept it in very good condition. Men are not to be trusted with things you need because they are irresponsible. Case example: not returning what they borrow. “Sorry,” he says earnestly, “I meant to return it, but I forgot. Which, I was thinking…maybe we should exchange numbers—you know…to contact outside of class if we ever need it.”

You blink, seeing right through him. Why else would you ever need it again? “You walked off with my charger just so you could use it as an opening to ask for my number?”

He flushes a deeper shade of red, creeping up to his ears and down his neck like he didn’t expect you to call him out on his so very blatant scheme. “W-well…did it work?”

You contemplate for a moment before you respond, “No.”

“How about if I throw in some assignment answers?”

“…Okay, fine.” You never pay attention in this class—the tests are open notes, and the weekly assignments are easy enough when you have the internet at your disposal. But still, having someone present the answers to you is a much faster route, and you have other non-elective classes to worry about, so all in all, if a semi-annoying guy messages you here and there, it’s not so bad.

And the better part is that his friend is hot, so you can snag the details on him, too. Men don’t really worry about the concept of loyalty—they don’t stay far away from the people their friends show an interest in for something like friendship. You know how they work. Phainon’s number can lead you to Mydei’s, and Mydei can break you free from your awful, terrible descent to madness from heartbreak, and when you inevitably have a happy, healthy, and loving relationship that lasts, you’ll never think about your bastard ex again.

Foolproof.

“Great!” Phainon beams. He hands you his phone, and you type your number in.

And that starts it all. 

────────────────────────

LESSON TWO: SEX DOES NOT EQUAL INTIMACY. WHEN THEY SAY IT’S JUST PHYSICAL, THAT’S TOTALLY FINE. BUT IF YOU SAY IT, YOU’RE OUT OF LINE!

Exchanging phone numbers with Phainon was supposed to be a simple way to have at least one contact for a class—a very important measure you should take for every class you’re in—and perhaps, if you’re lucky, you could also somehow get closer to that hot blonde friend he has named Mydei. 

It was never supposed to become a real friendship.

But, well…shit happens, and things don’t go according to plan. It also doesn’t help that Phainon is a consistent texter—almost to a fault. What sort of man doesn’t text sporadically and with a tone as dry as concrete? Phainon, apparently—which is not like any sort of man you’ve ever known. 

You even start sitting with him in class instead of in front of him—that’s a terribly unplanned development. The bright side of it, however, is that you quickly get over his friend. Mydei is nice, but he’s a little too bored. Or maybe he just isn’t interested in you; you’re not so sure. No amount of flirty comments gets a flush out of him, not a smirk, not even a smart retort back. He is just…bored. (Or maybe he’s secretly just one of those good friends who doesn’t flirt with the girl that his friend is actively trying to pursue, but that option does not align with your very complex understanding of men, so you shove it aside. He’s probably just bored, and that’s just truly unfortunate. He was hot.)

But you grow fond of Phainon. As a friend. Sure, he’s clearly been interested in you since day one, but he’s not pushy, and a hint here and there that you’re still bitter about your previous relationship makes him keep a respectful distance. But he’s definitely smitten—and you? Well, you’re lonely. And he’s a good guy. A good guy who keeps you good company as a good friend and nothing more. He knows that, and you don’t think you’re stringing him along if he’s aware that you’re nothing more than friendly. 

And sometimes, friends go to parties together. And sometimes, they also drink together. And sometimes, they also end up staying at the other’s apartment afterward because it’s closer and safer than trying to get back home alone. And…sometimes, although not a lot of times—but sometimes, they wake up in bed together, nude with no recollection of the previous night and love bites scattered on their necks as proof that something very, very physical happened between them.

It’s not always a common occurrence, but it’s certainly not a rare one. Does it complicate things? For certain—but you think that you and Phainon are good enough friends and mature enough people to know that sex does not equate to intimacy. Most men are super clear about that, anyway—it’s almost ingrained in their nature to say “no strings attached” before they fuck your brains out in every position they can think to try. This should not be a foreign concept to him. 

But it doesn’t make the morning any less awkward. 

“Oh my god,” you say in disbelief, pulling the sheets over your bare chest as you stare at Phainon like he’s grown two heads. He stares back at you like you’re some figment of his imagination—unsure if you’re real but painfully hopeful that you are. And then you take a quick glimpse around his room and realize he’s a space nerd—there’s a poster about Saturn on his wall. “I didn’t think you were into space. You seem a little too air-headed for that.”

“Hey!” he pouts, “you don’t know me! I can be very smart!”

You snort, eyeing him in amusement. Except staring at him for too long means that you are forced to look at the hickey you left on his neck, almost like you were a raging, horny teenager last night and not an adult. You would be more embarrassed if one glimpse down at your chest didn’t tell you that he was even worse. 

“So…” you start awkwardly. 

“So…” he echoes. 

You don’t know where to take it from there. There’s a beat of silence before you say, “We’re good, right Phai?”

He softens, looking at you with those large, round eyes that house every shade of the sky and her beauty before he nods and murmurs, “Yeah. We’re always good.”

“Good,” you breathe, “I’m glad. I want us to be good.”

“Well,” he rubs his neck, “we are, in fact, good. So…yeah.”

In the end, you sheepishly turn around so he can get out of bed, find his scattered clothes and put them on, and leave, and you—once you’re certain he’s far enough in the kitchen and the faucet is running—scream into his pillow before slipping out of bed and putting on your own. You’re pleasantly surprised he doesn’t have only one pillow. But his sheets are navy blue, so you dock a few points for that. Not a good look.

He makes you breakfast before you leave. Something about sitting and sharing pancakes while he has tousled hair feels so natural you almost feel sick at the thought of leaving. But you tell yourself that he’s an easy friend to have and feel comfortable with, and force yourself up and to the door when the time inevitably comes. 

He sees you out with a soft, “See you later?”

“Yeah,” you hum, “later. Bye.”

“Bye.”

—————

You wish so badly that you could be an ideal individual, but you are as flawed as the rest of the humans you share planet Earth with.

You and Phainon fuck again. Sober, this time. Still as friends. Not by accident, or through the influence of alcohol, or by forced proximity, or by anything that you can use to excuse it. You can’t excuse it. It’s entirely an act of free will that you consented to—because he does take consent very seriously, you learn—and it starts to become abundantly clear that sex is beginning to get a little too frequent in your time together.

The first time it happened after the initial accidental night, he was over at your apartment helping you build your new desk. The old one was too small, and you needed an upgraded space badly. He spends the evening hammering and drilling pieces away and fitting them together, and like some cliche joke from the universe, when you slip on the instruction manual on the floor, he catches you as your face hovers dangerously close to his. A kiss later, and suddenly he’s fitting into you and drilling you instead of the wood. 

And then it starts to happen everywhere. 

Sometimes in the back of his car before he drops you off at home after class. Sometimes on your kitchen counter when you’re supposed to be washing dishes after he’s over for dinner to study. Sometimes after he’s got a bad exam grade to blow off some steam. Sometimes when you’re particularly stressed over a busy week with too many assignments due on the same day and too many hours of your part-time job to work. 

Every time it happens, you go back to acting like you always do afterward. Like it never even happened. Never mentioned, or questioned, or brought up. He never questions if something is shifting in your relationship, and you never bring it up. Sometimes, two people can have a physical relationship and still be friends and nothing more. It’s not impossible, and it’s not bad.

If anything, it makes you closer friends. You start to understand each other better. You talk more—really talk. No silly banter, or heated debate, or stressed-out vents. Just you, Phainon, the sheets that cover your bodies and a quiet room that lingers with the scent of sex.

He tells you about how much he misses his hometown. How small it is, and how everyone knows everyone. How leaving home and his young triplet sisters was the hardest thing he did, but a good degree and stable job is even harder to come by where he’s from. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity. 

And you tell him about your ex. About how sweet and nice he was. How badly he wanted you. How good he was at doing things right and reading you for what you craved. How to love you like you always wished. How to spend time with you without burning you out and depleting your social battery. How to know your ticks and know when he’s pushing your buttons too far and when a joke doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. How to make you feel seen. 

No man has ever loved you like that. None have cared to, either. Learning you is a lot of work—you have years and years of life and stories and feelings and fears and everything’s to share. Teaching them is a lot. Learning them is even more. 

You liked to think that boy from your past was a ticket to something good. Some better life for yourself where it’s not just you and yourself, and that’s it—a life where you were you and someone else cared to see it. Have it. Cherish it. Keep it. 

You don’t know how someone could pour in so much time, do everything first, want things all on their own, and still walk away and tell you that they just don’t feel the same anymore.

You think it’s just a man thing. Men bore easily. 

Phainon snorts at that. 

“They do have short attention spans,” he tells you. 

You smile tightly, humming as you blink back tears. “Or maybe I’m just boring.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he gasps dramatically, reaching over to swipe the tears like it’s always been his job to—it feels so natural when he does it. “You’re not boring! You’re at least a step up from boring because boring is Professor Anaxa, and god knows what he drones on about.” 

“Gee,” you huff, but the tears are easier to subside when it’s him. They’re gone quickly like a fleeting reminder that sorrow exists but shooed away like they’re unwelcome when he’s around. He’s around more and more these days. “Thanks. I’m glad to be just a step up from boring. Maybe in a year or so, I’ll be two steps up from boring.”

“Nothing is ever impossible,” he winks. “Some day, with enough hard work and determination, you might even be three steps up.”

“You suck,” you giggle. 

He laughs, and the sound of his voice is enough to lull you to sleep. You sleep good next to him—always do.

—————

One thing you count on is that it’s always easy when it’s you and Phainon. Phainon and you. 

Just two people who exist with each other, and nothing else really needs to be thought out. You don’t worry about what you wear around him or how you look. He doesn’t care too much about what you’re doing or where you’re going. As long as it’s you and him, him and you, and nothing else—it’s okay. He’s good. He treats you good and makes you feel good, too. Inside and out. Physically and mentally. 

He might even be your best friend. You don’t know if you should tell him that—men get weird about definite titles like that. But then again, maybe not Phainon. He’s like an anomaly of sorts, sometimes. 

But you forget sometimes that Phainon was never hoping to just be friends. And you suppose letting him feel you come undone for him more than once is like dangling his desires right in front of his face because it all blows up on you very fast. 

Perfect one second, like the calm before the storm, and a disaster zone the next, leaving you no time to evacuate before the tornado has hit and done its damage. 

“Mydei wants to come with us to try that new cafe you mentioned,” Phainon hums, watching in sheepish amusement as you sigh and mutter under your breath while picking up his dirty socks from the couch and tossing them across the room. (Men are all the same, aren’t they?) “He said something about there being a pomegranate beverage he wants to try.”

“Fine by me,” you shrug, slumping onto his couch, “if he doesn’t find it awkward, then I don’t either.”

“Why would he find it awkward?” he looks at you in bewilderment.

“I think he’d have to be oblivious to miss the way I was flirting with him,” you huff out a snort, “I don’t think most men jump at the opportunity to hang out with a girl they ignored advances of, but maybe he’s just too passionate about pomegranate to care.”

Everything feels like it pauses as soon as the words come out. You thought he’d known this whole time—you could have sworn he’d known. How would Mydei have never mentioned it to him? Aren’t they best friends? Don���t men at least tell their friends when a girl is hitting on them regularly in passing? Is Mydei really that bad at giving life updates, or is he more clueless than you gave him credit for when it comes to romantic interaction? 

Nothing makes sense, and you’re not entirely sure about anything. The only thing you are sure about is that Phainon is staring at you like you’ve been disloyal to the worst degree. 

“You liked Mydei?” he asks in hurt, staring at you with those god-awful puppy eyes. You feel like you kicked one, too, with the way he stares at you. 

“W-well, no,” you stutter, “I mean, yes—but like…not really, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “you’re not making any sense.”

“I liked him for a very short time,” you say quickly, “like…like a small crush, you know? He was attractive, and I am not immune to an attractive man, so it just…b-but it never lasted for long!”

“Did you still like him when we got together?” he asks quietly. Got together—you physically have to stop yourself from flinching at those words. Some part of you feels a little bit bad that he sounds so wounded, but the other part of you feels like this is all so absurd. That he’s starting to get worked up over nothing. He has to know you were never together—you never did anything that implies two people that are…together. It’s always been a good fuck here and there, and that’s what you kept it as strictly. 

(Distantly, your mind gnaws at you and screams that two people who just fuck and nothing else do not do the things that you and Phainon do. Sure, you were friends first, but two people who draw the line at sex don’t seek each other to FaceTime until three am, and they don’t bring each other soup when they’re sick, and they don’t hold each other when they cry, and they don’t, under any circumstances, tell each other about their deepest insecurities that they’ve never voiced before about shoddy exes who ruined their ability to trust and feel loved. You can’t be the closest people in your lives and just have sex—but your mind has never been your number one supporter, so you shove the voice down.)

“No,” you admit, and for a second, his shoulders sag in relief. Like he doesn’t care or feel threatened that you liked his friend as long as it didn’t bleed into your time together—and that’s when you start to wonder if Phainon is too good for you. Too kind and genuine in a way that is not dangerous. Too sweet in a way that doesn’t slowly kill you like poison but just gives you something to look forward to. Maybe he’s a good one—a good guy who is just good and nothing else. Still, you kill his heart anyway with a harsh blow to his chest as you add, “I didn’t like anyone when we started getting physical. And I still don’t, Phainon.”

Getting physical. Whatever that means. You say it like it puts some distance between the sex you have and intimacy. You say it like it rationalizes everything you do with him—you get physical, which is only human nature, and in the mix, if you develop a good, long-standing friendship, then there is nothing wrong with that. 

But are you really okay with just friends? Yes. You are. Are you sure about that? Absolutely. You don’t seem so convinced. This is a positive, for sure, one hundred percent true reality. Phainon is just a friend. You’re shooting yourself in the foot. 

You force yourself to stop arguing with yourself when you notice the way his eyes flash at the words: still don’t. He processes the words that you still don’t like anyone, and the look in his eyes is devastating. Betrayal. Confusion. Hurt. Anger. Something else that you don’t quite understand, but it makes you filled dreadfully to the brim with unease. 

“Every time we’ve been together has just been physical to you?” he asks quietly, croaking out the words as if they’re acrid on his tongue and taste awful. “You’re lying.”

“I thought I made it very clear we were just friends, and I wasn’t looking for a relationship,” you furrow your brows, “you can’t act like I’ve been stringing you along—”

“Before we started, fucking, sure! But I thought it was pretty mutually clear we were slowly turning romantic when you willingly took my dick down your throat every now and then.”

“We’ve never had a ‘hey, what are we?’ discussion,” you cry exasperatedly, throwing your hands up as though this is all…so, so, so absurd—and for a second, you feel like it is. You made it clear that you weren’t trying to date. Not him, not anybody. Sure, that silly blonde friend of his clouded your judgment for a bit, but that was never more than a phase. “Don’t you think it was a red flag to never discuss what we are or what we’re doing if we were getting romantic?”

He falters. Something in his face makes him look so unrecognizable. So fragile and knocked down a peg that you’ve never seen from him. And something about the way he looks at you makes you almost feel like he doesn't recognize you. 

“I thought you were avoiding the conversation on purpose,” he whispers, voice cracking just as he says: you. “I thought…I thought you were just nervous about labels after everything from your last…” he clears his throat, like even mentioning the word relationship kills him, “and…and that I was just waiting for you to be more comfortable…”

You don’t know what to say. And frankly, nothing seems like it’ll make him feel better. He’s fighting the trembling of his lips and blinking back the moisture in his eyes like all he has left in his control is to not shed tears in front of you. 

You extend him that much grace. (Men don’t like being vulnerable, you reason. They hate showing emotions.)

“Phainon, I think I should go,” you murmur softly.

“You want to leave?” he asks, gutted. It’s got two meanings—you know that. You know exactly what he’s asking.

Everything feels wrong when you say, “Yes,” through a soft whisper, “I do.” But you still don’t take it back.

And nothing feels right when he lets out a watery chuckle and lets the first few tears slip. “Well, you know where the door is,” he spits.

He doesn’t walk you out. You’re not sure why that feels so heavy—it’s not because you’re guilty. You know that. It’s something else, and you can’t quite understand it. 

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LESSON THREE: NOT ALL MEN. SURE, MOST HAVE A VERY BAD STREAK, BUT NEVER THE WHITE-HAIRED AND BLUE-EYED FREAK!

You barely last two weeks before you call Phainon. 

At first, you thought being without who is maybe your closest friend at the moment was just eating away at you, and that’s why you missed him. You threw yourself into your social circles, making plans left and right to fill that gaping hole of his presence. It didn’t work. 

And then it slowly starts to click in place. 

Your friends send you a picture of your ex’s new fling, calling him an asshole and how she’s too pretty to be his next victim. You don’t feel even the slightest bit jealous or hollow. In fact, you’re bored by the news—you have more pressing matters. 

Then, you start to see what feels like fucking propaganda for romance everywhere. Every social media timeline is filled with some stupid, cheesy, cringe trend that rubs in your face how painfully in love two people are. You get ads for fucking wedding rings. Your friends are all magically starting to get out of the talking phases and actually have something exclusive and official. Your old high school friends are getting engaged, and invitations are coming in. You’ve RSVP’d one in spring and two in fall already. 

Everywhere you look, it’s something that feels like the universe is promoting a relationship in your face as if it’s a poorly disguised paid sponsorship by some celebrity online, and all you want to do is throw a rock at the sky and hope it lands on whatever divine being is playing tricks on you straight in the face. 

But it slowly becomes clearer and clearer why it unsettles you so much. Why it all makes you bitter and annoyed and tired and…and sad. You’re sad. And it’s because you miss Phainon, and every couple reminds you of the hurt you caused him and why it’s your fault he’s still not in your life. Because you wanted your cake and to eat it, too. Even if it meant taking advantage of his feelings and the heart he didn’t even bother wearing on his sleeve. He just pinned it to yours and let you wear it. 

So you call him. When that doesn’t work, and you get sent to voicemail, you go straight to his apartment. You knock on his door incessantly for two minutes straight (you know he’s home—his car is there) before he opens the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes despite it being three in the afternoon. 

“Mydei, can you at least come bother me to eat a little later in the da—oh.”

He notices you and quickly straightens up, smoothing out his wrinkled t-shirt as best as he can and fixing his ruffled hair (that doesn’t do much but ruffle more) as he looks at you with what is his best attempt at a nonchalant look and clears his throat. “Yes?”

“Hi,” you say nervously, “how are you?” (What else do you say? You’re at a loss.)

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs casually, “nursing a broken heart and trying to integrate back into society as a functioning member. The usual. How about you?”

You flinch at his tone, at the way it’s so clipped yet so emotional at the same time. 

“I called earlier—”

“I know. I ignored that, by the way, if that wasn’t clear,” he says as if being petty and angry is the only thing he has left. (It might just be, and you certainly won’t blame him for it.)

“I know,” you whisper, “but I still wanted to talk. And see you. Which I know I don’t deserve, but I guess I’m clearly not perfect, huh?” you shrug softly, giving him a sad smile. 

“Well,” he says flatly, “you came all this way, and I’ve already opened the door. Might as well say the groundbreaking thing you came to say.”

When Phainon is hurt is the only time he does not know how to be kind. He spends so much time not hurting others, not letting them feel the pain of their feelings being overlooked, that he doesn’t quite know how to handle it. How to stomach that, yes, there are hurt people in this world, and, yes, they do the hurting, too. And he might fall victim to it. And he might even be the cause of someone else’s hurt, too, intentional or not. 

He’s not good at processing pain. He’s too good of a guy to ever have to dwell on how badly his actions have impacted someone. Not because he’s perfect but because he’s gentle enough by nature to avoid the necessity of it while he can. 

“I’m sorry,” you say earnestly. Because you are. You are. “I knew you were interested early on, and having sex as often as we did was leading you on whether I meant to or not, and you got hurt because of it, so I’m sor—”

“Unbelievable,” he scoffs, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. 

You blanch. “What?” you ask, mildly frustrated. He doesn’t have to forgive you, but it’s certainly an honest apology. “You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to. But I just felt it was right to tell you that I—”

“I’m not upset because you don’t like me or you that led me on,” he interrupts, making you blink in confusion. He looks at you for a moment—really looks at you, and before you can say anything, he lets out another disbelieving chuckle. “You still don’t get it, do you? Do you even understand it yourself—why you’re even here?”

“To apologize, of course—”

“No.” 

He says it so seriously. 

Phainon is hardly ever so serious. It’s what you always liked about him, even if you hated to admit it. He’s good at taking serious matters and making them feel like they’re not so serious. Not in a bad way—he’s just good at making them feel less soul-crushing with that carefree smile and those light-hearted words. He comforts you without ever letting you feel the shame of needing comfort. It’s nice.

You forget that even he is capable of being solemn. 

“No one apologizes for breaking someone’s heart unless it breaks theirs too—do you see that? Do you see that you care? I’m not upset that you don’t care about me or that you don’t feel the same. That would be easy to move on from. It kills me because you do—you care, and you feel exactly the way I do, and you just won’t admit it—do you know how much that sucks?”

You swallow thickly. It’s getting to that dangerous territory. That fragile, vulnerable place in your mind that you don’t like because then you have to admit that, yes, maybe you fucking fell hard and crashed onto the ground for Phainon. Asphalt and rocks still digging into your arms with raw and bleeding skin. Yes, maybe he’s that nice, kind, genuine guy who you fell for and who has no other motives than to spend his time being nice and genuine to you. And maybe, if you’d met him sooner and not later, you could have loved him and not some other asshole in disguise, pretending to parade around like a good man, like some wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

Maybe that would have saved you the constant fear of it inevitably going all wrong—of giving and giving and giving, and one day, even that’s not enough, and someone doesn’t even want to take from you anymore. That one day, someone doesn’t even find you worth taking advantage of. 

That stings.

It’s this twisted sort of rejection you can’t handle. This sickening sort of feeling makes you think it’s better to be needed for selfish reasons than to be discarded like a useless, meaningless waste of time. And Phainon wouldn’t take advantage of you, right? He’s too nice of a guy—he’d reel you in, make you think he wants you so, so badly, and then when he doesn’t, he’ll play that nice guy trick again and make you think he’s doing you a favor by letting you go. Letting you go so you’re not being used by making it known you’re unwanted and not enough. 

As if he didn’t spend so much time making you want him. Condition you into thinking being loved by him was such a treasure. Convince you into needing the devotion he hands so easily for free. 

But you’re wrong, aren’t you? Maybe he’s not like that at all—maybe he’s just a nice guy because he really is good. Maybe he’s not nice because he needs to be to get what he wants. Maybe he’s nice because he wants to be, and it earns him what he wants the honorable way. Maybe you’ve fallen for Phainon, and maybe you were wrong about that being a bad thing. And maybe you just really fucking hate to admit when you’re wrong. (Your prefrontal cortex is still developing, after all. The men of your past are not very helpful to that slow development.)

“I don’t know how I feel anymore,” you whisper, tears littering your eyes. And god, you feel like a witch—using those sad, doe eyes with the wet, teary gaze that you know will soften him up like butter. Because he does. Even if you don’t do it on purpose, it makes sure he softens right up in front of your face because he hates the sight of your sadness being so tangible that he can feel it on the pad of his thumb in the form of a wet, warm rivulet. 

Like clockwork, he wipes the tears and sighs, and you let out a shaky breath. 

“I don’t know how I feel about anything because every time I think my feelings are right, they’re fucking wrong,” you sob, “I am always wrong, and I don’t know how to stop being wrong.”

His arms wrap around you and pull you close, pressing your body flush against that sturdy chest that feels like a brick wall—strong enough to keep you away from all the harm and cruelty of the world around you as long as he stands in front of you. Sometimes, you think that’s all it takes. Just Phainon standing there, and that’s it. That’s it to be okay. 

“You can only stop being wrong once you’re right,” he hums, giving you a sad, innocent little smile, “isn’t that the whole point of it all? To find the person who’s right? There’s gotta be a few wrong answers here and there, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want to keep crying over the wrong answers,” you sniffle, “it’s dehydrating me.”

He laughs. It sounds good. It feels good, too, with the way his chest rumbles against you. He always does. Everything about him is just good. The way he smells, and feels, and sounds, and just is. Phainon is just good. You like just good—no catches, no curveballs, no fine print. Just good. 

“Hey,” he tilts your face up and presses his forehead to yours, wiping your tears valiantly still, even as they keep coming. And he’s hurt. You did that—you hurt him. But he seems more focused on the fact that your heart is crumbling than his own. “I can’t promise you won’t ever cry because of me—I’m not always the brightest, okay? But I can promise that I’m going to stay and wipe every last tear if I mess up. And then I’m going to keep staying. I will always stay so I can wipe the next round of tears and hydrate you again for your troubles. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”

“You don’t want it to be?” you snivel, “you seem like the type to hopelessly daydream about perfect romances with not much luck.”

“I’m going to let that dig slide because you are emotional right now, and we all say things we don’t mean when we’re emotional,” he rubs your back, rocking you slowly from side to side. 

And…well, you think you’re wrong. About him. About Phainon and now he’s nice in a way that’s too nice and too good to be true. You’re wrong because he’s just nice, and it’s just nice enough that it’s good, not devious—and for once, just this once, you don’t mind being wrong.

Not if it’s for him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “for being confused and scared and unable to realize I care about you. I will get some help or something to be a functioning member of society.”

“Well, when you find help, hook me up,” he snorts, “because I need it, too. You’ve done a number on me.”

You’re both laughing. And then, at some point, you’re both kissing. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and it’s just a mix of each other that feels less like it’s right and more like nothing about it was ever wrong in the first place. Sometimes, it doesn’t have to be right as long as it’s just not wrong. Sometimes, that’s enough to keep things going. Sometimes, they become right along the way, all on their own. 

You cup his cheeks, making him pause his assault on your lips against his will as he lets out a soft noise of protest deep in his throat. You’ll fall hopelessly harder for him because of that later—first, you have more pressing matters. 

“I’m serious,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I do care about you—so much that it scares me. I care about you and I promise this time I’m going to stay and keep caring. So be ready.”

“I’m ready,” he smiles, all wobbly lips and a shaky voice and trembling fingertips. They dig into your hips as his head buries into your neck, and you hold him—latch onto him and clutch his shirt because feeling him is all that ever felt good, and you don’t think you can stomach letting it go a second time. “I am so ready to be the only thing you care about.”

“Maybe not the only thing—”

“Did you hear that? That weird crack sound? That’s the sound of my heart breaking a second time. Any more, and I’ll be collecting shards off the floor.”

“C’mere loser,” you laugh, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a hard, deliberate kiss that knocks the wind out of both of you. It makes your stomach twist and form knots and there’s this weird tickle in your chest that feels like you’re about to implode. Phainon is so good at that—at making you feel so, so unwell but well at the same time. You’re sick and nauseous from how badly you want him, but nothing else feels right until you have him. 

So you wrap your arms around him, pressing nearer, closer, harder up against him and kissing him until both of you are gasping for breath in between every press of your mouths together. Your hands find his hair, carding through it wildly and pulling on the strands when he nips at your lips, and when he groans into your mouth at a particularly harsh tug, you know it’s starting to become a scene that should not be happening at his front door where anyone can pass by.  

“Inside?” he pants, pulling away for just long enough to say the word.

You kiss him hard once more, making him groan again before you decide that, yes, it probably needs to move indoors. “Inside,” you breathe, labored and unsteady, “now—now, please.”

“Whatever you want,” he chuckles, “you don’t have to beg. You always get what you want—don’t I always give it to you?”

“Then quit talking and give it to me.”

That shuts him up really fast. With a dark glint in his eyes, he pulls you in, closing the door swiftly and pressing you against it. You’re caged—nothing but him, you, and the throbbing ache between your legs that seems to be a common denominator between the two of you. 

“I want you so bad,” he groans, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent along your sweet, delicate skin, “want you so bad I never want you gone. Don’t ever leave.”

“I won’t,” you gasp as he bites—and it’s a little hard. A little mean almost, but he kisses it better with a soft peck afterward that you forgive him on the spot and melt. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he hums, nose trailing along the column of your neck before he drags it along your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth before he murmurs, “but I’ll make it hard to walk away this time just for safe measures.”

It feels like a literal and metaphorical promise. Before you can even respond to his cheekiness, he has your mouth hostage again—kissing and groaning into it enough that you have no choice but to soften and become pliant under him. You swallow up his sounds as the bulge in his pants presses against your own heat, the slow, desperate pressure of him grinding against you, making you shiver against the door. 

Good—he always feels so good. Everything about Phainon is always so damn good. 

“Feel that?” he croons, gasping as you roll your hips in tandem with his own movements, “feel how hard I am for you? You’re telling me anyone else will want you this bad? No one. I’m it for you. I’m not giving you up. Ever.”

His voice is a low, almost dangerous promise—and if you weren’t dripping at your core from the sound of him alone, you’d be less than inclined to admit that you like the sound of that. But you do, don’t you? You want him to want you so badly, so desperately, that the thought of letting you go makes him his own worst enemy. And he does, doesn’t he? He wants you so badly that you’re almost scared. 

But you like it. Love it, even. You fucking love that he needs you, and you want him to need you so badly he might just die without you. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to his shoulders. He lets go just long enough to pull his arms up and let you take it off of him, tossing it to the ground before your fingers run your nails along the hard plane of his abs. He shivers, letting out a soft, barely-there sound at the feeling. “Don’t let me go. Ever.”

“Whatever you want, princess,” he grins. Phainon leans in again, kissing you impatiently like being away from you for that short period of time was enough to have him on edge. Maybe it does because he only melts and relaxes when his lips are against yours again. His fingers trail to the edge of your pants, toying with the waistband as you quiver at the feeling of his rough fingertips rubbing against the skin of your belly. 

“Need you,” you whine.

“You got me,” he reassures, “just wanna take my time, yeah? You can handle that, can’t you? Let me have a little fun with you so I cheer up before I fuck you right against this door?”

You whimper. He’s mean sometimes, too. He’s so, so nice, but sometimes, it’s like a switch flips, and he’s mean. Not cruel—just teasingly mean to keep you on your toes and have you falling apart for him. It’s so mean, but it’s so careful and thoughtful and meant just for you—like he thinks only about you. 

“Just hold onto me, okay, baby?” he asks gently, pecking your lips, “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

Before you can even ask what that means, he drops down to his knees, spreading yours and pulling your pants and underwear down in one go, helping them off your legs as they get thrown somewhere in the back along with his shirt. You realize exactly why you need to hold on as soon as a finger prods your entrance, splitting your folds open as he peers into them and hums at the way you’re wet and slick. You gasp, grabbing onto the nearest thing—which happens to be his hair as he chuckles. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, “I hardly did anything yet. But don’t worry, you can pull if you need—I don’t mind.”

Just like that, his mouth is between the apex of your thighs, tongue tracing your sweet, precious little clit before he licks a stripe along your folds, humming against your cunt and sending vibrations as you mewl at the feeling. 

“Ph-Painon…fuck—”

He hooks a leg over his shoulder, letting you half sit on him as he props you up and devours you. Devours you like you were the only thing on his mind. Like he was starved and dying in this apartment, and the only thing to sustain him is you. His tongue dips past your folds and fucks into you before pulling away just as quickly and flicking over your clit. Two fingers gently prod at your entrance this time—only they don’t tease you. No, instead, they fill you up and slip into you as far as they go, curling into a sweet, sweet spot in your walls that has your knees wobbling. 

You think you will fall for a moment. You think holding onto his hair and tugging him so harshly is not going to keep you steady, and the weight he takes as he props you up on a shoulder, is not going to hold you.

But he makes good on his promise. He doesn’t let you fall or slip for even a fraction, even as your legs get weaker and your orgasm draws nearer. 

“‘M close, Phai—s-so close,” you whimper. 

He pulls away. With a smug, stupid little grin, he looks up at you as you stare down in disbelief. “Say you care about me.”

“What is wrong with you—”

“Ah ah, that’s not what the magic words are!”

“Phainon—”

“That’s not a bad guess, but still not the right answer!”

“Fucking hell,” you hiss, “I care about you, asshole.”

“A little more aggressive than necessary, but I will accept it,” he hums, rewarding you with a soft kiss to your clit. “Now tell me you know I care about you. That I want you, and I want to stay.” 

“Phainon,” you plead, “please, can’t we do this later?”

“No,” he says firmly, “because then it’s just getting physical, and I am not getting physical. I am getting intimate. Tell me what I want to hear so there’s no mistaking things.”

He’s throwing your words right back at your face. And the only way you’re going to get what you want is if you own up to them, even if it’s against your will. So you do. With an exasperated sigh, you tell him what he wants to hear.

“I know you care about me,” you say impatiently, “I know you care, and you want me, and you want to stay, and god knows you’re not good at leaving me alone, so I guess I will just have to get used to you.”

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, giving your clit one more kiss before he’s back to lapping at your cunt like he’s parched. Your slick coats his chin and makes his skin glisten as he traces your clit with his tongue, curling his fingers just right into your heat. They brush against that spot again—he has it perfectly memorized, and just like that, you fall apart, gushing around his fingers and coating his lips with even more of your essence. 

“Fuck,” you sob, grinding against his face as you ride out the shockwaves of pleasure, feeling him groan against you right where you need him. 

He lets you stay like that for just a moment, resting half your weight on his shoulder and half your weight on one leg before he abruptly stands and grabs your waist, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around his hips. You’ve done this before—at that point, you’d considered it just any other step to getting physical with someone. 

Now, you realize you were beyond oblivious to how much you needed it to only be him you were doing all these motions with. It almost feels silly. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” he grins.

“What?”

“I don’t want you against the door anymore. I want you on the bed—my bed. And you’re staying there, and you’re going to like it.”

You laugh, breaking into a fit of giggles as he jogs over to his room with you in his arms. And when he drops you unceremoniously only to the bed, flopping on top of you and attacking your neck with kisses, you can’t help but break into another fit of giggles, feeling his playful nibbles and licks against your skin. It feels so easy. So natural. Only with Phainon, you realize. Only ever with Phainon. 

“Hi,” you breathe when his forehead presses to yours. 

He gives you a bright, toothy grin, murmuring, “Hi, yourself, pretty.”

And then he's kissing you again. His lips are soft and slow this time around. Pressing against your mouth, slotting into the space like it’s his to fit into—and it is. It’s always been his, whether you were willing to admit it or not. His tongue glides against yours languidly, no rush or impatience or desperation like usual. This time, he kisses you like you’re his and always have been—like he knows what you taste and feel like, and he knows it’s always been his and always will be. He kisses you like he’s reminding you of it, one painstakingly slow second at a time. 

“You broke my fucking heart,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice raw and vulnerable but never not soft, “you know that? You broke my fucking heart.”

Your hand presses against his chest, feeling the erratic beating of it under your palm as you whisper, “Seems like it’s working perfectly well to me.”

He chuckles at that. Lets out another toothy grin before he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s cute and precious and so fucking sweet—he sounds just like what he is. Tooth rotting sweet.

“You’re always so smart with your words,” he drawls, pressing wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

One hand slowly pulls your shirt up, inch by inch, before you slowly help him take it off of you. The bra comes off next, and you’re bare—under him as nothing else but his. Nothing else that covers or keeps what’s his away from him. 

And when you eye his pants with a petulant, pouty look, he chuckles before throwing you an amused look as he takes them off slowly, not taking his eyes off of you.

You and Phainon have fucked. But you’ve never been intimate—not by the real standards, at least. The proper kind where you take the time to really take in each other’s bodies, commit each dip and curve to memory, know it inside out and like the back of your hand. Where that scar starts and ends from his childhood shenanigans, where your little moles scatter along your body in hidden crevices. And when he slowly frees his cock, and you can really stare without having to tell yourself you shouldn't, you take a good look. 

You take a good look at the flush of his pretty cock—pretty, just like the rest of him. A nice, soft, muted pink at the tip that oozes with the beginnings of pre cum, and it’s sensitive as it twitches under your delicate thumb when you smear the dribbling essence along the head of his cock. 

“Mmh,” he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, fluttering his eyes closed and panting as you touch him. Feel him. Want him. 

You finally want him, and it’s almost enough to make him spill into your hand alone. But he forces himself to composure, grabbing your hand and pinning it over your head—and then goes the other. He holds them in place with one large hand, watching as you squirm under him impatiently. 

“No touching,” he whispers, “first, I’m gonna teach you not to take me for granted. Then you’ll never want to take your hands off of me.”

“If you just ask me nicely, I’ll never take my hands off of you,” you offer. 

He laughs, boyish and charming and so fucking smooth, you feel something flutter at the base of your stomach. Something stirring in your guts and twisting them inside out in anticipation. “Persuasive,” he hums, “but I still have to teach you not to take me for granted.”

When the tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, your wrists struggle against his hands to break free. You need to feel him—to know he’s there against you and real. To feel his hair and tug and hear him groan in response. To scratch along his back and feel his warm, damp skin, the way he shivers under the pain and likes it. To pull him closer and feel him practically melt against you at the gesture. 

You want to feel him. Because you need to know he’s yours. And you never, ever want to take for granted Phainon again. Your Phainon. The nice, sweet, gentle boy who stole your charger for a day to get your number. Who knew before you knew, long before you were ever willing to know, that he would love you. Even when you didn’t want to, he did it from a distance. And when he thought you finally would, that you’d finally let it happen, he still did it quietly, stripped of labels and titles even though he wanted to announce it to the world. 

For you. Everything was always for you. 

“Please, Phai,” you plead, “please, please, please—let me touch you.”

“Yeah? You want that, huh?” he grins, pretending to think for a moment before he hums, “tell me why.”

“So I can feel you and know you’re mine,” you lean up and breathe against his ear, “don’t you want to be mine?”

It’s a silly question. It’s all he’s ever wanted, so he gives it to you easily. Lets your hands go and lets them wander over his sculpted body as he sinks deeper into you—no more taking his sweet time to draw out the teasing. He’s impatient now—just as impatient as you. Maybe even more. He’s been waiting longer than you have to make this happen. To take you and make you his and have you admit that he’s yours, too. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he sinks the final few inches of this thick, girthy length, “fuck you’re so fucking tight. You feel that? Feel me? How deep I am?”

“Yes,” you mewl, “yes—so deep. F-feel so full. You feel so good.”

He groans at that, pulling out almost completely before slamming his hips into yours, cock burying deep into you and burying to the hilt. The tip of his sensitive length kisses against that sweet, delicate spot against your walls—your spot that he knows and memorizes so easily. 

He knows you. Knows your body. He’s felt it so many times under him and made it react for him the way he wants, but finally—fucking finally, it reacts to him and only him. He knows it’s him and only him. Only ever will be if he has anything to say about it. 

“God, you drive me insane. So insane, you know that?” he grunts, rolling his hips hard and fast and drilling into you like he has something to prove. Every slam of his hips and every brush of his cock along your sensitive folds makes you pull him closer, kissing him hungrily—desperately. So needy. 

You need him. You’ve always needed this—someone to want you and need you and find you worth it to stay. How could you think Phainon didn’t want to stay when he was so clearly happy with just pieces of you because you didn’t want to give the full of you? When he stayed and stayed and stayed and happily took the little shards you dropped, even if they were sharp, and cut his fingers because they were pieces of you. When he was just happy to have you whichever way you let him because it was you. 

All he wanted was you. You get that now. You’re not going to forget. 

“‘M close,” you pant, breathing against his mouth, “g-gonna cum. With me…with me, please.”

“Yeah? Whatever you want, princess,” he groans. 

His hand moves to find your clit, rubbing quick circles as his own pace quickens, and you can feel the telltale signs that both of you are not going to last much longer. He lets out a particularly deep, sharp thrust—and you’re gone. 

Plummeting off the edge in a hazy fall. You mewl his name, chanting it over and over and over as your walls constrict around him tightly. Spasm around him uncontrollably. And your fall coaxes him into his own. He falls into his release with a soft, drawn-out moan of your name, hot, thick seed filling you up through quick ropes of cum. His cock twitches with each rope, painting your insides white with him. 

“You feel so good,” he rasps, “so fucking good—you were made for me. Only me. Knew…knew you were perfect for me since the first day.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him as close as he can get without physically merging into your bones. His head tucks into your neck, and you both ride out the aftershocks of your highs. You feel him breathe, and he listens to your soft breaths, and it’s just you and Phainon. Phainon and you.

It always has been.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbles tiredly after a while, sleepy words said through a petulant warning. 

You chuckle, kissing his sweaty forehead as you promise, “I won’t.”

“Good. Won’t let you.”

“Good. Don’t.”

Your own eyes start to grow heavy with exhaustion, slowly fluttering closed until—

“Who’s that?” you look at him in confusion as you hear an incessant knocking on the door. 

He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “Ah,” he sighs, “right. That’s…that’s just Mydei. He’s coming to make sure I eat instead of starving to death from sadness.”

You blink, and then you throw your head back, laughing loudly. He watches you for a moment, smiling softly at the sound of you flooding his space. “You’re hopeless, Phainon.”

“Am not!”

“Go tell Mydei to leave and that you’re alive.”

“...Okay.”

Idk what this is. It’s 10k words of pure babbling and hardly a single coherent thought. I’m sorry dfksksjr this isn’t my best work but . I needed to get him out of my system

I also think writing a reader that is younger than me and navigates life and its challenges through a less mature and experienced lens was a fun project. She is not perfect but she is certainly a human who is trying her best and wants to be loved and I think that’s endearing

[teaboot]

Wait you had autism and still got along with the other kids and knew what was going on with them?? I was never able to do that! I still chose to do my own thing but would have been unable to answer those questions.

I mean I didn't really WANNA make friends for a super long time so it didn't really matter? And if anyone was outright mean I don't think I noticed till like 6th grade.

After 6th a few other kids liked to throw or kick things at my face or steal my art supplies or give me mean nicknames- I remember almost all the boys in my class one year started a thing where if I got within 4 feet of them they'd yell "[tea] GERMS!" and make a dramatic mad-dash escape, and that was kinda hurtful, but IDK how long that was a thing??

Anyhow I started asking them if they had a crush on me or if they were just stupid, and when they asked what I meant I'd just be like "well there's two reasons boys act stupid around girls. Either you have a crush on me, or you're just always this stupid"

And that invariably led to them yelling "I'm stupid, I'm stupid!" or telling me, "I'd rather say I'm stupid than say I like you!"

Which might have been hurtful if I wasn't growing into a mild superiority complex that assured me I was smarter than them, and nicer than them, and there was really no need to desire the approval of stupid, mean people.

(This was, of course, backed up by the fact that my father was one of those mean, stupid sorts of people, and I fully beleived if I could handle him, I could handle anyone my size, and so what if you dont like me? My own dad doesnt like me, am i supposed to value your opinion?)

Then by highschool I got hot, and if one of them started chatting me up I'd just be like "You wrote in my yearbook in 2002 that I was a huge loser. Why would I want to hang out with you"

And by THEN I'd met enough genuinely fun, interesting people who actually liked me that I was never around anyone who openly disliked me anyways.

Not until I started to realize I wasn't 100% a girl and cut my hair off- Then I started hearing other girls whispering to each other that I looked like a lesbian- gasp- which, again, was actually pretty funny, 'cause then I'd just tell them not to get their hopes up 'cause I wasn't available.

Then I graduated, and moved, and it turns out I'm actually kind of hot funny smart and successful, and whenever I fall into the deep deep pit of dumb ugly stupid imposter-syndrome, I remember that as mean as other kids were sometimes, their parents thought I was the best.

So anyways get fucked Gabe from ninth grade, your mom used to give me candy and bail me out of detention. I had the biggest fucking crush on your mom dude

[amoeganism]

PROJECT PARTER HCS (he wants you so bad) haikyuu

ft: aran, kita, atsumu, osamu, suna

ATSUMU:

HES TRYING!!! but is it successful? (no)

literally cannot shut up the entire time you two meet up but it's ok because he's funny

"hey you wanna see pictures of my teammates" "yeah sure" he pulls out a blurry .5 of suna's nostrils

offers you protein bars and osamus leftovers as snacks

compliments you on literally everything

you wrote two words? he starts cheering and clapping his hands like you're shakespeare presenting a new play

loves pretending to be your strict teacher whenever commenting on your work

makes up for his lack of preparation by making you laugh and flustered

"i think you can add a little more to this part" "you look so sexy calling me dumb"

if you two meet up at a cafe he ALWAYS!!! pays for you

started off as a mistake because he asked you for your order in front of the barista

but he thought for a moment and decided you're worth an extra $5 out of his wallet

always loses his pencils but has dozens of erasers?????

SWEARS by wooden pencils. he sees a mechanical pencil and jumps 5 feet into the air and starts screaming

last few days of the project he looks constipated every time you two are together

"do you need a diaper" "I WANT YOU"

you accept his confession because you unfortunately like him back and because you want a good grade

also because you don't want him pooping his pants

ARAN:

the sweetest!!

always asks how you're doing before pulling out his notes

digital note taker 100%

loves loves loves writing with erasable pen and only uses pencils for exams

is a "let's work on everything together" kinds guy

he says it's to make sure there aren't any disagreements in content and aesthetic (he just wants to talk to you)

if you guys aren't at your house, always offers to walk you back!!!

great academically but if you're making a poster or slideshow do NOT let him decorate it... pls watch out

"does this look good!" "i'm gonna hold your hand when i tell you this..." "omg you want to hold my hand 😍"

starts giggling to himself in his head whenever you guys accidentally touch

you catch him staring at you one day and you don't know what to say so you just stare back

he thinks its so romantic

you're just confused but go along with it

after presentations you think you guys are gonna go back to being friendly classmates but he finds you after class and asks you out :)

KITA:

ACADEMIC WEAPON TEACHERS FAV EVERYONE LOVES HIM

"do you want to read my notes?" he pulls out 5 notebooks with everything color coordinated, sticky tabs, perfect handwriting, and factually correct

he can sit and work for 5 hours straight and still somehow have perfect posture

first time you asked him for help on something you were about to piss yourself because you thought he would call you stupid and send you to hell

he gave you a small smile and started walking you through it with an unmatched level of patience

that was the moment you folded and had to physically restrain yourself from grabbing his cheeks and kissing his face

always offers you tea when you come over and brings out a small tray of snacks

"are you comfortable? do you need any help?"

is suuuuper meticulous but kind with his 739273 different corrections

he swears by the sandwich method of compliment-critique-compliment

"your analysis is amazing in this section but i think you can expand a little bit after because..."

you're the one who confessed first because you thought you would explode from cuteness aggression if you didn't

and also because you thought even if he did reject you, he'd do it in the most painless way

was super happy and bursted into a bright red face but shy smile!!

still told you to go back to the assignment though...

SUNA:

menace i hate him (no i don't)

literally doesn't understand anything that's going on and probably doesn't process what you're saying at first

realizes you're serious about this assignment and forces himself to lock in

asks a BUNCH of questions and jots them down on a google doc

loves to make random conversation when you two are working

actually insane gossiper

nosiest birch you know

allergic to minding his own business that mf has shit on everyone

are you slightly scared of what he has on you? yes. do you still want to hear everything he knows? yes

"i'm taking this info from page 175 of the textbook" "got it, but did you hear that kato is trying to get with his exs best friend??"

leaves notes on your project that are both unserious and encouraging

"omg u are literally einstein"

folds origami when bored

will give you paper cranes, frogs, foxes, and cats whenever you see each other

you discovered that there's small doodles in the posts it's he uses to make them

one day there's your name and his surrounded by hearts like the corny mf he is

confronted him and it and he was just like "oh you found that? well, do you want to go out with me?"

he was NOT SLICK with the way he skipped home and whistled to himself that day after you said yes

OSAMU:

HES TRYING HIS BEST!!! (pt. 2)

can only meet up after school because of volleyball so he offers to cook for you before starting to work

takes notes in class but doesn't understand half the stuff he jots down

writes actual bullshit but half a page in decides to abandon his pride and ask you for help

leans in a little too close whenever listening to what you're saying

tries to make sure your knees are touching and that it's all an accident when your fingers brush (he prepared each scenario in his head before sleeping the night before)

down bad LOSER

spends his time doing his portion of the project while sneaking glances at you

doesn't know how to decorate presentations for the life of him so he is on doodle duty

gives surprisingly good suggestions and takes your corrections to heart

one of the best project partners because of how willing he is to learn and contribute!!! (also because he wants to impress you)

talks shit about his brother to you

atsumu has walked in while osamu was telling you an embarrassing story

they start fighting

osamu gets super embarrassed when you laugh at him

then gets overly confident when you tell him you were rooting for him

will not stop dumb smiling whenever he sees you after that

asks you out after the project is turned in with his hands in his pockets with how they're shaking so much

[formulaonecrumbs]

could you write a Lando x reader where the reader comes from a low-income family and her childhood and teenage years were deeply affected by that? Her life started to improve a little when she began creating content on tiktok and instagram, but it still wasn't anything too surprising or luxurious. Lando came across her profile by accident, got interested in her, and they started talking. After a few weeks of chatting, they planned to meet in person, and Lando picked her up for their date. they went to an extremely fancy restaurant, completely out of the reader’s reality, which made her feel a bit uncomfortable especially because Lando acted like it was just a regular place, even unintentionally being a little rude to the waiter. she felt embarrassed to order food and ended up choosing the cheapest options (which were still very expensive). as the dinner went on, she started realizing that Lando was kind of snobbish, and pretty much everything he talked about involved a lot of money. that made her feel uneasy, especially because of the huge difference between the realities they grew up in

not used to this 🥂

Lando Norris x middle-class!reader

summary: lando takes reader to a restaurant way out of her comfort zone

warnings: rich boy trying his best, writer (me) not doing as the request says 🤗

A/N: thank u anon!!! i wrote this when u sent the request in and reading it back, i’m realising now that i didn’t really make him snobbish 😭 MY BAD. i can rewrite it if u want, all u gotta do is ask. i hope u enjoy it regardless. again it is unedited. love uuuuuu 💋

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

she didn’t grow up with much. not in the sad, movie-montage way—just in the real way. money was tight. bills came in stacks. school trips were “maybe next time,” and birthdays were handmade cards and discount cake. she never blamed her parents. they gave her everything they could. love, mostly. and that mattered. but still, it made her grow up early. taught her not to ask for too much.

by the time she turned nineteen, things had started shifting. not drastically. but enough. she’d built something on tiktok—honest, messy, creative little videos that made people laugh or feel less alone. her following wasn’t massive, but it helped. brand deals, a bit of income, enough to finally buy her own clothes, to take her mum out for lunch every now and then. it was progress. not luxury. but she was proud of it.

and then lando norris followed her.

she thought it was a joke at first. but no—it was him. real, verified, f1 superstar lando norris. and he didn’t just follow—he messaged. funny stuff, casual. asking questions. responding to her stories. talking like she was just another person, not some online profile.

weeks passed. they started calling each other. laughing for hours, sending stupid memes, talking about childhood, music, food. he made her feel like she wasn’t just from a different world.

until they met in person.

he picked her up in a sleek car that probably cost more than her entire life. he didn’t flaunt it—he just drove it, casual, like he didn’t even think twice. he wore simple clothes, but she could tell they were expensive. he grinned when he saw her, told her she looked amazing, even held the car door open.

the restaurant was… a whole other planet. chandeliers. glass walls. the kind of place where you feel like whispering. lando smiled like it was nothing. like this was just dinner.

“hope this place’s alright,” he said, pulling out her chair.

“yeah,” she said, heart pounding. “it’s beautiful.”

she meant it, but also… it wasn’t her. not even close.

the menu was in french. she didn’t even recognize half the dishes. she scanned the prices, eyes wide.

“order whatever you want,” lando said. “seriously. they do this wagyu something something that’s unreal.”

she gave a small laugh. “i think i’ll just get the soup.”

he tilted his head. “just soup? you sure?”

she nodded. “yeah, i’m not super hungry.”

he looked at her for a second too long. not questioning her, just… noticing. something in her voice maybe. or the way she kept folding her napkin over and over.

as the waiter came by, he asked, “still or sparkling?”

“sparkling,” lando said easily, then caught her eye. “wait—do you want still?”

she blinked. “yeah, i usually do.”

he gave the waiter a sheepish smile. “sorry—still water, please.”

a small thing. but she noticed. he noticed.

as the meal went on, he talked about racing, about travel, about how weird fame can feel. sometimes money slipped into the conversation—a fancy hotel, a car he tested—but not like he was bragging. just like it was his version of normal.

but even still, she felt it. the space between them. how far apart their worlds had been.

and somehow… he started to feel it too.

he leaned forward after a moment of quiet. “this place might’ve been a bit much, huh?”

she smiled softly. “a little.”

he scratched the back of his neck. “i just wanted tonight to be nice. special. didn’t really think about how… intense it might feel.”

“it’s not bad,” she said quickly. “just… different.”

lando nodded. “you can tell me if you’re uncomfortable. i don’t want you to feel weird around me.”

she looked at him, really looked, and saw the sincerity in his face. not pity. not guilt. just a boy who cared. who was trying.

“i don’t feel weird around you,” she said. “just… here.”

he smiled. “then next time, we’ll go somewhere with chips and ketchup packets.”

she laughed, and the tension in her shoulders finally softened. “perfect.”

“good,” he said, reaching across the table to gently squeeze her hand. “because i really like you. and i want to get this right.”

she squeezed back. “you already are.”

THE END :>

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️☃️ triple silly / caleb x reader x zayne

synopsis; three high school friends eating apple flavored popsicles on the way home. surely, nothing too funny about that.. unless?

🍎 pomme's notes - an elaboration on this post from earlier! wrote this as a platonic fic, but interpret however you'd like!

⋆ 900 words / fluff / fem reader / 2nd person

it was stupidly hot today.

walking back home from school with zayne and caleb, you could feel yourself slowly melt under the warm weather — and judging from the sweat on zayne's forehead and caleb's flushed cheeks, you weren't the only one who thought so. panting, you stop in your tracks and call out to the two boys.

"i can't do this anymore. let's get popsicles from the convenience store."

the store was on your way home, and you could all get some (much needed) refreshments while replenishing your strength under the A/C. so with a nod, the three of you went to grab popsicles.

"pips come on, you know the apple one is my favorite — that was the last one! are you gonna let me suffer in this weather with no apple flavored ice cream?"

"that's too bad caleb, because last i checked, you also ate strawberry flavored stuff! my strawberry ice cream sandwich was gone when i got home yesterday and it sure as hell wasn't grandma!"

zayne smiled in amusement, wiping his face with a cloth as the two of you bickered. being a few grades ahead, he'd always have some trouble fitting in with his peers, and he didn't have many friends in his class. it was a stroke of luck when caleb saw him reading an anatomy book and asked about it — instead of the usual nerd comments zayne heard often, he was met with a curious purple gaze full of interest.

he found out that caleb was aiming to be a pilot and the two of them ended up hanging out often, studying and catching up together. eventually, he got to know who you were too ("you have to meet pipsqueak. she's really nice and kind but don't tell her i said that! that's totally against bro code and she'll annoy me forever."), and fast enough, the three of you were inseparable.

"zayne, tell him off! he's being insufferable!!"

your voice dragged him away from his thoughts, and he shook his head with a smile on his face, all while talking to the cashier.

"three apple flavored ice pops, please."

when the clerk handed him his change and the ice creams, zayne headed towards you and caleb. somehow, still bickering — but this time, the topic shifted from stolen ice cream sandwiches to stolen chips bag. it was the usual, and zayne wouldn't trade away the comfort he found in how casually you two treated him for anything in the world.

"zayne, she stole my chips last week! isn't it just cosmic justice if i steal her ice cream sandwich back?? come on, back me up here — wait, three apple popsicles? my man."

wrapping an arm around zayne's shoulders, caleb beamed. he opened his mouth expectantly when zayne handed him a frozen treat, and with a chuckle, zayne placed it up to the brunette's lips. you stomped your foot jokingly, a pout on your lips before you spoke.

"how come zayne feeds you but never me? life is so unfair."

"heh, that's bro code, pips. that and zayne can't even see you from all the way down there.. maybe if you grow a bit more, he'll consider it."

watching you glare at caleb with a soft chuckle, zayne hands you a popsicle and nods towards the door, encouraging you all to finally get back on the way home.

and it was just another summer afternoon, zayne observing silently as caleb picked at your height, and you tried to kick him in the shin. well, that was until you succeeded in your attempt, and caleb tripped forward, making his popsicle float with his evol, while he fell in a ridiculous pushup position. snickering at him, you don't notice zayne placing a hand over his mouth and trying his best to hold back laughter, not until you turn towards the older male.

"he's so lame — zayne? wait. are you laughing??"

somehow, your question was the thing that pushed zayne to the edge as he erupted in boyish laughter — a sound neither you nor caleb had heard before, a sound neither of you managed to pull out of him. caleb's ears reddened, though not without a smile growing on his face and a fake exasperated voice.

"come on, it was not that funny."

you quickly pushed caleb back down, trying to make zayne laugh more. yelping as he falls down again, the sound makes you laugh, thus making zayne laugh even harder — clutching his stomach at how silly the situation unfolding was.

caleb, embarrassed but in awe at how his usually serious friend was laughing, also started laughing, and you all made quick eye contact between yourselves. that didn't do much to re-establish a serious atmosphere, only encouraging the laughter to grow louder — until all that was heard was "it hurts, my stomach hurts, i can't breathe" from all three of you.

wiping a stray tear from your eye, you think to yourself that maybe you ought to trip caleb more often if that was the outcome.

🍎 pomme's final notes - please infold give us zaynecaleb as besties im begging i want to see them being bros together i want my bromance NOWWW

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve couldn't believe he was doing this, but it was for Robin, and it was his day off. He literally had nothing better to do. He shouldered Robin's backpack and walked into the front office of Hawkins High. He grinned. Janice was still working at the front desk. He leaned against the counter and flashed her his best smile.

"Hey, Janice, those glasses look great on you. . .really slimming," Steve said, and she giggled, blushing. "I was hoping you could do me a favor. . ."

Steve didn't feel too guilty about using her weird little crush on him to get into Robin's classes and take notes for her. Janice looked down on anyone who wasn't a jock or a cheerleader. Steve thought about his life for a moment. . .God, it was pathetic that if he was so bored that he actually wanted to go back to school for a day. He nodded to a few people in the hallways and went to Robin's first class. It wasn't so bad. . .it was refreshing to catch up on what he had missed the first time. He didn't actually do any work. He just copied some notes. The second class wasn't so bad either, although people he didn't like kept trying to talk to him. The third class was far better. . .it was his favorite subject. He was surprised when he got to Robin's desk, and Eddie Munson sat next to him.

"Hey, Buckley, kiss any frogs - you're not Buckley," Eddie said.

"No, but I can understand the confusion, we do look alike," Steve said.

"You look nothing - yeah, you're fucking with me," Eddie said, narrowing his eyes at him. "What is King Steve doing gracing us with our presence?"

"Robin's sick. It's my day off, and she wanted me to take notes for her. I'd rather be here than be at home," Steve said. "What were you about to ask Robin?"

"Well, I was going to ask her if she kissed any frogs that turned into princes - princes. . .that turned into princes," Eddie said rather quickly. "Uh, it was an inside joke."

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. Steve was slow, but he wasn't that slow. Eddie had stumbled and put too much emphasis on princes. He was going to say princesses.

"You know," Steve hissed, lowering his voice.

"Of course, I know. She wrote it on her fucking shoes, man," Eddie whispered. "Everyone else is too caught up in their own shit to notice, but I sat right next to her. You know, too?"

"She's my best friend in the world, my platonic soulmate," Steve said. "Of course, I know."

"Platonic soulmate, huh?" Eddie grinned. "I think I have one of those."

"Really?" He asked.

"Her name's Ronnie," Eddie said.

"You're fucking with me," Steve grinned.

"I am not," Eddie laughed quietly. "She's up in New York studying to become a lawyer. Ronnie. Robin. Ronnie. Robin. Yeah, it's funny. . .we've been friends since we were eight. I once tried to kiss her because I thought it was the logical next step in our relationship. Silly me."

"No way, I tried to hit on Robin," Steve said with a grin.

"Well, we're both idiots," Eddie cackled.

"I'm not going to disagree," Steve said.

Steve wanted to say more, but the teacher hushed them, and they had no choice but to begin taking notes. Eddie leaned over casually, his big brown eyes pleading with him.

"If I go to sleep, can I borrow those notes?" Eddie asked innocently.

"Does Robin lend you her notes?" Steve asked.

"Yeeess," Eddie said, laying his chin on his hands, blinking at him, and Steve gave him a look. "Okay. So, no, she doesn't."

"Then why would I?" Steve asked.

"Because she's not the boss of you," Eddie said.

Steve looked at him and thought about it for a moment. No, it was clearly a trap.

"No," Steve said firmly.

"You're mean," Eddie pouted.

Steve smirked as Eddie began scribbling furiously in his notebook, muttering and looking over at him every so often. When the teacher was done, she handed out work for them to do in class. Steve took that up along with Robin's homework. While everyone else worked, he pulled out a book. He wasn't very far into the book when he noticed that Eddie was struggling. He leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Do you want some help?" He asked.

"You wouldn't help me before," Eddie said.

"I wouldn't help you skate by," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "But I can show you some tricks that helped me."

"By all means, my liege," Eddie said.

Steve scooted closer to him, and looking over Eddie's paper, he showed him easier ways to solve the problems. He could feel Eddie's eyes watching him, and he couldn't help but feel warm inside at the feeling of Eddie's gaze on him.

"Did you get all that?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I did," Eddie said, smiling softly. "You're pretty smart."

"Don't sound so surprised. The whole dumb jock thing is just a stereotype," Steve said.

"It's a shitty stereotype," Eddie said in realization.

"Definitely," Steve said. "Just like it's a shitty stereotype that people who play D&D worship the devil."

Eddie and Steve locked eyes. Hazel eyes peering into brown. . .there was a deep understanding there. . .that they weren't so different after all.

"So. . .why don't you want to be at home?" Eddie asked.

"My parents are there, and they're not exactly proud of me for not getting into college or working at a menial job instead of working for my asshole homophobic father," Steve whispered. "Plus, they'd rather not be around their queer son, so I get out of their hair when I can."

"You're. . .gay?" Eddie asked in surprise. "But all those girls. . .?"

"I didn't sleep with that many," Steve rolled his eyes. "It's such an exaggeration. And I'm bisexual. . .more than one gender for Steve Harrington."

"And you're telling me this why. . .?" Eddie asked, not unkindly.

"Because you get it, man," Steve replied.

"Oh, you mean because of Robin?" Eddie asked.

"Not just Robin, I mean, aren't you - ," Steve said and stopped when Eddie just looked at him. "Okay, I'm asshole. I just assumed - ,"

"Everyone does it," Eddie said. "I don't know why."

"Could be because of the way you represent the freaks and the outcasts. Most people assume the majority of them are queer but you'd surprised how many there are among the conservatives," Steve grinned. "But it also might be because of the hanky hanging out of your ass pocket."

"My hanky?" Eddie asked in confusion.

Steve leaned over and whispered in his ear to tell him about the code amongst people like him and Robin. Steve pulled back and watched his dumbfounded face.

"You okay, there?" He asked.

"Well, that makes total sense. . .I think I was actually fucking hit on a couple of times when I went out," Eddie said. "Honestly, I wear it because most metalheads do, plus it's useful. I mean, I've had sex a couple of times, but I've never done stuff like that. I mean, sure, I have handcuffs on my wall so I wouldn't be opposed to being chained up and spanked - ,"

"Mr. Munson!" The teacher yelled.

"Ooh, did I say that a little too loudly?" Eddie asked, and Steve snickered.

After class, Steve started walking to the next one while Eddie got chewed out by the teacher. It wasn't long before he heard someone call his name, and before he could turn around, he felt someone run into his back. He turned around, grabbing Eddie by the arms to steady him.

"Did you get in trouble?" Steve asked.

"Nah, I reminded him that he really shouldn't hit on his students," Eddie grinned. "Anyway. . .you want to sit with us at lunch?"

"Sure, Dustin will be thrilled," Steve said and Eddie laughed.

"I'm flattered by the way," Eddie said with a grin.

"By what?" Steve asked.

"By the fact that you thought I was queer. . .huge compliment," Eddie said. "And you're also, clearly in love with me. . .very flattered about that."

"I am not!" Steve scoffed.

"Sure, you're not," Eddie cackled.

They parted ways, and after fourth period, Steve met up with Dustin and Mike.

"This is so cool!" Dustin exclaimed. "Can you come to school with us everyday?"

"No, man," Steve laughed. "I got work."

"I bet you'd want to go to school with your mother," Mike teased.

"I would love to go to school with my mom. She's awesome!" Dustin yelled.

Steve laughed and placed his hand on Dustin's head, shaking it affectionately.

"I've been invited by your dungeon master to join you guys for lunch," Steve said.

"You spoke to Eddie?!" Dustin gasped.

"Yeah, and he's actually kind of. . .cool," Steve said.

"I told you!" Dustin exclaimed. "Mike, did you hear that?! He thinks Eddie's cool."

"I'm literally standing on his other side," Mike said. "And of course, Steve thinks Eddie's cool. Steve’s not stupid."

"Thanks, Mike," Steve grinned.

Steve followed them into the cafeteria, where they got their lunch, and then headed towards the Hellfire table. He glanced around the room, and his eyes landed on Lucas. Steve raised his eyebrows at him questioningly, and he shook his head. He turned back to the table, feeling disappointed, but he understood. Eddie was sitting at the head of the table with an empty chair next to him. His eyes caught Steve’s and he waved eagerly before slapping the chair next to him.

"I think he wants you to sit next to him," Mike said.

"I think so, too," Steve grinned in amusement.

Eddie really was cute. How he ever thought he was scary was beyond him. Steve adjusted Robin's backpack and walked over to the chair meant for him. He sat down in it, smiling, and Eddie quickly introduced everyone.

"Steve Harrington's really joining us for lunch?" Jeff asked.

"I told you. . .he's cool," Eddie said.

"Didn't you graduate?" Gareth asked.

"I'm taking notes and collecting homework for my friend, Robin," Steve replied.

"Couldn't you have just asked for the teachers to send everything to the front of office?" Jeff asked.

"Sure, but then I wouldn't be hanging out with you guys," Steve said.

"Oh my god," Jeff said, looking into his eyes. "You actually mean that."

"Look, I'm sorry for the other douchebags on the team who made you feel like all jocks are out to - ," Steve started to say.

"Your parents are home, aren't they?" Dustin asked, slamming down his tray for dramatic effect.

"Yeah," Steve shrugged.

"Shit, man, sorry," Mike asked. "I know your parents are total assholes."

"Do they know?" Eddie asked, leaning close to Steve to 'whisper'.

"We know," Dustin and Mike said together.

Eddie snapped his head to look at them. Steve snorted. He really needs to work on his whispering. Mike and Dustin's head snapped to look at each other.

"You know?" Mike and Dustin asked.

"Of course, I know!" Dustin and Mike exclaimed again.

Oops, did he forget to tell them that they knew?

"Steve dated my sister for a year. Whenever his parents were home, Steve had dinner with us and occasionally slept in the basement," Mike said. "He's always welcome around our house."

"I am?" Steve asked.

"Duh," Mike rolled his eyes. "Can't you tell that we care about you?"

"Have you looked at your face when you talk to people?" Jeff asked. "You and Gareth both are a couple of grumpy looking bears."

Before Mike could open his mouth to say something, a basketball came flying out of nowhere and landed on Dustin's tray. Food flew everywhere, including on Dustin. Steve scowled, and he quickly located the source. Jason Carver was laughing with a bunch of his friends. He turned away from the Hellfire table. Big fucking mistake. Eddie moved to get up, but Steve pushed him back down. He grabbed the basketball and judged the distance. Yeah, he could do it. Steve threw his arm back and tossed the basketball. He was pleased when it made a loud thunking sound as it hit Jason in the head. He stumbled into his friends' arms as the cafeteria gasped. Jason whirled around and glared at Steve.

"You might want to keep an eye on your balls, Carver, you don't want to lose them," Steve said.

"Pathetic, Harrington," Jason said. "At least I'm not a disappointment to my family name."

"Yeah, finds someone who gives a shit, Carver, because I don't. At the end of the day, it doesn't fucking matter," Steve said. "You don't scare me. I've seen bigger pieces of shit than you. However, if you go after my kids again. . .I'm going to make you piss your fucking pants. All it takes is a few phone calls."

Steve stared Carver down, his eyes narrowed. At first, it didn't seem like he was going to call him on his bluff, but then Carver huffed and yanked his friends back down with him. Steve sat down to find the entire table, looking at him in shock.

"Holy shit," Gareth breathed with wide eyes.

"Uh. . .sorry, did I make that worse for you guys?" Steve asked.

"I mean, probably, but it was so fucking metal," Jeff said.

"It totally was," Dustin beamed and even Mike couldn't stop from grinning.

Steve looked over at Eddie to find him looking at him wide eyes, his mouth open in awe of him.

"Eddie? Are you okay?" Steve asked and waved a hand in front of his face.

"He gets like this sometimes," Jeff said, looking at Eddie in confusion. "Although, I didn't think he'd get like this over you. Give him a minute."

"Okay. . .here, Dustin, you can have my lunch," Steve said and began cleaning up the mess.

"Thanks, Steve, but I'll go get a new one," Dustin said. "Eat yours."

By the time Dustin came back with a new tray, Eddie snapped out of it. . .whatever it was.

"Fucking metal," Eddie breathed. "Are you an angel?"

"Definitely not," Steve said with a smirk.

A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER. . .

"I still can't believe it. I was joking when I told you to sub in for me," Robin said.

They were currently at Family Video, even though it was closed. It was inventory day, and they were both stuck with the job.

"I was bored, Robin, and my parents were home!" Steve exclaimed.

"You went in my place and fell in love with a straight man," Robin said. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry for you."

"Oh, you should also know that I flirted with Vickie for you," Steve said.

"WHAT?!" Robin shrieked and almost dropped the tapes. "Steven Robin Harrington, I swear - ,"

"Relax, Robin Steven Buckley, I was fucking with you," Steve said. "A little sympathy for my plight wouldn't kill you, you know?"

"Asshole," Robin said, but she was smiling slightly. "Have you tried talking to him?"

"Yeah, but he keeps running away from me. He once zig zagged through the entire school parking lot, screaming," Steve sighed. "I think I freaked him out with my sexuality."

"If he's okay with me, then he should be okay with you," Robin said.

"Robin. . .you know that's not exactly true. You know there's people within our own community who don't accept people like me. You remember what happened when we visited that gay bar. That guy accused me of pretending to be gay and said there's no such thing as bisexuality," Steve said. "And his friend agreed, but he said that I was a confused gay man. He told me that it was okay to be myself while rejecting who I am! How the fuck does that work?"

"Yeah, that was fucked up. I didn't know who to punch first. . .okay, so, you have a point, but maybe he's freaking out about something else," Robin said and sighed. "And if he is being like that, then I'll dismember him slowly while he's still alive and then let him bleed out."

"You'd do that for me?" Steve asked.

"Of course, you're my dingus," Robin said, stroking his hair. "And I expect you to do the same."

"Of course," Steve scoffed and then paused. "You know, Dustin said he left town last weekend. I mean, he came back, but he wouldn't say where he went."

"Yeah, this is definitely something else," Robin said. "I'm going to go to the bathroom, and when I get back, I fully expect all these negative thoughts to be gone."

"How long have you known me?" Steve scoffed.

"Surprisingly less than a year," Robin said.

"It feels like we've known each other our whole lives," Steve said.

"I know," Robin said fondly and then disappeared into the back.

Steve knelt on the floor and tried to focus on the inventory, but his thoughts went back to Eddie. It took one day for Steve to screw that up. . .although he couldn't figure out how he screwed it up. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a tapping on the door. Steve sighed and stood up.

"Can't you read the sign? We're closed - Eddie," Steve froze when he saw Eddie standing at the door, his hands in his pockets.

Eddie pulled one of his hands out of his pockets and waved awkwardly. Steve looked at him for a moment, studying him. Eddie's big brown eyes looked apologetic and guilty. Steve sighed and moved to the door before letting him in. Eddie slid past him, and he closed the door behind him, locking it back. Steve crossed his arms and looked at him expectantly.

"Hey," Eddie said awkwardly.

"Hey," Steve said. "Is that all you have to say or are you going to run away from me again?"

"No. . .no, definitely not. I've just been struggling with something, and I haven't been able to deal with it. I decided to go up and visit Ronnie. We talked about it for a long time," Eddie said pausing. "We've finally come to the conclusion that I've been struggling with the whole bisexuality thing."

"Well, I'm sorry that my sexuality bothers you," Steve said, angrily. "And if you can't tell, that was sarcasm. . .go fuck yourself."

"Fuck! No! That's - ," Eddie was interrupted by a loud scream.

Robin dove over the counter and tackled Eddie to the ground. Eddie shrieked.

"PREPARE TO DIE!" Robin yelled.

"No! No! I'm the same! I'm the same!" Eddie yelled as Robin slapped him, and then she took a box cutter out of her pocket. "I'M BISEXUAL, I'M BISEXUAL!"

Robin dropped the box cutter, but she remained on top of Eddie, frozen.

"Pardon?" She asked.

"That's what I was struggling with. . .my own sexuality. . .ever since Steve threw that ball at Jason Carver," Eddie said. "And I didn't know what I was feeling, so I didn't know how to talk to you so I did what I always fucking do when I get scared. . .I ran."

"Well, this was a rather awkward breakdown in communication," Robin said and got up, helping Eddie. "Thank God, I didn't want to have to kill you. I mean, we have the means to make a body disappear, but I did not want to go through it. Good luck, Steve."

Eddie watched as she disappeared into the back again and he looked back at Steve, his eyes comically wide.

"What the fuck did she mean by that? You can make a dead body disappear? Steve, what did she mean by that?" Eddie asked.

"Never mind about that," Steve laughed. "Tell me more about you realizing you're bisexual because of me."

"Okay, but we're going to come back to that other thing. . .right?" He asked.

"Eddie, focus," Steve said.

"Well, I mean, that's pretty much it," Eddie said. "I like you. . .a lot."

"I like you a lot, too," Steve replied.

"Now what?" Eddie asked.

"Well, this is usually the part where we - "

" - fuck?" He asked.

"I was going to say kiss," Steve laughed. "But I like that your mind leaped frogged to that, but I'm pretty sure that Robin would kill us."

"Damn straight!" They heard Robin yell, and then she laughed. "HA! Get it? Because none of us are. . .Goddamnit, I'm hanging out with Dustin too much."

"Right, so kiss?" Eddie asked.

Steve laughed, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. Eddie froze before melting into it, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. He deepened the kiss as Steve wrapped his arms around his neck, enjoying the way his lips moved against his. . .so soft and plump. God, Steve wanted to kiss him forever. Eddie pulled away, leaning his forehead against his.

"I'm sorry, I should have worded that better," Eddie said. "And I shouldn't have run away from you. . .in one single day, you turned my life upside down. . .although, I guess I've been struggling with my feelings for a long time. According to Ronnie, you're not the first man I flirted with."

"I didn't always know about myself either, so it's okay, Eddie, I get it," Steve said. "You're here now."

Steve buried his head into his shoulder and hugged him tightly. Never would he have been so grateful that his platonic soulmate had gotten the flu or that his parents had been home. . .It's funny how life works out like that.

[marauder-misprint]

hi!! just came across ur page and i’m in love with your sirius x reader they’re absolutely adorable!! I’m not sure if you write jegulus, but I was wondering if you could write a sirius x reader where the reader is James sister and Sirius pulls the whole “you’re dating my brother so imma date your sister” act LOL

Hi! Thank you for the love ❤︎ I usually don't write Jegulus so I hope I did them justice. Also, this idea is so very funny to me. Love it.

I feel like my ideas were better in my head than what I wrote, but whatever. Everything is better when it's a concept floating in your mind as you lay in bed.

Enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Best friend's sister

Sirius Black x Potter!reader

3.6k words

cw: mutual pining, Peter is lowkey homophobic, fluff

You were a daydream. Pretty, perfect and just out of reach. A year older, a Gryffindor and James’ sister. That was the kicker, wasn’t it? Sirius could think about you all he wanted, in ways that would make a nun blush, but he couldn’t touch you. He couldn’t do anything more than occasionally flirt with you because Sirius was fairly certain that James would murder him if he tried anything more. 

Even worse to Sirius, you flirted back. It was enough for him to debate risking it all. 

Sirius was glad that you were James’ older sister, rather than his twin. Merlin, if you were in the same year as him, he would be failing all of his classes. You were distracting. Sirius had studied with you before and even in the group setting, he couldn’t focus on the assignment in front of him. The way you smiled at him periodically? You knew the effect you had on him. 

There had been an evening in the common room. Sirius and James were sitting by the fire, each pretending to work on their Transfiguration reading but really discussing their next prank. You had walked up to the couch and leaned over the back so you could dig through James’ bag. 

“Oi?” he asked when he noticed you.

“Borrowing your ink. Mine ran out,” you told him casually once you found the vial. You gave Sirius a smile as you straightened up. “Hey, Sirius.”

Sirius couldn’t even bring himself to respond as you walked away. He could only stare. James either didn’t notice or didn’t see it for what it was. He just grumbled to himself about you “borrowing” his things without actually asking. After a little bit when Remus and Peter joined Sirius and James by the fire, Sirius got up. He didn’t say anything to the boys. He walked over to where you were sitting, leaning against the table. 

“‘Fraid James needs his ink back,” Sirius said with a lazy smile, taking the vial back from you before placing a new one in front of you. “You can use mine though.”

“How thoughtful, Black,” you replied.

He lingered for a moment so he could watch you uncap the new vial and dip your quill into it. Your friends gave him a weird look. 

When he went back to his friends, one of your friends asked, “Why couldn’t he just lend James his vial?” 

You didn’t give it any real thought. 

“I’m sure he’s lent James plenty.”

It certainly wasn’t him giving himself a reason to talk to you again later. Perhaps when the common room wasn’t as full and you could have a conversation with a little bit of privacy. It was in those moments that the two of you shared that Sirius let whatever reservations he had disappear and he would shamelessly give you attention. 

And that’s exactly what he did. Some point later in the evening, he went up to his dorm with his friends. You didn’t mind. You had homework to work on. Seventh year wasn’t easy, no matter how smart you were. So you kept working until Sirius made up some excuse to come back down. For all you knew, he could be saying that he was getting the ink back from you.  

Your friends abandoned you at some point to retire for the night as well. You were alone in the common room, bent over the table as you tried to finish your essay for Professor Slughorn. You mentally swore at yourself for continuing N.E.W.T. level Potions every time he assigned an essay. Brewing? You could do that. The endless essays about the nitty, gritty details? Those were a different story. 

“Your back’s not going to be thanking you for that posture tomorrow,” Sirius said from behind you.

Your frown immediately melted into a smile. Then you sat up, stretching and making sure to arch your back enough to hear a small collection of pops from your spine. 

“Ough, my point exactly!” Sirius said, pulling out the chair next to you so he could rest his hip against the table. 

“You get a bit stiff when Slughorn assigns over 20 inches on…” you start to say as you lift up your essay, “rat tonic.” 

Sirius snorted, thinking of Peter. 

“I happen to know some rats. Care to slip me a vial?”

“Don’t think it’s safe for human consumption,” you laugh. “No matter how close to rodents they actually are.”

“It can be extra credit or something, yeah? If it kills ‘em, that means you brewed it correctly?” Sirius offered, leaning forward a little bit and glancing down at your essay. “Merlin, I always forget that James has better handwriting than you… Slughorn can read that?”

Your smile shifted into something more mischievous. 

“Haven’t you heard? Messier the handwriting, the smarter you are.” 

Sirius chuckled. 

Then you added, “And if you don’t believe that, then believe that Slughorn gives moderately high grades when he can’t read what you’ve written.”

“No, no, it has to be the first. Peter would’ve had a better chance at N.E.W.T. Potions if Slughorn gave good grades to what he can’t read.”

“Bit of a contradiction though, isn’t it? If his handwriting is also this messy, that’d mean he’s smart,” you pointed out, knowing that it was, in fact, your own logic that you were disproving.

“He’s got his smarts elsewhere. Transfiguration. Charms. Divination.”

“And where are your smarts?”

“If we’re going off your theory, I don’t have any.”

“Right,” you said, dragging out the word. “Your pristine handwriting, all thanks to that good ol’ Black raising you had.” 

You shared a comfortably teasing look with Sirius. You both knew that Sirius got good marks. Just like how you both knew that his raising left much to be desired. 

“So are you going to sit down or just stand there?” you asked when the silence went on for a moment too long. 

“You know how much I want to,” he said before letting out a defeated sigh. “But James…”

“James isn’t here right now and I want you to sit.” 

He doesn’t sit, but he doesn’t leave either. 

“If he asks what took you so long, I asked if you could look over my essay,” you suggested, and Sirius gave a smile, sitting down in the chair he moved earlier. 

He slid your essay in front of him and scanned it without reading anything.

“Got to look the part, y’know.”

“Ah, yes, and make sure you give me pointers too. Advice to make it better.”

“Well, you see, if you take your time and write a little slower, your essay just might become legible.”

You laughed and gave Sirius a gentle shove. 

“And make Slughorn’s life a little easier? Over my dead body!” 

Sirius laughed with you. The sound filled the empty common room. If you continued at that volume, you’re positive a prefect would come down and yell at you for being so loud. Soon enough, your laughter died down. You and Sirius kept talking for a while. You knew it was only a matter of time before you both had to go to bed, but you’d relish in any amount of time Sirius spent with you. 

You stifled a yawn.

“Hmm, seems like you’re ready to get your beauty sleep,” Sirius said.

Then he wordlessly helped you gather all of your things to bring up to your dorm. 

“See you tomorrow, beautiful,” he whispered as you started up the stairs.

“Goodnight, Sirius.”

It wasn’t until after Sirius got back to his dorm and crawled into bed that he realized you still had his inkwell. 

---

Weeks passed and you continued to have sporadic shared moments with Sirius. It wasn’t anything big, never anything too special. The moments were just enough for you to know that there was something between you and Sirius, something tangible. But you had pride and you’d be damned if you had to ask him out. No. You’ve seen Sirius ask girls out. If there was going to be something real between you, he’d have to make a move on you. 

In this same time, James started acting weird. You picked up on it. Sirius picked on it. Peter and Remus picked up on it. None of you knew exactly what it was though, and you weren’t about to ask him about it. The boys were more bold.

“So, Prongs, some walk you went on, huh?” Remus asked when James returned to the dorm. “You’ve been going on these… walks a lot lately.”

“Good to clear the mind, you know,” James said, trying to keep his voice level. 

“Doesn’t appear to be windy though,” Peter said with a glance out the window. “No way your hair sticks up like that from a casual walk.”

“It was… a brisk walk,” James defended.

Sirius looked up at James from his bed and laughed. “Sure it was. And the walk likes you enough to give you a nice little love bite?”

James flushed and threw a pillow from his bed at Sirius.

“Tell her to go lower next time!” Sirius laughed. 

James turned a darker shade of red. His hands fidgeted in his lap as he sat down on his bed. 

“And if it wasn’t… wasn’t a girl?” 

The room stills. No one said anything for a few seconds. The other three boys hadn’t been expecting James to say anything along those lines. 

“Didn’t know you were a fucking fairy,” Peter mumbled, earning James’ pillow thrown at him from Sirius’ bed. 

“Then tell him to go lower next time,” Sirius said, sounding more serious. 

“Depending how low he goes, could really clear your head,” Remus added.

“Or are you clearing his head?” Sirius asked.

James groaned and fell backwards on his bed. Peter stayed quiet, but Remus and Sirius’ laughter filled the dorm. 

---

A few days later, Sirius brought up James’ mystery boy again.

“This bloke you sneak off to snog. You should invite him to butterbeers sometime.”

James stopped eating and cast a wary look at Sirius. 

“We got to meet him eventually,” Remus said. “Or we can start guessing.”

Sirius leaned over the table and pointed his finger accusingly at James. “It’s Dumbledore, isn’t it? I always thought he was bent.”

“Merlin, Padfoot, I’m not snogging the headmaster!” 

Sirius shrugged and sat up again. 

“I’ll think about inviting him.” 

“Is he out?” Peter asked. 

“About as much as I am, I suppose. Pretty sure his friends know, but that’s it.” 

“Tell him not to worry. We’ll keep Wormtail in check,” Remus said.

“Oi!”

“You called Prongs a fairy!” Sirius said. “When you’re literally a rat!” 

“Guess it’s Insult Peter Day,” Peter grumbled while James and Remus howled with laughter. 

“But really, Prongs, I need to meet the bastard who’s snogging my best friend. Invite him or you might have a shadow next time you take a walk,” Sirius said.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll ask, but I can’t promise he’ll say yes.”

---

Regulus was hesitant when James invited him to meet up with his friends at The Three Broomsticks. 

“You told them about this?” Regulus hissed. His arms were crossed over his chest tightly and he took a step backwards.

James reached out to grab his hand. “About us, and they sort of guessed it. Sirius says if you’re going to leave marks, to go lower…”

Regulus threw his head back and groaned. 

“How did he take the news about… us?” Being official with James was something Regulus was still getting used to. 

“Well. He took it well. He’s actually the one who suggested I invite you.” 

“Huh.” 

Regulus was curious as to why Sirius hadn’t confronted him then, or at least said something to him. Were they on the best of terms? No, but he still thought that Sirius would say something. With his other hand, James smoothed the area between Regulus’ eyebrows, which had scrunched as he thought.

“Don’t worry about him. You have me,” James said. “And you’ll have to meet them eventually if we really want this. And… I really want this. I want you.” 

Regulus took a deep breath and nodded.

“Alright. I’ll come.” 

---

The Marauders teased James endlessly the entire time leading up the next Hogsmeade trip. Sirius insisted that it would be Dumbledore joining them for drinks. James thought it eased his own nerves a bit that Sirius was taking all of this in a positive light. He felt bad that Regulus thought Sirius knew it was him that James was sneaking around with, but if he had told Regulus that Sirius didn’t know who it was, he was certain Regulus wouldn’t have agreed to come. Now, James just had to worry about what Sirius’ reaction would be when Regulus sat down with them. 

The boys sat down at a table off to the side, not wanting to be the center of attention for once. They ordered butterbeers and waited. James tried to fill the time with light conversation. He was also checking the door every few seconds to see if Regulus had arrived yet. 

“Relax, mate. He said he’ll come. He’ll get here when he gets here,” Remus said, placing a gentle hand on James’ bicep. 

“What if he changed his mind?” 

“If he’s snogging you, I doubt he’s changing his mind about meeting us,” Peter said with a firm grip on his mug. 

“I mean…” James started to say but then he caught sight of Regulus entering the pub.

The Slytherin scanned the room with a disinterested look on his. He made eye contact with James and nodded. He looked around the pub one more time as if looking for someone he wouldn’t want to see him sitting with James and his friends. Then he strolled over to the Marauders’ table. 

“What do you want?” Sirius asked as Regulus stood at the corner of the table. 

Regulus’ features twisted in confusion. If Sirius knew he was meeting them for butterbeers, why was that his greeting?

“Uh, guys,” James started to say before Sirius cut him off.

“Regulus, we’re waiting for James’... uh, friend. So clear out, would you?” 

Regulus clicked his tongue and sent a brief glare at James. He realized he had been misled. 

“Sirius, I am James’ friend.” 

“My boyfriend,” James corrected. 

Remus choked on his butterbeer as Regulus rounded the table to sit in the open spot next to James. 

“I take it Potter left out a key detail,” Regulus drawled, once again giving James an annoyed look.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Peter said mirthfully, grinning at Sirius who was dumbstruck. 

Sirius was looking from his brother to his best friend and back again. He was trying to figure out what the connection was, what they had in common, what they saw in each other. They both liked quidditch, but Sirius saw that as a reason for rivalry, not romance. 

“Well, that leaves one thing certain,” Remus said with a grin that matched Peter’s. “Dumbledore is not joining us for drinks.”

Remus, Peter and James all laughed at that while Regulus sat in confusion and Sirius was still too shocked to have any other reaction. From there, the three carried the conversation; Regulus chimed in here and there, but was overall quiet. That was normal. Sirius not speaking for the rest of the evening wasn’t. He didn’t speak on the way back to the castle, nor as he was getting ready for bed. 

He wasn’t angry. Maybe a little upset. Mostly just processing what was going on. His best friend was in a relationship with his brother. His own flesh and blood. Sirius had never considered Regulus as a romantic partner for any of his friends – he was assuming they were all straight. 

James was dating his brother. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” James whispered to Remus as Sirius stared at the canopy above his bed. 

“I think he’s processing… You really threw him a curveball with Regulus,” Remus said, speaking just as quietly.

It wasn’t that Sirius couldn’t hear them or that they were trying to not be heard. The tension in the room that emanated from Sirius made whispering and keeping quiet feel like the right thing to do. 

By morning, Sirius returned to his normal self. Loud. Annoying. Spewing stupid jokes. He was still processing the James-Regulus thing, but the initial shock was over. Everything was falling back into rhythm. James seemed more relaxed and himself too. It was just weird for Sirius to acknowledge that when James was looking past Sirius at the Slytherin table, he was looking at Regulus. 

Sometime between then and a few days later, it hit Sirius like a brick. Siblings aren’t off-limits. The one thing preventing him from making any real move on you and asking you out wasn’t there any more. Maybe it never had been. But James had been the one to go for a sibling first so obviously, Sirius would be in the clear. He just had to wait for the right moment. 

That moment came thanks to James and the rest of the quidditch team two weeks later. Sirius had upped his amount of flirting with you the week prior and then he strategically placed himself next to you during the game. He patiently waited for all the pieces to fall into place. You happily went along with him, Peter and Remus to pitch after the Gryffindor seeker caught the snitch. You didn’t even question the way Sirius had his arm around your shoulders as you walked back to the common room together. 

Sirius usually didn’t do nervous. But right now, his heart was pounding in his throat. Because this was either going to go very, very well or to absolute shit, and if there was one thing that Sirius didn’t do, beyond being nervous, was chickening out. 

“That was quite the match,” he said coolly.

You hummed indifferently. “James could’ve passed more, but yeah.”

“I have an idea on how we can celebrate the win.”

“You do?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Sirius put a hand on your arm to guide you over to the corner. Your curiosity at what he was thinking got more intense with each step you took. He leaned against the wall and had you standing in front of him. 

“Corner time with Sirius? This is celebrating?” you teased.

Sirius reached out, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and let his hand linger on the side of your face. That made your heart kickstart. Was something finally going to come after months of flirting and being almost something? You took a half step closer to Sirius. 

“This is celebrating,” he breathed before leaning forward and kissing you. 

You had imagined what a kiss with Sirius would be like. You had imagined it would happen after hours, on a couch in front of a fire, either in the common room or at your house. You figured it would be soft and hesitant after one of those moments where you could feel the unspoken feelings between you. 

This wasn’t that. It was heated. It was a lot all at once, but you weren’t complaining. You matched his energy. You were wrapped around him within seconds with your hands in his hair. He had one hand still on your face and the other resting on your behind. Someone wolf whistled  within the common room. 

Then there was a roar of cheers. The quidditch team had made it to the common room. Sirius didn’t break away from you; he was holding you steadily against him. This felt like years in the making. Bottled up emotions that finally got to breathe and Sirius had no intentions to hide them again.

James paraded around the common room with the rest of the team, basking in the continuous congratulations that people offered him. He spotted you first. You were his sister after all. His stomach twisted slightly when he realized you were making out heavily with someone. You were allowed to kiss people and he was sure that you had kissed people before. But you were his sister and that wasn’t something he was supposed to see. 

As he ended up moving closer, he noticed the mop of black curls that you were desperately holding onto. He’d recognize that hair anywhere. His heart all but stopped. He pushed his way through the crowd until he was right next to you and peeling you off of Sirius.

“What the bloody hell is this?” he demanded as you wiped the side of your mouth with the backside of your hand. 

“Celebrating the win,” Sirius said casually despite the way his heart was rapidly beating, both from the inevitable confrontation from James and the fact that he was just been snogging you like there was no tomorrow. 

“That’s my sister.”

Sirius shrugged. “You’re dating my brother, so that means I can date your sister.”

He didn’t even stop to think if James was out to you or not. You looked at Sirius with a little bit of surprise and Sirius immediately thought you would react negatively to James dating Regulus.

“We’re dating now?” you ask breathlessly.

“Well, if you want to… I just thought…”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re dating.” You smiled widely at Sirius before looking at James.

James was gaping at you both. 

“That’s… that’s not… That’s not how this works!” James stammered.

“Hmm, too bad you don’t get a say in this, Jamesie,” you said sweetly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been waiting for this for too long. So… go find your Slytherin or something.” 

James was rendered speechless as you moved closer to Sirius again. This time it was you who kissed him. Sirius knew there was a long conversation to be had with James later, but right now, all he could focus on was you and how he had wanted this for so long.

Tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

Little thing I wrote while procrastinating writing part 5 of Hide Your Heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve Harrington who knows his kid brother is obsessed with some niche, up and coming metal band. Steve Harrington who groans and grumbles and carries on about having to drive him around to shows and listen to him nerding out but does it anyway. Steve Harrington who doesn’t really pay attention because the lights on the stage are too bright and drown out whoever’s playing. Steve Harrington who is currently wading through a crowd making their way to the door, going against the current and stumbling as he searches for the mop of hair he promised to get home.

“Henderson!” He cups his hands around his mouth, “Where is that kid?” 

He finds himself pushed to the outskirts of the mass of bodies, plastered to a wall but he still pitches forward when a particularly rowdy young woman rams into him. He thinks he’s going to go all the way to the floor when a hand snags his elbow, holding him up. He turns to rush out an apology, a few thanks for the save, but stops before he can get the words out because holy shit the guy is gorgeous.

And Steve—well Steve has been doing some thinking about himself. About how most guys don’t have to mentally prepare themselves to go into the locker room after pe class. About how most guys don’t let their friends paint their nails pretty colors. Robin told him that there was this thing called being bisexual and he thought some things were clicking into place. So he’s gotten used to going out and noticing more than just girls, it’s not uncommon, but this guy is hot, like really hot. 

He’s dressed in leather pants and a cut off tank top that hangs around his sides. Tattoos, more doodles than actual designs, on full display for the world to see, running up his arms and peeking out from his ribs. His hair is in curly tangles, sweat sticking it to his forehead but he’s grinning. He has a jacket, leather, in his other hand. 

He’s also still holding on to Steve’s arm. Warm rings press into the inside of his elbow as he rights himself.

“First time?” The man asks.

“Y-yeah.” Steve gets out, “I’m supposed to be here with my brother, he’s a huge fan of some band playing here. Molded Coffin or something.”

The guy’s face breaks out into a full on smile, humor sparking in his eyes but Steve doesn’t know if what he said was that funny.

“Yeah? Where’s he at?” The guy still hasn’t let go, leading Steve away from the crowd and further into the room where there were less people.

“I’m actually looking for him now. Left him alone for five minutes to get a drink and he disappears.”

“You need help? These things can get a little crazy.” The man offers.

“You do this a lot?” Steve asks, immediately mentally face palming. He practically asked the guy if he came here often, he was going to think he was flirting. Was he?

The man just smiled, “You could say that. Eddie.” He finally released Steve’s arm in favor of holding out his hand. They shook hands and Steve told the man—Eddie—his name.

They talked for a while, Eddie got them drinks and Steve told himself that Dustin was old enough to behave himself for 15 minutes. Eddie kept an arm around his shoulders the whole time, shielding him from the chaos of the dwindling crowd was his excuse. Steve would have told him he didn’t need an excuse if that didn’t seem too forward.

 Eddie was just asking for his number when someone behind them called, “Ed! Quite flirting and get your ass over here! You’re helping us tear down this time!”

Eddie sighed, “Duty calls.” He scribbled something on to a napkin, patting it against Steve’s chest and backing away, “I’ll be waiting for yours, sweetheart.”

And Steve was either drunk or insane because he actually laughed at that. Laughed again when he looked at the napkin and saw numbers almost unreadable, a winking face below them.

“Steve! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you—What’s that?” Dustin’s tone went from annoyed to prying as soon as he saw the napkin.

“None of your business.” He stuffed the napkin in his pocket, “Are you ready to go or what, kid, I’ve been waiting forever.” He poked Dustin’s shoulder until he got moving and then he poked it again when Dustin scowled at him.

In the car he was once again subjected to Dustin’s after show rant about how cool it was. The guitarist apparently broke two strings and flipped the crowd off with his bloody fingers—which they went wild for, which Dustin screeched along with them for. They played a new song, but it all sounded the same to Steve. That was as much as he heard, though, his mind kept wandering back to the man after the show. To the number in his pocket. He debated putting it to use, was the next day too soon? How long was too long until Eddie forgot about him? A guy like that probably had a mountain of napkins with numbers thrown at him every day. He decided to get over himself and call late the next day. 

“Hi, this is Steve.” He suddenly felt very silly for calling but it was too late now.

“Steve, pretty boy from the show last night Steve?” And just like that he forgot why he hesitated to call.

“That would be me.” He cringed, “No, wait, that sounds so self centered.”

“Not self centered if it’s a compliment.” Eddie argued.

“If you say so.”

They talked, got 10 whole minutes of random conversations Steve never wanted to end before Eddie cursed.

“I’m sorry, I promised my uncle I’d help at the shop.” He muttered, “I’m gonna be late.”

“That’s fine, you should go help him.”

“I’ll call you later?” Eddie asked, and if Steve didn’t know any better he’d say it sounded hopeful.

“I’ll be here later.” He responded. 

They called all the time after that, whenever they were both free. They even met up in person, it was just to the park because Eddie found out Steve had never fed ducks before, but it ended with another day scheduled to spend together and then another and then a month had passed and he could say they were officially dating. It was the best time Steve had had in a long time and he really didn’t want it to end. The realization came to him one night, after another day with Eddie, and it wasn’t as shocking as he thought it would be. It was a Friday night, Eddie was busy most Saturdays—something about going to shows with the guys—so a lot of their slow nights were Fridays. They were watching TV on the couch in Eddie’s trailer, which was quickly becoming Steve’s favorite place, when he found himself watching the way Eddie laughed and even jumped at whatever horror movie was on more than he was watching the movie itself. 

“I love you.” He whispered. 

Eddie’s head whipped around, eyes wide, movie forgotten, “I love you too!” And then Steve couldn’t be blamed for not watching the movie anymore when he was practically tackled to the couch, laughing the whole way down.

It was a month after that night that he was steeling himself outside of his front door.

“It’ll be fine.” He said to himself, “They’re going to love you.” He said to Eddie who was gripping his hand.

“It’ll be fine.” Eddie agreed and he almost sounded convinced.

Today was the one day that everyone could gather at Steve’s. The whole party had shown up, everyone he had folded into his makeshift family was in his living room waiting for him to get back with the new partner he told them he was introducing. Today was the day they decided to tell people about them.

Steve pushed the door open, taking a deep breath before leading Eddie to the living room. All of his friends sat scattered around the room. On the couch and floor and coffee table. He could do this.

“Uh. Hey.” He cleared his throat, “I’m back.” All eyes snapped to him, eager to know who this mystery person was.

Eddie tried for an awkward wave but their hands were still connected so they just shook between them.

The silence was getting unbearable until finally Robin shot up from the floor and tackled him in a hug, subsequently dragging Eddie along into it.

“I’m so happy for you, dingus.” She laughed as she pulled away, “Robin.” She stuck her hand out to Eddie who visibly relaxed, “Best friend, platonic soulmate, hurt him and I swear to god you’ll wake up with no kneecaps.”

“Eddie.” Eddie squeaked, shaking her hand hastily.

“Bobbin.” Steve only called her that when she was being particularly over the top because it annoyed her to no end and she knew this, “Tone it down, would you?”

The rest of the group chorused their hellos and introductions and a weight lifted off of Steve’s shoulders at the sight of all of his friends accepting the news without comment. Until he realized there was only one person who hadn’t spoken a word, standing in the middle of the room with a strange look on his face.

“Dustin?” Steve prompted, voice strained.

“Oh my God.” Dustin mumbles in disbelief.

“Dustin…” Steve shot him a warning glance, “If you’ve got a problem with it—”

But Dustin ignores him, he’s staring at Eddie in shock, “Oh my God!” He practically shouts, coming to life to jump and screech, “That’s—! You’re—! You’re Eddie Munson!” 

Eddie grins, seemingly unfazed by this bizarre reaction to meeting your brother’s boyfriend, “I take it you’re a fan?”

“A fan of what?” Steve asks, pulling his hand out of Eddie’s to turn to him face to face.

At the same time, Dustin starts babbling hysterically, “A fan? Only the biggest CC fan in all of Hawkins! I have every song on vinyl, like three posters and—oh my god this is so embarrassing. Eddie Munson is in my house and I’m telling him I have his face on my wall.” 

He keeps talking but it’s more to himself than anyone else in the room so Steve raises an eyebrow at Eddie, “What’s he talking about? Why are you on posters and why does he have them?”

Eddie, for the first time since Steve has known him, looks almost sheepish, “Oh…I guess I’m kind of, maybe the frontman of Corroded Coffin.” He might be blushing.

“You’re that nerd Dustin’s always going on about?!” Steve exclaims.