#there’s no real guts aside from the heart

[brooklynisher]

Soul creature thing for art class

That’s me

The first one is lowkey stealing from Bunny but it’s okay

I’m probably not going to do that one

Also I’m not eating the heart in the first one, I’m actually pulling it out of my own body with my tongue :D

[tobiasdrake]

I really do love how much you can tell about Doomguy just from looking around his room.

Like. Yeah, all the stuff you expect to see is there.

He's got his big ol' gun rack.

What appears to be a rock he uses as a punching bag.

Whetstone for sharpening his knives. All the Real Manly Violence Man stuff you'd think would be there.

But also a pair of nunchaku. Doomguy has never used nunchaku in any of his games. Those are just there because apparently he's the kind of dork who likes to play around with nunchaku and pretend he's doing kung fu.

Also a jump rope. Gotta keep his cardio up for all that running and jumping he has to do.

He reads Guns & Bullets magazine, but he also reads Science Monthly. Which makes sense that he'd be a bit of a techie since....

...he seems to have made his new Praetor Suit by disassembling the old one and rebuilding it to be higher-quality. You can see from the guts of the suit that it's powered armor, and he just... knows how to work that.

He's mad. Not stupid.

He also reads cooking magazines, of course. His only friend is Doom J.A.R.V.I.S.; He's gotta be self-sufficient. Though how he got those pizzas delivered is certainly beyond me.

And, of course, he has a collection of regular books that he likes to read as well. Though his taste in literature reveals a certain trend.

Also, he reads comics.

So many comics.

So, so many comics that he's left discarded comics lying around on his munitions cases. This man is a nerd.

And if you doubt his nerd cred, remember that he even keeps collectible toy displays. Doomguy is explicitly the kind of person who will go out of his way in a firefight with the forces of Hell itself to go snatch up a new toy for his collection.

He even has collectible toy figures hanging out on his computer desk. He put a little hard hat on one of them.

On the other side of his desk, he's got some leftover pizza from the inexplicable delivery service, plus takoyaki flavor chips and some candy. It seems Doomguy is a fruity candy kind of guy, not a chocolate guy. Man after my own heart.

Oh, you know he has shredded every single surface of the Fortress of Doom at some point. How do you think he learned to react so quickly in combat?

That is, of course....

When he's not ROCKING OUT with one of his three separate guitars. I bet the middle one's his favorite. It has a place of honor under the giant demon skull.

Some people might say that a record player and casette tapes are old-fashioned but cut him some slack; He's a Gen X-er.

Of course, there's one thing that any walk through Doomguy's room reveals more than anything else. The one thing that matters more than the world to him. The thing that drives him in his every waking moment.

He loved his bunny rabbit. My favorite thing about the portrait - Well, my favorite thing about it is that it's a piece of fanart that got officially canonized, but aside from that - is that he's wearing his Praetor Suit in it.

That's not something he brought from home. He commissioned an artist to paint that after becoming a Night Sentinel. He still loves his poor, late bunny rabbit.

And he keeps her close to him when he's home.

[whateveriwant]

might I request how tf 141 tries to turn you on maybe? Sorry kind of a weird request you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to ;-;

Not a weird request at all, anon! Hope you enjoy! 18+ only, GN!Reader

Price

Three words: full body massage

That man loves to get his hands on you, and it doesn’t even have to be sexual in nature, honestly. Any opportunity to touch you, to caress you, to help ease the tension from your body, he’ll gladly take it (and if afterwards you’ll let him ease himself into you, well, that’s just an added bonus 😉)

He might use special rollers or electric massagers sometimes, but mostly he just sticks to those big, strong hands of his

He'll start by slicking up his palms with some oil, warming it up before he applies it to your skin

Beginning with your shoulders, he’ll slowly work his way down your body, paying special attention to the areas you need most targeted

Aside from those tender spots, he’ll also be sure to focus on a few of your more erogenous zones, namely your thighs and your ass (he's an ass man for sure)

By the time he's finished, you're all supple and pliant before him, but there’s something else too – a sort of warm, fluttery feeling in your gut

Luckily, he knows just the remedy for that sensation. And oh! Would you look at that? You're already in his favorite position: prone

Ghost

We all know he tends to be a man of few words, and this applies to every environment he finds himself in

…At least, every environment outside the bedroom, that is

Because when he's in the mood, you best hold on tight to your pants if you don't want them flying off from how he talks to you (but, I guess, your pants coming off is his end goal anyway)

You'll just be going about your day, minding your business, when you'll get a call from him while he’s “busy” at work

He'll start off casual at first, inquiring about your day, your plans for the night, etc., but it won't take long for the conversation to steer to the real reason for his call: to describe the way he's going to fuck you when he gets home

He'll go into excruciating, toe curling detail about all the things he's going to do to you; just how good he’s going to fuck you until you forget your own name

I hope you're not in public when you take his call, otherwise you better have the poker face of a lifetime if you don't want to make a scene in front of several dozens of witnesses

Gaz

He's a big romantic at heart, so rather than just going straight for the bedroom, he'll slowly work his way up to it over the course of the evening

First, he'll treat you to a nice dinner – either by cooking it himself or by taking you to that fancy restaurant you love but think is much too expensive for every day dining

Beneath dimmed, romantic lighting, together you'll share a delicious meal, a glass or two of wine, and of course a tasty dessert to cap it all off

The conversation will be light and pleasant (nothing unbecoming whatsoever), but while he might not outright voice the plans he has for you later in the night, that look he keeps giving you from across the table speaks volumes

When you’ve finished your meal and gradually made your way back home/to the bedroom, even then he still isn't done buttering you up just yet

He'll put on some slow music, maybe light a couple candles to really set the mood, even draw you both a bath if you're feeling up to it

Once he does finally take you to bed, it'll be a seamless transition from an evening overflowing with desire and passion

Soap

‘Subtlety’ is not really a word in his vocabulary, so most of the time when he's horny, he's just turning to you and asking if you want to fuck

However, sometimes when you need a little more build up than that, he has a few tried and true methods he knows will work you up

He'll change so that he’s walking around your flat wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. Wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, mind you

Whilst wearing said sweatpants, he'll proceed to stretch and flex around you, showing off all those muscles he knows you love, as well as highlighting a few other assets he knows drives you crazy (i.e. bulge printtttt 😍)

He'll then get really touchy with you, starting innocent at first – brushing an eyelash from your cheek, straightening the neck of your shirt – before he gets more and more brazen with his petting

And when he's real close like that, leaning right into your ear, he’ll mutter soft praises to you: telling you how beautiful you look, how good you smell, how soft your skin is where he’s touching just there

By the time he finally goes to ask if you want to have sex, he doesn't even get the words out before you're jumping him like a wild animal. All according to plan…

[shitpostingkats]

An Asexual's love letter to Good Omens 2

There's an infamous quote by Neil Gaiman going around, regarding the general vibe of season 2, and many people (I believe humorously) yelling that it could not be further from the truth. Particularly in the last episode, where that happens.

I disagree.

The final episode of season 2 was deeply, deeply comforting to me. 

I am asexual. Have been my whole life. Even before I had the words to describe what that was, child-me had this feeling in their gut of being an outlier, that everyone was exaggerating, or in on some joke, that I wasn’t privy to. Because I was bombarded on all sides by shows and movies and books, telling the same story of love, again, and again, and AGAIN. It’s drilled into our brains with the same fervor as the days of the week, or the quadratic formula. Meet-cute -> misunderstanding ->declaration of feelings ->kiss. More or less steps can be added to account for runtime or complexity of narrative, but that’s the basic structure that a relationship follows. It MUST be, because that’s the formula every character who's ever been in a story goes through, often times when it even feels like an add-on, like it’s only there because this is a story, there HAS to be a romance. And it has to follow the steps.

For a long time, I felt love wasn’t for me, because if there’s only one way to be in love, I sure as hell wasn’t feeling it. 

Instead, the relationship I ended up in looked a lot like what Beezlebub and Gabriel go through. Meeting someone routinely until it starts to feel comfortable. Getting to know them and slowly growing more attached. Eating chips and listening to music.

We like to joke whenever someone asks us how long we’ve been together, because the answer is we just sort of slowly fell into it, and we honestly don’t know when the line got blurred between ‘friends’ and ‘partners’. And, at least for me, a good deal of that confusion, that hesitancy to label, came from the fact that what I was feeling, what we were, couldn’t be love. It couldn’t be romantic. 

We were just quiet and gentle.

And that wasn’t love.

Because it was slow, because it wasn’t physical, because there was no structure aside from consistency and companionship. Because it didn’t follow the Rules.

Then I found myself in stories, and it felt like a revelation.

Beelzebub and Gabriel aren’t the first time I’ve seen a love like I feel represented in a narrative, but it never stops feeling special. And I don’t know if I’ll ever stop celebrating it.

Throughout the sequence in the pub, I kept expecting them to “confirm” Gabriel and Beelzebub. A dramatic line, a kiss, a whatever. That’s what I’ve been taught to expect, after all, that’s the only way a relationship is “real”. Of course, this doesn't mean Crowley and Aziraphale sharing a dramatic kiss is wrong, or that I can’t see why it resonated with so many people, but for me. Those moments in the pub are worth so much more.The last scene might have been literally showstopping, but those handful of moments between the duke of hell and an archangel were the beating heart of the season for me. A simple love story in four scenes. No kisses. No ‘I love you’s. Not even any definition of what. The love Gabriel and Beelzebub have is strong enough for them to both want to shatter their worlds and flee their lives and it's just. 

It's just that. 

Two people in a pub, playing the other's favorite song, giving a little gift, buying a packet of crisps. 

That sequence means far more to me than any kiss ever could.

Love isn’t only real when it's hot and sudden and ephemeral, it can also be

Quiet.

And gentle.

And still romantic.

Still real.

[boxingcleverrr]

Popular Hades & Persephone "retellings" are, rightly, getting dunked on all over the socials right now and, as a Pagan who has an altar to the Queen, I could not be happier. But also, I feel like a lot of people miss WHY they're bad - aside from just plain bad writing and lazy tropes. Which are, yeah, also REALLY bad.

Pretty much all retellings try to wave away, or excuse, or twist the whole kidnapping bit. And I actually do have sympathy and understanding for why, when speaking from a modern perspective.

But honestly...you gotta get over it. There are other stories to play fix-it with, not this one.

The Abduction is The Thing.

Were I a little more sober I could bring up chapter and verse of the Hymn to Demeter but frankly, if you know even the middle school mythology curriculum version of the story, you SHOULD know the themes. The story of Persephone was one mothers and daughters in the ancient world held dear, because it was a reality: you will, one day, be swept away from your home to go cleave to a man you most likely know nothing about. You will miss your mother, but chances are very good that he will be a good husband, once you get to know him, certainly better than Zeus or Ares, and he will make you a queen of his home.

Leaving home to marry was often scary, and violent (look up the history of the tradition of Bridesmaids, if you don't already know it - they were originally decoys on the marriage road). Centuries later we'd have tales like Beauty & The Beast serving the same function: comfort, hope, you are leaving your safe loving home to figure life out with a (often older, powerful) stranger. Your trauma over this sudden ending of your childhood made manifest in a Beast, or a God of The Underworld.

It's wonderful that we don't NEED stories like this anymore to comfort us (here, at least, in this culture). But if you try to force them into modern vernacular it just will not work, not really, because you're gutting out the whole point just to have a more tidy romantic male hero.

I have read MANY very good ...novelizations? fanfic(? however you would frame them, but they're certainly not "retellings"), etc. that simply take advantage of the blank spaces in the myth, and there are many!

It's not explicit that sexual assault happens - "The Rape of Persephone" as a title was coined in much earlier eras, when the word was just as often used to simply refer to abduction.

"She was starving!" the gods didn't need to eat. So it's easy to read her eating the Pom seeds as a deliberate choice on her part. Like, shit, people, scholars have written whole papers on the symbolism of this moment, between marriage rites and even yeah, Seph choosing both worlds with her husband's knowing consent.

And that, I think, is the real heart of the thing. People want an utterly mundane, spelled-out story here, as opposed to what it really is, has always been, just like any other myth or religious parable: IT'S A METAPHOOOOOOR.

They don't need to be destined, or meet at a goddamned BALL and then CONSPIRE to fake her kidnapping, or shit, I once saw one where Hades got MIND CONTROLLED by Zeus?! Jesus.

Persephone was yoinked into the Underworld against her will.

That's how it went.

I don't mean this in a "stay out of my belief system!" way, shit I'm a white American chick with delusions of witchery. I mean this in a "stop stressing yourself out trying to make things palatable" way:

This is a very real, very precious myth to many people, BECAUSE for at least that one event, Persephone had no autonomy, BECAUSE for thousands of years most women had no autonomy. Erasing that, sanitizing the fact that a girl is ripped out of the spring, from her mother's arms, is erasing the thing that gave comfort to women for centuries. And people can and should still find power and healing in it now!

Fill in the blanks the story leaves in whatever manner seems fit to you, there's plenty of room, but. Come the fuck on.

[radio-fmm]

Dear Luffy… what?!

Luffy x fem!reader

1.6k words, fluff confession, gendered terms such as ‘woman’

!This is a part 2! Sanji found your love letter to Luffy and now everyone knows you like your Captain

Pt.1 | Masterlist

It had been a week since Sanji had found your letter, and somehow things got worse. Everyone on the ship knew about your crush by now, everyone except from the one that should be more concerned about it. The strawhats lived for gossip

Every glance, smile and compliment you’d share with your Captain as you both usually did, was accompanied with giggles, teases and whispers from your crewmates, making you nervous to even breath near Luffy in fear they’ll say something out of place loud enough for him to notice

Even your time alone was disturbed by them trying to convince you to confess to the clueless strawhat boy

“I’m sure he likes you too!”, “It’s not that big of a deal”, “Just go and tell him already!”

As encouraging they were being, it didn’t simmer your nerves, it made them grow bigger and bigger turning you into an anxious mess

Of course your time with Luffy was cut short thanks to your noisy friends; the fun games, fondness and entertaining conversations you’d used to share with him long gone, replaced with you just sulking around the ship and hiding from everyone

Soon enough they’ll either forget or lose interest in the matter

Right?

At this reate, Franky should install a loud very incorrect buzzer on the ship

All of this horrendous energy was getting to you, not only were you feeling frustrated and hopeless; since no longer getting your daily dose of Luffy, your lack of sunlight had your patience running alarmingly low. Consequently, you were feisty. No one could approach, look, ask, or even talk to you without your reaction being blown so out of proportion that it ended on you screaming at them

Today’s victim? Zoro

“Can you move your weights for a sec? I need to mop”

“Can’t” he answered quickly, grunting as he flexed his arms mid push up

“Just put them aside real quick” you were keeping your calm, already growing annoyed

“Do it yourself woman”

Uh oh

Zoro genuinely didn’t mean to sound so condescending and rude, usually you knew this was just the way he talked to everyone, you just had too much going on. The argument got so heated that it had the whole ship witnessing the whole ordeal around both, like a street fight club. You were red, cheeks puffed and up on your tip toes screaming at the swordsman like he couldn’t just cut you in half any moment now

“Can’t you just be nice for one second?!”- heads immediately turn- “Can you stop being a total jerk?!”- eyes widened- “Grow some brains first and I’ll consider it”- gasps bounce around the deck- “What about growing some balls and confess to Luffy already?”

Silence

Deafening silence doesn’t even begin to describe this silence. It’s a heavy one, laced with panic, regret and fear.

Your heart beats loud and then drops to your stomach, suddenly feeling nauseous as a hand flies to your mouth. Zoro’s eyebrows jump and sweats profusely

He fucked up

All eyes on you then on the Captain, who’s face you can’t even turn to look at right now, only focused on the embarrassment that was choking you. Embarrassing, so fucking embarrassing. The most dreaded emotion, you hated it to the core, you most rather Zoro cut your chest and throw you out into the open ocean of the Grand Line before feeling this

It’s been a while and no one has dared to speak. A giggle then breaks the freezing moment, melting it completely in its warmth as it slowly builds into joyful laughter

“Good one Zoro!” Luffy comments and it somehow feels like a punch to the gut, even if it’s just him being honest

Nami then curses at her Captain, manicured hand pushing him in pure disbelief

“What? It’s not like I didn’t know”

Silence. Everyone is surprised you haven’t fainted by now

Ussop then joins the navigators side “What? You knew this whole time?”

Finally, with all the remaining strength in your body you turn, slowly, eyes meeting as you drown in too many emotions flowing inside of you

“Hehe yeah!” The Captain smiles, ever so sweetly and you actually taste your breakfast in your mouth

You turn to Zoro, helpless

“I’m sorry” he mutters, genuinely ashamed

But you don’t answer, the only sound being heard being your boots stomping on the hard wood of The Sunny as you leave, tears peeking, and then, a door being slammed

It’s been a while since you had sobbed like this. You didn’t even knew why you were even crying anymore, the last week had been hell for you. You felt bad for snapping at Zoro and being a total ass to the whole crew; you felt so stupid for crying at something that could be resolved by talking and you hated yourself for not giving yourself grace

Because it’s ok to feel too much

It was comical how different you were from Luffy in that sense. Yes you were confident, adventurous and a loyal friend, but you were also reserved, shy and very sensitive. Your Captain was actually very emotionally intelligent, he knew exactly how to identify his emotions and navigate them, but you? It felt like being pushed into the sea without a motive or direction

You were too tender for a pirate, but again, there’s no shame in that

After a deserved lengthy crying session, you wiped yours tears and allowed yourself to take a big breath in. Suddenly, it didn’t felt as bad anymore. You opened your bedroom door and decided to go and wash your face to clear up to then apologize for exploding like you did. Again, embarrassment creeped up on you but you shrugged it off

It’s ok to feel. You reminded yourself on the mirror before leaving

The deck of The Sunny was weirdly quiet, no sign of anyone relaxing or in light conversation. Quickly you notice the familiar strawhat of your Captain and can’t help but smile a little, you had missed him this last week

“Hey Luf” you greet sweetly making him turn, a trace of a scowl leaving his features now replaced by worry, his arms shoot up unexpectedly and wrap around you before pushing you into a big hug, he speaks your name in almost relief making your heart skip a beat

“Oh I was so worried about you!, are you still mad?” His worry makes you feel guilty

“I was never mad at you Luf, or actually anyone… I was just really stressed out” you explain as you slowly melt into his embrace, warmness spreading trough your tired limbs as you feel a smile forming on Luffy’s lips

“I scolded them” your eyes wide slightly and your eyebrows jump

“Really?”

“Usopp told me what was going on and it just wasn’t ok” he tenses, as if the memory of it all makes him uncomfortable

A gentle sigh lefts your lips, leaving the tight hug you were enveloped in to face the man before you

“Thank you Luffy, but I also messed up, I shouldn’t have snapped like that” he shakes his head

“It’s understandable, you were under so much stress didn’t you?”. His understanding was something so foreign to you, his emotional maturity showing, butterflies in your belly going wild

He pulls another smile out of you before he pulls you in once again almost crushing you, it almost felt apologetic

But there was still, the elephant in the room

“So… you knew” it’s all you can muster up to say. Luffy then lets you go completely making a slight pout appear on your face at the motion. He looks a little bashful? you can’t really tell because it’s an emotion you had never related to him before

He scratches the back of his neck “Yeah… you always spend time with me and treat me differently than everyone else, and you make my heart beat so fast! It was obvious”

You don’t really know how to feel about his statement, you were obvious yet he just accepted it?. Your face becomes redish by the moment, feeling embarrassed but a different kind of embarrassed, thus one didn’t made you feel terrible

“Why didn’t you say anything?” your hands drop to play with the hem of your shirt as you waited expectantly, repeating his small hint of reciprocity in your head as comfort at the moment

“Because you never acknowledged it and I didn’t wanna push ya’”

Of course

Suddenly you feel a giggle bubble in your stomach and it hits Luffy’s ears, making him smile widely

“You’re such an idiot” your hands cover your face, the warmth of your cheeks engulfing them

“Also thought I’d pass out if I said a thing, you make me nervous” Luffy thought if he kept confessing this kind of stuff, you would keep laughing, and he adores when you do

“What?!”- you are a fit of giggles at this point. “Me? making you? nervous?!”

You both laugh, and it’s just so endearing, the moment so sugary sweet you fear you’ll have a toothache. Suddenly you are being pulled again, this time by your arms making your soft lips land on top of Luffy’s pillowy ones. You yelp in surprise but immediately ease into it, fitting in his frame like you were meant to be after all

Your tooth aches

Your Captain then looks at your puppy eyes and grins “Wanted to do that for a while now”

After a much needed kissing session to soothe you. Luffy made everyone on the ship apologize to you, one by one (except for Chopper, he never dared tease you) before making it known how much he really really loved you

Like it wasn’t obvious enough

tag list: @guinea-pig16 @cosywinterevenings @angieslove06 @rafis03

Ty for the love on the first part 🥹

[thankskenpenders]

Amy's fortune cards

The Sonic fandom has long been the kind of fandom that takes minor details very seriously, for better or worse. On the one hand, this means fans will really dig for the diamonds in the rough, latching onto fun character interactions, animations, bits of background worldbuilding, and more in pieces of Sonic media that many would write off as "the bad ones." But it also feels like every week another needlessly hostile debate over Sonic minutia erupts on Twitter, whether it's over individual lines of dialogue, fanart that makes Tails' shoes blue, or the ideal length and volume for Sonic's quills.

So it was probably inevitable that a fandom-wide debate would erupt upon seeing Amy's new gameplay style in the DLC for Sonic Frontiers, which takes the once-obscure fact that she enjoys reading tarot and shines a spotlight on it like never before.

I mean:

The thing is, while I basically always try to tune out Sonic fandom bickering... for once, I kind of sympathize with the detractors? Don't get me wrong, I like Amy's tarot stuff, and people on all sides of the discussion are being overly nasty about their opinions, as usual. (Sonic Twitter remains my personal hell.) But when I set aside the hyperbole and zoom out, I do think I understand why some fans are put off by the sudden shift in focus for the character, even if I think it's cool.

It's complicated. Let me attempt to present the cases for and against Amy's fortune cards

For years, I was always one of those fans who thought it could be fun if they played with Amy's tarot reading, or even leaned into some kind of magic with her. Part of that is my own biases showing, but there's just something that makes sense there, especially when you look at Sonic, Tails, and Amy as a trio. (I would argue that's the real "Team Sonic" these days, especially in the comics where Knuckles is more likely to be stuck on Angel Island or otherwise doing his own thing.)

You could argue that Tails is all about logic, relying on science and technology and deductive reasoning to solve problems. But Amy is all about emotion. She wears her heart on her sleeve, is extremely empathetic, and is very prone to magical thinking - both figuratively and sometimes literally. Her origin story has always been that her tarot cards told her it was her destiny to meet Sonic on Little Planet. She's claimed to be able to "sense" peoples' presences - particularly Sonic's. She's the type to believe that The Power of Love is a literal magical force. So, on some level, it makes sense to mirror Tails's science by having Sonic's other best friend believe in magic. And then Sonic is somewhere in the middle, primarily following his own gut instincts but taking advice from both of them as needed. This isn't totally accurate to how their dynamics actually function in canon stories, but I think it's a mode that could work for them.

Going off of that, it's fun to lean all the way into Amy being a magical girl, or even a witch, using her fortune telling as a foundation. Take, for example, this version of Amy from Diana Skelly's old Sonic cast redesigns from before she freelanced for Archie and IDW. This is one of MANY such redesigns for Amy.

Fast forward to the 2020s, and Amy's tarot cards are, in fact, finally getting brought up again in canon. Which is fun! I like seeing that. I like all of the individual stories involving Amy's fortune cards. This is a fun character trait for Amy, a fun nod to old lore, AND a fun storytelling device, all in one. It's really cool that the Sonic universe has its own thematically appropriate arcana, and that the cards are getting made as physical merch. And sure enough, the official card backs and borders were designed by none other than Diana Skelly, in yet another cool example of an ascendant fan leaving their mark on the series.

BUT... when you step back and look at the big picture, I get why some fans find this shift in focus jarring. At the moment, it's starting to feel like every new story about Amy involves her fortune cards to some degree.

The most recent mainline comic arc to feature Amy as the lead character, 2021's Trial by Fire arc, prominently features a sequence where she reads fortunes while camping with the girls. The Origins version of Sonic CD now bookends the game with scenes of Amy and her tarot cards. Sonic randomly mentioned it in a scene in Frontiers. And now, just this week, we got the (very cute, gorgeously illustrated) Amy's 30th Anniversary comic with a story revolving around Amy's tarot cards, followed the very next day by the Frontiers DLC in which she gets a brand new tarot-based moveset. Even her base melee attack now has her throwing tarot cards instead of swinging her hammer. Again, I like all of these individual things, but after years of it almost never coming up at all, it's VERY noticeable that Amy's tarot cards are suddenly everywhere.

To be fair, I'm looking at this from the perspective of a superfan who's actively following ALL Sonic media. Casual fans - especially kids - aren't necessarily going to be reading the comics every month, buying the thousandth rerelease of the Genesis games, or playing the ultra-hard new alternate ending DLC for a game that came out last year. Each of these stories is going to be someone's introduction to the idea that Amy can read tarot, and that's probably part of the idea behind this unified push.

But to play devil's advocate, for my fellow superfans, I understand why it feels like a very minor footnote of Amy's character is suddenly becoming the entire focus of her personality. While Amy has always been said to enjoy fortune telling, that wasn't really a character trait in and of itself, but rather an example of her being a typical girl who hopes she'll be able to find true love one day. It's less that Amy can literally predict the future and more like her using a cootie catcher or going "he loves me, he loves me not" while picking the petals off of a flower. So I get not vibing with this stuff, or feeling like it's being pushed very hard out of nowhere.

What I don't agree with are comparisons like "it's like if they made Knuckles' moveset revolve around him liking grapes." Like, I get it. Ian Flynn loves shoehorning in his little winking references for us nerds, and mentions of Amy's tarot cards were previously on the same level as other random bullet points from old Japanese manuals. But a multifaceted hobby like fortune telling that opens up so many narrative and aesthetic possibilities is obviously very different from having a favorite food. It's ALWAYS been a part of her story, not just a random fact, and there's no reason why the fortune telling can't be elevated to something more.

And, hell, even if it wasn't an established character trait, there's nothing inherently wrong with injecting new ideas into a character. One of the best Amy stories in recent years, the Free Comic Book Day special "Amy's New Hobby" written by Gale Galligan, came up with the idea that Amy's secretly been drawing little comics about her and her friends. Is this based on Lore? No. But it's cute, and helps tell the story of a younger Amy who's still coming out of her shell as both a hero and a friend.

Certain fans are also looking at Amy's Frontiers moveset and using it as evidence that once again the Vile American Contributors like Ian are CORRUPTING Sonic Team's perfect vision of Sonic with their misinterpretations. And like. Come on. Ian does not control the gameplay. He's a freelance writer. The tarot stuff is clearly something that Sonic Team likes if they made it the basis of Amy's new moveset - and, you know, if they keep approving comics and animations about Amy's fortune telling. None of this gets made without their blessing, and lord knows how much they can micromanage shit and shoot down ideas over the most minor of details.

Like, yeah, Amy's fortune telling was probably conceived less as a sign that she Knows Magic and more as a pretty mundane hobby for a lovesick young Japanese girl to have. But you're gonna sit there and tell me that using Amy's tarot cards for more than that could only be the result of a cultural misunderstanding? That nobody in Japan uses tarot card theming and aesthetics (or the general idea of magical cards) for the cool factor? Stardust Crusaders? Persona? The Astrologian class in FFXIV? Cardcaptor Sakura?? Hello??? Do you think Capcom put Gambit in Marvel vs. Capcom ironically because they thought using magic to throw cards at people was stupid? There's tons of precedent for this! It's nothing like Knuckles throwing grapes at people, be for real.

Giving Amy a very magical girl-esque moveset also just makes a lot of sense. For decades her hammer attacks have literally made sparkly heart shapes appear around her. Leaning into both that and her tarot cards in her new moveset makes a lot of sense to me.

But, admittedly... I do think it's very odd that her hammer is treated as a secondary element here, rather than having her primarily use her hammer and adding the cards for extra flair. If hitting the attack button made her swing her hammer instead of throwing cards, I'm not sure we'd even be having this discussion right now.

But the tarot-cycle and Amy riding her hammer like a witch's broom are fucking SICK and I will not concede on this point

The thing is, this whole fortune card discourse is but a small piece of a bigger problem. Amy's been a character who needed some work for ages, but there's basically nothing you can do with her without pissing SOMEONE off.

Years of stories where Amy's crush was her primary motivator and Sonic went "Ew, cooties!" have lead many casual fans to believe that being Sonic's obsessive fangirl is Amy's entire personality. At best people might call her Sonic's Minnie Mouse. This isn't just a matter of Amy having haters within the fandom - venture outside of that bubble and you'll realize that this is how MOST video game playing people seem to see her to this day. I don't feel like this is a fair assessment of the character, but this idea didn't come from nowhere. No matter how much good deeply entrenched Sonic fans may see in their old dynamic where Amy perpetually chases Sonic, this is a very real problem that Sonic Team has to contend with for their leading girl. Of course all those games where the way-past-cool protagonist thought Amy was annoyingly clingy and tried to get away from her made people think less of her.

If new stories were to go back to emphasizing Amy's crush on Sonic a little more, they'd probably be taken as confirmation that Amy's just the girl with a crush on Sonic and that this is her entire personality. Conversely, when the crush is played down, you piss off the hardcore SonAmy fans who don't seem to understand that they're Charlie Brown and Sega is Lucy holding the football. You can't win.

And so here we are. In the absence of what was once her defining trait, now reduced to an occasional blush or wink in Sonic's direction, new stories are trying to mine Amy's past for additional material to work with. Having been a thing fans wanted to see for years, right now we're getting a lot of tarot, but we're also getting reminders of her compassionate nature and her desire to go out of her way to help the little guy. This is an ongoing process. I continue to hope that her bubbly, exuberant demeanor can shine more in future stories. Now, I also hope that the tarot stuff gets balanced out a little better with other traits of hers. But I don't want it to go away. I think it's fun.

This course correcting is far from exclusive to Amy. Knuckles is getting stories that remind us that he's a competent fighter, an experienced treasure hunter, and even a self-taught archaeologist after years of him being perceived as either the dumb one or just the guy who stands in front of the Master Emerald all day. And Tails has been getting some stories reminding folks that he's a capable hero in his own right and not just Sonic's timid kid sidekick.

But no supporting character will ever compete with the sheer number of new ideas Sega has tried with Sonic himself. Like Amy, his Frontiers moveset has also given him half a dozen new superpowers that he never had before, from the Cyloop to air-slicing projectile attacks to his own take on Shadow Clone Jutsu and beyond. He's also been a hoverboarder, a swordsman, a time traveler, an Olympic athlete, a racecar driver, cursed with a Flame of Judgment, imbued with alien power, a fucking Werehog with stretchy powers, and on and on and on.

If Sonic can do all that, Amy can try out using a tarot-cycle.

Anyway TL;DR the REAL problem with Amy's current characterization... is where the FUCK is Amy's bestie, Honey the Cat???????

[oceantornadoo]

Please I just want to say I LOVE YOU AND YOUR WORK HUHBBDEUBYUVTYVTUOVY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If you could come up with anything more on the Simon Riley Cut-bulk-the-bird-said-she-liked-me-big-thing I will be your servant forever.

tw: body talk (i headcanon simon as someone who shops in the big & tall section so i think his clothes would fit the body type of every reader. if you shop in that same section, imagine him being MORE bigger and taller than you. mans is 6'4 fr)

--

(a few months later)

simon almost ripped the shirt off his body in frustration. another piece of clothing he had outgrown. he added it to the pile of clothes that he couldn't fit anymore. sleeves too tight, stomach pushing out the fabric. sure he was still in shape, could pass the military physical easily, but he was no longer the lean 22-year-old he once was, muscles now hidden under layers of fat. and he hated it.

there was a knock at the door. still a little pissed off, he opened it with more force than necessary, grunting out "what." before even looking down at who knocked. just his luck, it was you, the one person he tried to be nice to.

"what's got you so grumpy?" you smiled up at him, all sugar and spice. you loved simon's growls, the social anxiety and introvertedness he hid under irritation. it just made it more valuable whenever he laughed at one of your god-awful puns or let you lay on his shoulder. you were never second-guessing if he liked you, mostly because he hated everyone else.

"sorry, didn't see it was you. was jus' doing some spring cleaning." you laughed, a tinkling sound that transitioned into a snort. he loved your insane laughter, a real sound of joy. you peered around his large torso and spotted the pile of clothes on his bed. "doing a big donation, simon?" it was always a punch to the gut to hear his name come out of your mouth, laced with sarcasm and cheek. ever since he told you you could say it in private with him a month ago, you never stopped using it. "somethin' like that. clothes piss me off." you huffed, pushing past him easily as he let you into his room. he closed the door behind you, trying to calm his heart rate as he saw you, here, in his space. like you were his too.

"what did the poor fabric do to you?" you sorted through the clothes, seeing nothing wrong with most. they were all practical clothes, but none had noticeable holes or wear. he mumbled something, too low for you to catch it. "say that again?" he scratched his head and looked away, almost meek. "said they don't fit." ah, there was the problem. "that's okay. just means your muscles are too big." you tried to give a compliment, anything to get rid of the storms in his eyes. "nah. 've gotten fat." you put the shirt you were holding down with force, stomping over to where he had now taken a seat at his spare chair. you stepped between his legs, which opened easily for you. you gripped his chin and turned it towards you, forcing eye contact. "so what? just means you've been eating well, simon. nothing wrong with that."

he looked down, almost reminding you of a kicked puppy. "you don't care?" you weren't dating, yet, but you two had some sort of a romantic understanding. some acknowledgement of there being more, an exclusive connection between you two. "no. i like my men big. like when you can throw me around." he barked out a laugh, surprised at your admission. you smiled back, satisfied. getting a laugh out of him was 80% of the battle. "and these clothes are still good for something." his eyes were on you again, questioning.

you walked back to the bed, full of confidence now. turning to face him, you slowly grabbed the hem of your shirt, untucking it from your tactical pants. he wasn't wearing his mask, so you could see his mouth physically drop at the action. ever so slowly, you raised your arms, bringing your shirt with you. you tossed the shirt aside, standing in front of him with only your bra and pants on. his eyes were dark with desire and he made a move to stand up, but you commanded him with a sharp "sit." like a loyal guard dog, he lowered himself back into his chair, complete captivated.

turning back to the bed, you grabbed one of his outgrown sweatshirts and put it on. it smelled like him, that masculine scent tinged with the cologne he sometimes wore. "see?" you gestured to the sweatshirt, too big on you. "you just gave me a bunch of free clothes." he grunted, still fixated on the sweatshirt. his lack of response made you nervous. "what?" you asked. "give us a spin." you spun slowly, trying not to smile too much. god, the things this man does to you.

"'like seeing my last name on you."

now whose jaw was dropping?

[wheeboo]

run to you | lee chan

SYNOPSIS. in which your best friend picks you up in the middle of the night. PAIRING. biker!best friend!lee chan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, hurt/comfort, lil angst, best friends to lovers WARNINGS. cursing, implied that reader lives in a troubled household, lil description of a twisted ankle, kissing WORD COUNT. 2.7k

notes: finally have something written for dino!! i haven't written anything for him in a HOT min that this almost feels out of character for some reason 😭 anyways enjoy <3

Chan doesn't understand why simply the sight of your name lighting up his phone has his heart quickening, head spinning, and adrenaline rushing all in a single moment. But he doesn't give it much thought, his hand instinctively pressing the answer button as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

He brings his phone up to his ear, calling out your name, "Y/N?"

"Hey, um..." Your voice is shaky on the other line, barely above a whisper, laced with something that sounds suspiciously like pain, and it sends a snake of worry up his back. "...can you do me a favour real quick?"

Chan glances at the time on his phone for a brief second, brows furrowing at the late time displayed on the screen. He sits up in bed, already somehow feeling more awake than just a few seconds ago. "Yeah, uh, what's up?"

Silence hangs heavy in the air, heavier than the late-night quiet pressing against Chan's window. He can almost hear your nervous inhale and picture the hesitant frown on your face.

"I left my... well, actually my entire skateboard bag... at your place," You admit quietly, sheepishly. "Could you possibly... drop it off at my door? It's really late, I know, but𑁋"

"Where are you?" Chan asks frantically and seriously that it cuts you off. He hears the way your breath hitches in your throat at the tone of his voice, and it only makes him more apprehensive and his heart hammering against his ribs anxiously. "Are you at the skate park?"

Crap, he knows. He always knows. "Look, I just... needed to clear my head and took a little fall. I'm fine, can you just𑁋"

"Stay put," he commands, leaving no room for argument. "I'm coming to get you."

"What? No, Chan, it's fine𑁋"

He cuts you off, refusing to hear your protests. "Don't move. I'll be there in ten."

He hangs up before you can utter another word, quickly tossing a shirt on and grabbing his keys, helmet (and a second one), and of course, your skateboard bag. As Chan throws the bag over his shoulder, a sharp pang of worry hits him. He knows you're downplaying the fall and everything else going on, but the tremor in your voice paints a different picture in his mind, and he seems to be listening to his heart more than he ever thought he would.

All he could think about is you.

Chan knows not to pry, but it isn't the first time this has happened𑁋where you 'clear your head' in the middle of the night and run away from home for a few hours. But the thought of you alone and hurt gnaws at him more than he cares to admit.

Pushing aside the questions and worries for later, Chan rushes out the door, the roar of his motorcycle echoing through the hushed night. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. As he speeds towards the familiar silhouette of the skate park, a million scenarios play in his mind, each one twisting his gut tighter. He forces them down, focusing only on one𑁋getting to you and making sure you're okay.

The wind whips past Chan's helmet, carrying with it the sting of the cool night air and the echo of your shaky voice. He rounds the last corner, the skate park coming into view, bathed in the dim glow of a streetlamp. He catches a single glance of your figure leaning against wall with your skateboard abandoned not that far away, and his heart jumps into his throat.

He throws the bike into a skid that leaves a dark streak on the pavement, the gravel crunching beneath his tires and the engine sputtering to a halt just beside you. You flinch at the sudden noise, looking up with wide, surprised eyes. Before you can speak, he's already hopping off and jogging towards you.

Something jumps in your stomach when he takes off his helmet, the streetlamp above illuminating the worry etched on his features and windswept, messy hair. Chan kneels before you, the gravel biting into his knees as his gaze takes note of the way you're gingerly clutching down at your ankle.

The concern in his eyes makes your defenses crumble. You open your mouth to explain, but he silences you with a gentle hand on your knee.

"Don't talk," he murmurs, voice surprisingly soft. "Let me see."

He gently pushes your hand away, his touch sending a spark through your already jittery nerves, calloused fingers lightly brushing against away the dirt clinging to your slightly swollen ankle. You wince at the contact, breath hitching at the unexpected touch. It's not painful, but it's strangely electrifying.

"It looks swollen," he states, carefully brushing his thumbs over the affected area. "Can you put any weight on it?"

You hesitantly try to wiggle your toes, wincing when a sharp pain shoots up your leg.

"Fuck, ow," You whisper, biting your lip. You feel the shame and embarrassment burn at your cheeks, making you want to sink into the cool concrete beneath you.

He's always right; you weren't fine. You hadn't been fine for a long time, but admitting it to yourself felt like opening a dam of emotions you weren't sure you could contain the longer you stay here, and you aren't sure if Chan being in front of you was helping with that or not.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Chan asks, voice a low rumble that vibrates through the gravel where he kneels. You can't help but meet his gaze, searching for judgment, but finding only concern and a hint of something deeper you couldn't decipher, or didn't want to acknowledge.

You shrug, hating how weak the gesture feels, pulling back your leg away from him slightly. "It's okay, just a twist."

Chan's jaw clenches, the concern on his face morphing into something else, something you couldn't quite place. "Just a twist? Y/N, it's the middle of the night, you're alone at the skate park, and you can barely stand. It's not okay."

You feel your chest tighten. "I told you I just needed to get some air. You didn't have to come if you didn't want to. I'm fine."

His eyes narrow, and you catch a glimpse of something raw and intense flickering in them.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he asks, coming out a bit harsher than intended. "What if you... what if something bad happened and you couldn't call for help? Do you think I wouldn't want to be the one to find you?"

His words hit you like a physical blow. You flinch, the vulnerability you'd so carefully guarded threatening to spill out. God, you hate that he could see through you, hate that he cares so much, hate that you couldn't hate it no matter how much you tried.

"No," You mumble, swallowing back the heat threatening in your eyes. "I don't think you're stupid. It's just..." Your voice trails off.

"It's just what?" Chan demands, voice tight. "Just another night where you disappear and leave me wondering if you're okay? I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you."

His words suspend heavy in the air, the only sounds coming from the occasional crickets and the rhythmic thump of your heart echoing loudly in your ears. You could only stare at Chan, his intense gaze boring into you, and feel a dam within yourself start to slowly crack.

Chan lets his eyes roam over you, and a twinge of guilt seems to twitch at his lips, his eyes softening noticeably, but barely. He lets out a sigh.

"Come on," he says firmly. "I can't let you stay here alone, not tonight. Let me take you back to my place, okay?" His eyes hold yours for a beat longer than necessary, a silent plea struggling beneath the surface.

He rises from the ground and offers you his hand. The heat radiating from his skin sends a familiar jolt through you. Hesitantly, you place your hand in his, his fingers warm and calloused as they intertwine together clumsily, like you're testing some type of waters. Then he lifts you with surprising ease, the sudden movement sending a fresh wave of pain shooting through your ankle, making you tighten your grip on his hand.

"Sorry," he murmurs, concern flickering in his eyes. "Let me know if it's too much."

You shake your head, unable to find your voice. You're a tangled mess of emotions𑁋relief, embarrassment, and a fluttering nervousness that you can't quite explain. He helps you onto the back of his motorcycle and secures the extra helmet around your head, before stepping away to collect your skateboard from the ground. Then you feel his hand cup over yours, bringing it to secure around his waist, the warmth of his body pressed against yours sending shivers down your spine.

"Hold on tight," he instructs. As the engine rolls to life, you feel the vibration through your body, and you scoot yourself impossibly closer to him, tightening your hold around his abdomen even more.

The ride to his apartment is a blur of streetlights and rushing wind. You cling to him even more, not entirely sure if it's for balance or something more, but it's awfully comforting and... intimate.

You lean your head on his back and breathe in the familiar scent of leather and warmth that seems to calm you more than it should. Shifting your eyes up, you steal a glance at Chan, the moonlight casting long shadows across his determined jaw and windblown hair. You can feel his muscles tense and relax with every shift of the bike, and a strange sense of safety washes over you. You feel a slight tug at your lips at the thought.

As the motorcycle comes to a stop outside Chan's apartment, you linger for a moment, the gentle rumble of the engine fading into the quiet night as he puts it into park. The warmth of his body still lingers onto yours as he takes off his helmet and hops off the bike, before turning around to help with yours.

The brush of your hands against each other sends a jolt through the two of you. Chan quickly pulls away, his hand hovering awkwardly by your helmet, but the heaviness in the air lingers. You look up at him, his gaze flickering between your face, before he fully slips the helmet off your head, hand lingering in the strands of your hair for a moment.

He clears his throat, looking away briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"I, uh... should get you inside," he finally says.

You only give a nod. But as you attempt to step off the bike, the pain in your ankle shoots up your leg, bringing a wince to your face.

"Here," Chan says quickly, kneeling before you again. "Let me help."

He carefully scoops you up in his arms, the familiar scent of leather and warmth enveloping you once more. This time, you don't try to pull away, your heart pounding against his chest as he carries you inside.

He takes you to his kitchen, helping you sit on top of the counter, and you can't help but let out a quiet, soft sigh of relief. As he draws away from you to rummage through the drawers, you glance around his kitchen, noting the small stack of dishes in the sink, the motorcycle magazines scattered across his little eating area, and an empty bowl of cereal𑁋a glimpse into his life you hadn't seen before.

It's silent when it all happens, almost too silent it's suffocating. But as Chan comes back to you with an ice pack and a bottle of pills, you could only watch him. The soft light from the hanging lamp above bathes his face in a warm glow, and you catch the way his gaze lingers on your face a moment too long.

He reaches out, gently placing the ice pack on your swollen ankle. His touch is light, almost tentative, yet the cold feeling makes you flinch, but Chan's hand rests gently on the skin above your ankle, the other cupping at your knee. There's a part of you that wants to pull away from him, from everything happening right now, but you don't. You don't want to. You can't. He's worried, frustrated, and maybe even a little hurt, and you understand why. You've pushed him away again, and he's tired of it.

"I..." You start, a tremor betraying your words. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Chan glances up at you. "But you did," he replies lowly. "You always do. And it scares the hell out of me."

The tension hangs thick in the air as Chan's words sink in.

"I-I'm sorry, I really am," You mutter, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "It's just... things are hard at home, and I don't know how to deal with it. Being away just seems to... clear it all up a little bit, you know?"

"Then why run away when you can run to me?" He's standing right in front of you at this point, one hand still on your knee.

"Why do care you so much?" You counter almost defensively, feeling yourself tense right under his gaze.

"Because the more this happens, the more I realise I don't want to be your friend anymore," he answers simply, then lowers his voice. "I can't be... just your friend anymore when I want to be the person you run to."

The world freezes. Everything freezes, and you could only stare at him with widened eyes and a pure look of shock. Nothing but silence stretches between the two of you, and the hammering in your chest only grows stronger by each passing second.

Chan lowers his gaze to the floor, taking his hand off your knee and running it through his hair. "Fuck, I shouldn't have..." He catches a glimpse of the bottle of pain medication right next to you. "Let me get you some water𑁋"

"No, wait." You grab at his hand, causing him to halt, and he looks back at you. "Don't... go yet, please?"

Chan hesitates, before giving in, finding himself standing right back in front of you, the two of you almost eye-level. Except you shoot a quick look at his lips, then up to his eyes, before letting the hand wrapped around his wrist pull him even closer to you, to the point where he's almost standing between your legs.

His breath hitches from the sudden closeness, but he shouldn't be like this right now. Not when you're hurt and vulnerable. He can't tell you that he wanted you the moment you met two years ago when you rolled past him one day on the way to the same skate park, can't tell you that he would choose you over everything else in a heartbeat.

But all those thoughts are pushed away the moment he feels your lips on his, and his hands come naturally to your waist, as if afraid you might slip away. His lips seemingly mold perfectly with yours, and you can feel the longing in the way his fingers seem to tighten its hold on your shirt.

Your lips part for a brief moment, and there's a long moment that passes before Chan leans in again, capturing your mouth a bit more fervently, a bit more passionately than before, yet nonetheless still sweet and tender. The world outside disappears, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the gentle glow of the kitchen light above.

When you both pull away, there's a breathless pause.

"Are you... are you okay?" he asks cautiously. "I'm sorry, it just..."

"No, I'm... I should say sorry for... everything," You cut him off. "I shouldn't have made you worried or... pushed you away. I'm sorry."

"All I ever want is to make sure you're okay, Y/N." His hand is back at your knee again, finger tracing reassuring shapes, easing the tension out of your body.

You let out a nervous, light-hearted chuckle. "We're not even together yet and I'm already causing you so much trouble."

Chan's expression softens, and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Who said I wasn't yours yet?" He leans back in, teasing his lips back against yours. "I can be, if you want me to be."

another note: ending is a lil rushed im sorry oops i wrote this rlly late 😭

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziees @mirxzii @bookyeom

[sushiyuzu]

cold distance

toji fushiguro x reader

warning: angst; contains emotional conflict and themes of abandonment.

you sit at the edge of the bed, your fingers nervously tracing the hem of your shirt as you wait for toji to come back. the apartment feels colder when he’s not around, the silence heavy and unsettling. you hear the front door creak open, and your heart skips a beat. but instead of relief, all you feel is a knot tightening in your chest. he’s been gone for days—no call, no text, no sign of life.

he strolls in, as casual as ever, tossing his jacket onto the couch without so much as a glance in your direction. his hair is slightly dishevelled, and there’s a faint bruise on his jaw, but he acts like nothing’s wrong, like this is normal.

“you’re late again,” you say quietly, not wanting your voice to shake, but the frustration is hard to hide.

toji barely spares you a glance, his tone dismissive. “got caught up. not a big deal.”

you swallow hard, feeling the familiar anger rise up inside you. it’s always like this—he comes back late, no explanation, and expects you to just accept it. for once, you can’t. “it is a big deal,” you snap, standing up, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “you disappear for days, and i have no idea if you’re even alive. and when you finally show up, you act like nothing happened.”

he arches a brow, his expression indifferent. “i told you before, this is how it is. if you can’t handle it, maybe you’re not cut out for this.”

his words sting more than you want to admit, but you can’t let him brush you off like that. “it’s not just about handling it, toji. you make everything else your priority—your jobs, your survival, even your past. but what about us? what about me?” your voice is trembling now, but you push through, needing him to understand.

he lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. “i’ve told you from the start, i’m not the kind of guy who sits around and plays house. this is what i do. it’s how i survive.”

“and what about your son?” the words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and you immediately see his expression change. his eyes darken, and his posture stiffens. you know you’ve hit a nerve, but you can’t stop now. “you don’t just push me aside, you push everyone away. including him. don’t you even care about him?”

toji’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. the tension between you both thickens, the air heavy with unspoken words. when he finally speaks, his voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it. “that’s none of your business.”

“it is my business,” you insist, taking a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “he’s your son, toji. and you act like he doesn’t even exist. how can you just ignore that?”

his eyes flash with something—anger, maybe, or guilt—but he doesn’t let it show. instead, he scoffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “you don’t know anything about it. about me, or him. so stop acting like you do.”

“then tell me,” you plead, your voice softer now, more desperate. “tell me why you’re so distant, why you shut everyone out. why you act like you don’t care.”

toji’s gaze hardens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to walk away, like he always does when things get too real. but instead, he steps closer, his presence looming over you. “i care about what i need to survive. that’s it. if you’re expecting more than that, you’re wasting your time.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut. you can feel your chest tighten, your breath catching in your throat. you’ve known from the start that toji isn’t the type to open up easily, but hearing him say it so bluntly, so coldly, feels like a slap in the face.

“so that’s it?” you ask quietly, blinking back the sting of tears. “everything else comes second, including me?”

toji doesn’t answer right away. instead, he looks at you, really looks at you for the first time since he walked in. there’s something in his eyes—something raw, something he’s trying to bury deep. but it’s fleeting, gone in an instant as he shrugs. “i’ve never promised you anything different.”

your heart sinks, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a heavy stone. you don’t know what you expected—maybe some kind of reassurance, some sign that he does care, that you mean something to him. but all you’re left with is this cold, hard truth.

“i can’t keep doing this,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “i can’t keep waiting around, hoping you’ll change. i deserve more than that.”

toji’s jaw clenches, and for a split second, you think you see a flicker of something—regret, maybe, or hesitation. but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. he doesn’t try to stop you as you turn away, walking towards the door, your chest heavy with the weight of your decision.

just as your hand reaches the doorknob, his voice breaks the silence. “you don’t need me. you’ll be fine.”

you pause, your heart aching at the sound of his voice, at the emptiness in his words. you want to turn around, to see if he’s really as detached as he sounds. but you don’t. instead, you nod, even though he can’t see it, and open the door.

“maybe it’s you who needs to realise that,” you whisper, stepping out into the cold night, leaving him behind.

[millervrse]

❝ BY THE COFFEE MACHINE ❞ javier peña x reader

summary: Javier Peña doesn’t like you. You’re too nice, too bubbly, and you get on his last nerve. He didn’t get how anybody in this line of work could be so goddamn cheery all the time. Though aside from your, in his eyes, forced and fake kindness, you had no bad features, and perhaps that, added to your beauty, is what ticked him off so much. Could he learn to like you the more time passes, or would you do this dance of hatred forever?

pairing: javier peña x afab!reader

warnings, notes: EVENTUAL 18+ smut, r! has a bit of an established backstory, a few uses of y/n but only when necessary, r! has a dog, references to narcos and thus real life people and occurrences (pablo escobar, the cartel, dea, etc), ENEMIES TO LOVERS but it’s one sided because javier hates r!, r! has an established personality, grumpy x sunshine, workplace setting, javier and r! are coworkers, use of cigarettes

word count: 2.6k+

LYN SPEAKING! so this is the first chapter of, again, a finished piece that was written nearly a year ago. you can read the prologue here! and again, this is all from javier’s pov, but i’m going to throw in some nsfw chapters using second person for the economy so, yeah! enjoy! lyn out!

DO YOU WANNA KNOW? @bishtrouille @axshadows @troubledsoul-black let me know if you’d like to be added!

“Coffee,” I said simply. Her smile softened a little, and she raised her eyebrows in confusion. “What?” she asks. ❝ YOU'RE BLOCKING THE COFFEE MACHINE ❞

CHAPTER 1: FIRST IMPRESSIONS

COLUMBIA, SEPTEMBER 1982

For once in our lives of chaos, the madness had died down, and there was no new news regarding the man who had been the focus of our missions for months now.

Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria: A drug dealer, and a major pain in my ass.

In the years that I’ve worked Escobar’s case, the man has put the DEA, and the whole of Columbia, for that matter, through hell and back. A war of drugs has been going on under our noses, and the man behind it is an evasive ghost.

We haven’t found him because he doesn't want to be found.

Days in the office have been passing by slowly. With no new leads, and little for us to do, we’re at a loss here. Can’t tell you how much time I’ve used clicking my pens or looking through the same case files over and over again, just to see if something appears that wasn’t there before.

It hasn’t happened yet.

For the third time that morning, I got up from my seat to get a cup of coffee, since having drained mine. Murphy’s eyes snapped to mine from where he sat across from me, and he raised an eyebrow.

Murphy was the guy I’d been working with on the drug cases for a few months, and we’ve come to be pretty friendly with each other during that time. Thus, his first words when he sees me get out of my seat.

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head at me. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack with all that damn caffeine,” he remarked, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

I shrugged, throwing away the paper coffee cup that I’d been drinking out of. “Murphy,” I scoffed, crossing my arms to mirror him. “If there’s a damn thing in this world that’s going to give me a heart attack, it’s going to be Escobar, not coffee.”

Murphy sighed in response. I could tell the guy was just as done with Escobar’s shit as me, even if he was better at not discussing it than me. He shrugged and rubbed his forehead before responding, “Yeah, fair enough. Drink away.”

I nodded at him, then made my way to the door.

As I made my third journey that day down to the coffee machine, I passed by the hallway where the ambassador’s office was. What was already a shitty day only worsened by the feeling I got in my gut only by looking at her door.

It was hard at the DEA, Murphy and I being the main people assigned to this case, the only two men in the world who knew as much about Escobar and his cartel as the man himself.

And regardless of that, what we knew was minimal.

While the ambassador wasn’t really our boss, just walking by her office was enough to remind me of the drug cases: And that we weren’t getting a damn thing out of them.

I shook off the feelings that crossed over me then and there, and just went on walking.

I was veering the corner to go to our break room, where the coffee machine was, when I heard and saw a view I surely hadn’t when I clocked in this morning.

“Where can I put my things?” a feminine voice rang out from down the hallway, the voice filled with a sort of cheer that wasn’t very common from those who worked here in the DEA building.

My eyes snapped to the speaker before my brain could even process it.

There was a woman at the very end of the hallway I was in, holding a brown box, presumably the “things” she had been referring to mere seconds ago. My eyebrows raised fairly quickly: I had never seen her in the office.

Because I’m sure I’d remember a face like that.

It was impossible to miss her. Her eyes seemed to mesmerize the man she was speaking to, because he was looking at her with an expression usually saved for old, married couples.

He wasn’t the only one.

I couldn’t take my damn eyes off of her: I was drawn to her appearance, and she wasn’t releasing her hold. There was a serious and assured, yet honeyed way about her. Her eyes and smile spoke volumes to what I assumed was a kind persona, but her attire, a white collared shirt, black slacks, belt, and tie, vouched for her professionalism.

It made me uneasy to get so much from her based on her appearance alone. So that was when I whirled on my heel, all but jogging back to where Murphy was.

I loped back to the room with a concerning pace, closing the door quickly behind me. Murphy’s head snapped up, and he looked at me with a concerned expression.

“Hey, hey, hey, Murphy,” I said in a hoarse voice, a little out of breath from getting here so quickly. I took a second to relax, then asked, “Who’s that girl?”

Murphy’s eyebrows raised up, and he looked at me like I’d just asked him to marry me. “What girl?” he asked as his face scrunched up in cluelessness.

I let out a huff and opened the door again to see where the woman had gone. Then, I came back in the room and waved to the window. “That girl there. All the way down the hallway,” I clarified.

Murphy got up and looked through the window that showed the hallway outside of it. His eyes landed on the woman’s, and a look of realization crossed over his face. “Oh. Oh, yeah. That’s the new girl. I think her name is Y/N,” said Murphy.

I looked at Murphy with a furrowed brow when he said that. “You knew?”

Murphy shrugged and nodded, walking back to his chair and sitting down. “I heard some folks whispering about her. She was pretty popular in her old job, I think, skilled in her field. That’s why everyone’s talking about her,” he shrugged, like the fact was common knowledge.

“And no one was gonna tell me?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Uh, no, I guess not. Why would it matter, anyways? She won’t be working with us that much,” he responded.

“She won’t? Why not?” I asked curiously. Why was she up here, then?

“No, she’ll be working with the coaches, training the dogs for drug sniffing. She’ll be around, but—” Murphy explained, but then he suddenly cut himself off. He cocked an eyebrow. “Wait a second, why does this even matter to you, Peña?”

That got me to shut up real quick.

For one of the first times in my life, I was at a loss for words. I licked my lips as I tried to pick my brains for a response that would make sense.

But my mind was abandoned, way too preoccupied to give him a reason. Sooner or later, I just shook my head, giving myself a way out of this conversation.

“It doesn’t,” I shrugged, walking over to my desk. I ruffled through the drawers for a second, before grabbing the final cigarette from the box that I always had with me.

I took a deep breath as I made a note to myself to get more, before saying, “I just wanna know who I’m working with.”

Murphy nodded, though he didn’t really look convinced.

But the good thing was, if there was one thing Murphy knew about me, it was to never push my words. He picked up the case file that he’d been working on when I walked in the room and simply mumbled, “Yeah, okay.”

I sighed in relief, glad that he had just dropped the issue; I seriously didn’t want to talk about this right then and there. Talk about a woman.

I left the room without so much as another word, perching the cigarette in my mouth before I had even made it out of it. I usually smoked in the office, not giving much of a shit to our boss’ wish for me not to. 

But today, I obliged, making my way down the lift to go outside.

When I walked through the lobby and through the doors to exit the building, I mulled over the morning that I’d just had. Escobar’s doings may not be in plain view now, but a new sense of chaos was clearly ready to take the podium.

I lit the cigarette as I leaned on a pillar in front of the building, rubbing my forehead as a migraine began to form there. I exhaled puffs of smoke from my nose and lips, praying that it’d ease all the tension in my figure.

Fuck, what was even going on with me? Who was this girl, and why the hell was one glance her way driving me crazy?

She was just a woman. That’s all she was. And I’ve had countless experiences with women, an art that I knew like the back of my hand. I knew my way around them, and I wasn’t looking to get wrapped up in one at any point, at any time.

I’d just have to pray that this wouldn’t cause any problems in the workplace for me.

I’d have to have hope, and a hell of a goddamn lot of it.

I was walking back up to the breakroom after I’d got back to the building half an hour later. After all, I hadn’t even gotten that cup of coffee I’d been craving before leaving to have a smoke.

But when I walked in the room, I didn’t envision the first person I’d see inside of it.

The new girl.

There she was in front of me again, the same vibe that had emitted from her earlier in my presence once more: Only, it was closer to me now. She was conversing with a male coworker of mine, and they seemed to be engaged in some happy go lucky discussion, because the woman was grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah, I figured, why not? My dog is my best friend, and I don’t want to leave her home all of the time while I’m working, you know?” she giggled as coffee poured from the coffee machine she was next to.

The man, whose name I didn’t even know, chuckled in response. “That’s crazy. So they just let you bring her, huh? And you’re gonna train her up with the other dogs?” the man asked her.

She nodded, flashing him a smile that seemed to glare off the walls. “Yeah! Pretty cool, isn’t it? I’m glad they let me. I wasn’t really sure they would,” the woman laughed, picking up her cup and taking a long sip out of it.

The man was about to answer, when his eyes finally met mine, acknowledging my presence for the first time since I’d walked in the damn room. This caused the woman to look at me too, only smiling at me.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure your dog will do well. Shepherds are pretty big, and the ones we already have do a good job,” he murmured, looking down at the ground. “Anyway, I should get back to work. You have yourself a good day, Y/N. And good luck.”

So that was her name. Guess Murphy didn’t lie.

“Peña,” he said with a professional nod and awkward smile. Then, he left the room.

When it was just her and I in there, we looked at each other for several long seconds. My eyes glazed over her, fully analyzing her appearance now that she was so much closer to me.

I furrowed my eyebrows. 

I don’t know what it was about this girl that was seriously getting to me.

She was just different. 

And I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” she smiled widely at me, putting her coffee cup down to offer her hand to me before giving me her last name. “I’m new to the DEA, if you couldn’t tell. It’s my first day. What’s your name?” she asked.

Her kindly demeanor unsettled me, being both refreshing and alarming. Most of the men and women on this job worked with somber faces. No feelings, small talk, laughs or smiles. Just work, work, work. It was bizarre to see someone in the DEA building beaming, like we worked in some candy shop.

Didn’t she have any idea what this job encompassed?

“Coffee,” I said simply. Her smile softened a little, and she raised her eyebrows in confusion.

“What?” she asks.

“You're blocking the coffee machine,” I clarified for her. Sure enough, she looked to her side to see that I wasn’t lying about that. She murmured a quick, “Sorry,” then moved out of the way.

“Yeah,” I groaned in response. I grabbed one of the paper coffee cups near the machine, then got to fixing myself a cup.

To my surprise, she didn’t leave the room. She crossed her arms behind me, and I could see her looking over me out of the corner of my eye. I could tell she had the urge to speak, but didn’t know how to do so.

Black coffee poured from the maker when she finally opened her mouth. “I haven’t gotten your name yet,” she murmured.

I let out a sigh, wondering why she even needed to know it. “What does it matter?” I replied without a care in the world, looking for creamer in the drawers below the machine.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t, I suppose. I just want to know,” she answered. Then, she perked up, looking at me with a new sense of hope in her eyes. I craned my head towards her for only a second, just to see that same pearly white smile she’d been wearing across her face earlier. “Do you work on this floor, too?”

I closed the paper cup with a lid as she spoke, not even realizing that I’d forgotten to add creamer to it. “Name’s Peña. Javier Peña. And I don’t do small talk,” I replied composedly, turning my body to face her. Clearly, I had yet to get used to her appearance. I’m pretty sure my heart dropped down to my ass when I laid my eyes on her again.

However much I didn’t want to talk to her, there was a fact that remained true, regardless of how it was I was feeling.

She was fucking gorgeous.

Even with my semi rude remark, she smiled at me nevertheless, giving me a little shrug. “Fair enough. It’s not everyone’s thing, especially early in the morning. I get it, Peña—”

“Agent Peña. And no, it’s not,” I said back to her. I was just about ready to leave the room, when she grabbed me by the arm, causing me to pause in my tracks.

“Wait,” she said, clearly doing her best to cling to this conversation for as long as she could.

“What?” I snapped. Though, I didn’t move her hand away.

“Do you know an Agent Murphy? I’ve been looking for him,” she asked very quickly, tilting her head. I raised an eyebrow: She had my attention with that one.

“Murphy? Yeah, he’s my partner. Why, what do you want with him?” I asked curiously, facing my body back towards hers.

“He was supposed to give me some case files on drugs, mainly cocaine. I’m going to be working with the dogs, training them on sniffing out drugs and things like that, so I kind of need them.”

I sighed, trying not to roll my eyes at her. “He’s in the office down the hall. I’ll take you there,” I annoyedly offered. That’s where I was going, anyways, so I didn’t have much of a choice.

“Great! Thank you so much. Lead the way,” she grinned in a brilliant smile, signaling to the door. I grumbled and nodded, before making my way down the hall to Murphy and I’s shared office.

What was it I was saying earlier about hope?

if you made it to the end of this, i really hope you liked it! please consider leaving a reblog, as they help my work immensely <3 kisses!

[siriusly-parker]

—more. [isaac garcia, mlwtwb]

“Lowly knights and mighty kings, they all want more”

tags. [fluff, angst, bonfire party, childhood best friends to lovers, jealousy, drunken confessions]

author’s note. [thank you for all of the requests!! i got a TON, so i tried to mix a few ideas into one fic, so i could get it out to you guys as fast as possible! ꩜ i siriusly love you <3]

wc. [4k]

—fic under the cut!

‧˚ʚ ⋆ ꜝꜞ

Aside from her predicament with the Walter boys, Y/n did really like Jackie. Who she didn’t get along with where her newfound friendships. Skyler and Grace where gossipers. Y/n knew they just enjoyed being close to the center of it all. Skyler was just annoying, and she didn’t enjoy the way he treated Nathan at all, but she could get past that and tolerate his presence. Grace though… she was just a bitch. She hated Grace, “Gracie” as she used to call her. They actually used to be good friends, until high school made the girl even more of a newsmonger. The slight whiff of a scandal and she’d come running like a dog, even to the detriment of the people around her. She gets carried away, forgets it’s real people and not a movie. Maybe she gets a high out of the attention she gets from sharing the information she dishonestly collects. People only come to see her to know all about other’s lives. Gracie’s own is incredibly boring, she’s sheltered. So, gossiping is her only way of living some sort of excitement, through others, of course. Y/n pities her, in a way. But she mostly, mostly hates her guts.

At the annual bonfire party, after an insane amount of begging from her best friend, Y/n took a ride with the Walter’s. Cole got them there, but Danny was, as per usual, the designated driver. Y/n didn’t enjoy drinking either, but she didn’t have her permit yet, postponing her lessons every chance she got. She liked driving with the boys, she even had her own designated seat. Being their neighbour meant they’d get her to school too, and that Isaac would practice his own driving on his uncle’s truck with her. He was good, she felt safe.

When they got there, Jackie immediately jumped to Gracie, while Nathan ran to see Skyler, who didn’t truly seem to be as excited. Y/n rolled her eyes so hard, she’d probably get a headache from it. “Careful, you’ll get stuck like that.” Laughed Cole as he closed the door and threw the keys to his twin brother. “I can’t help myself!” She pleads in annoyance as she turns to her best friend for support. When she looks at Isaac, he’s looking over at the fire, not listening to their conversation at all.

He had been mostly quiet the whole ride, which she didn’t necessarily mind. They're used to comfortable silence, understanding each other beyond words. Even before him and Lee went to live with their cousins, they often came to visit. Y/n came to know that truck by heart, always sneakily asking her parents if she could go play with the neighbour boys when she saw it drive past.

Isaac actually had a stutter as a child. He wasn’t always as confident as he seemed now. Ashamed, he often stayed quiet. At first, Lee talked for him most of the time, but as their friendship grew, they learned to communicate without much words early on. The banter came later, when puberty hit and he became popular with the ladies. Sometimes though, when they’re alone, his quiet side shines through. Maybe tonight he just didn’t feel like talking much. That would be fine, but she knew there was something more.

“Hey,” It’s spoken softly. Hearing her voice, he shook himself out of his trance and noticed everyone was gone to exactly where he was looking. He was too bewitched by the fire to notice the people around it. “you’re quiet.” She chuckles. She says it as a fact, as something she noticed, but he knows she means it as a question that needed answering. He rubs the back of his neck, not sure of what to say. “Oh… uh~ yeah.” A giggle escapes her lips at that. “Recompose yourself, Garcia. You have a reputation to uphold.” He knows she’s teasing, but before he can answer, her hand leaves his forearm and she’s headed towards the party, like everyone else.

People wave at her, Cole screams something, Danny laughs. All he sees is fire. As if she’s walking right into it. She looks beautiful. The lack of her touch is more noticeable now. It feels wrong. He didn’t even notice she was touching him. It’s not unusual per say, but you’d think he would notice. Maybe it wasn’t her voice that drew his attention, maybe it was the familiarity of her touch. She knew that sometimes he was so inside his head that only a gentle squeeze could do the job that words couldn’t. But the fact she kept it, and he allowed it, like it didn’t matter, was what perplexed him. He’d usually be thrilled, but he was too tense to even feel it. Maybe that’s what made him stutter again. She had that effect on him, even though she helped him through it the most. He couldn’t get the idea of her out of his head, but he didn’t know how to tell her.

“Buddy, c’mon.” Danny’s voice pulled him out of his haze. “It’ll just come out naturally when you talk to her, don’t stress about it.” It comes out so casual, as if it was obvious between the two boys. “What are you talking about, dude? I’m just kinda tired. Didn’t even wanna come to this trash party.” He scoffs unconvincingly to his older cousin. “Yeah okay. You were the most excited. You dragged Y/n here, when you know she doesn’t even like parties. Look, if you have something to say to her, just do. It doesn’t have to be special, or a big deal, or even tonight. Now let’s go. She’s all alone in a party she didn’t wanna go to, with people she can’t stand.” Isaac laughs at that, knowing she’s probably poking at Cole’s last nerves or teasing Alex and Lee. He also knew that, sadly, the company of her friends didn’t compensate for breathing the same air as some deeply annoying people. “Well, to be fair, Gracie is a pain in the ass. Girl can’t mind her own business.” Danny pushes his back harder as he holds his shoulders, guiding him towards their friends. “You know she likes you right?” Danny questions, but Isaac just rolls his eyes. “Right, she likes anything that looks in her direction.” The Walter boy nods enthusiastically, as if it was all evident. “Right, yeah. And, you don’t care—obviously- cause you like Y/n, anyway!” Isaac’s head turns sharp at that, but he relaxes at Danny’s unconcerned smirk. He couldn’t get anything past the boy. His feelings were hiding behind a glass window to everyone, but her. Finally giving up the act, he shakes Danny’s hands off him and walks the final few steps towards the crowd on his own. “Shut up…”

When Isaac finally joins the party, he’s immediately swarmed by a raid of girls. Y/n watched from far away, lightly laughing at the absurdity of it all. But, a part of her is jealous. She doesn’t want him to spend time with these girls, he’s supposed to be her best friend. She’s the one supposed to have all of his attention… and more. Before she can shut down that too recurring thought, she feels someone walk up beside her.

“Isaac Garcia, honorary Walter, and breaker of hearts! Why don’t you join the fan club?” The boy teases in a theatrical manner. She recognized him, Matthew, from the football team. “I didn’t have time to sign up, sadly. But I don’t think there’s any more place to join, now.” She mimicked his dramaturgic expression. “King Garcia has a big heart, thou shall not worry! The more the merrier.” She laughs at that. He’s being ridiculous, but it’s getting a reaction out of her. Matthew did not mind being ridiculed if it meant she would be the one laughing. After the laughter quieted down, she answered honestly. “Not for me, I don’t think so.” But she kept their act going, finding it fun. “I have come to accept this sad reality a long time ago, My Knight! When I was still only a small peasant girl.” He smiles, before dropping the Shakespearean accent. “I am glad.” “You are?” She suspiciously questions. “Of course. That means you can join my club. As the face of it, of course. The Y/n appreciation club.” The play is back on, and so are the theatrics. “Oh, I’d be delighted, My Knight. Not many members I suppose?” “Only me, for now, My Queen. But not by lack of trying from others. It’s just that…” His face drops forward comically, pressing her to ask, “That what, My Kight?” Dramatically, he sighs. “They have to fight to the death to join… and I’m a very good duelist. Very motivated… to be the sole member of this club.” “How so?” She truly wonders. “It would mean that I would have your undivided attention, My Queen. That would be a great prize, indeed.” He says, slowly coming back to his true self. Y/n actually didn’t expect that. Most boys don’t give her the time of day, let alone display their affection so clearly. “Oh…” “Oh.” He teases, and she giggles at the realization.

Through the sea of undesirable faces surrounding him, Isaac sees the interaction. Why is she laughing? What could he be saying that’s so incredibly funny? He should be the one making her laugh like that. But, that’s not really fair, though, is it? He didn’t even come up to her since he left the side of the car. She’d be alone if it wasn’t for the footballer. He’s glad she has company, he just wishes it was him instead. Not keeping his eyes off the girl, he distractedly excuses himself from the herd. Slightly pushing people out of his way, he goes directly towards the new pair of friends. Y/n is laughing and twirling her hair. She never twirls her hair. Her dress is pretty. Short. She was wearing a dress? Is it new? He’s never seen it before. Did she wear it for him? For Matthew? Did they talk before tonight? Why is he so pressed about this? Why does he care so badly? Heart beating louder than the music, his hands reach to another random drink. Suddenly, his legs start to walk on their own towards the girl he can’t help but love.

As he comes up behind her, Y/n sees Matthew’s expression change. “Well, time is up, My Lady.” He theatrically bows down to her as Isaac puts his arms around her shoulders. Y/n’s confused at his sudden change of behaviour. “I’ll see you later, Princess.” He winks and walks away while Isaac stands confused. Did he just call her Princess? What a player… What even was their dynamic? He didn’t actually plan on interrupting anything, but now that he did, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Lost in thought again, he only notices her expression when she yells out the other boy’s name and moves towards him, making Isaac’s drunken arm drop. Matthew turns around and softly smiles at her. He motions for her to come closer and whispers something in her ear. That secret makes her blush, and Isaac is furious, not knowing what was said. Why did he have that effect on her? As Matthew leaves Y/n with a pat on the head, she sheepishly comes back to where her best friend was standing. The closer she got, the warmer he cheeks felt, and apparently looked. Isaac noticed, but didn’t truly understand he was the source of it.

“So? What did cocky all-American football star Matthew want to do with you?” Isaac says matter-of-factly. His words start to slur. Nothing makes much sense, except the thought that she may be in love with someone else. She takes a step back. He suddenly went from quiet to mean. What happened in that pit of girls? Was he tired of breaking hearts? Was yours the only one left? “He’s not cocky, he’s actually very nice…” She tries to add, but it comes out hushed, shy. The words hurt more than she cared to admit. Her biggest insecurities highlighted by the one she cared for most. “And- I’m sorry if it’s too hard for you to imagine… that someone could actually like… me,” It comes out slow, as if she was carefully choosing her words and not only trying not to cry. “but there’s no need to be so rude…” Her last words are barely louder than a whisper. With the ringing in his ear and the loud music, he’s scared he simply imagined it. But her eyes tell him that even if she didn’t say it, that’s how she felt. He was deliberately rude and knowingly mean and he felt absolutely awful.

“Y/n… you know that’s not what I meant…” “I don’t know that…” She avoids his gaze, kicking the sand beneath her feet. “I just-” “You what?” “He’s a jock! He must have bad intentions!” She scoffs at that. “Or maybe! Just maybe! Someone likes me! Crazy, I know! But not that impossible…” “I don’t doubt that anyone could like you, Y/n. You’re-” When she finally looks at him, demanding an explanation, his mind goes silent. How could he tell her how deeply amazing he truly thought she was? “It’s just that- He’s a football star! They’re dicks!” That’s the excuse he comes up with. “Ok? Cole was a football star?” “And he’s a dick! I love him… but look at Erin…” She nods sarcastically. “Well, I’m glad you’re concerned, but I won’t follow him around like a puppy, waiting for attention. I’ve done that enough actually…” She mumbles, but he hears. He always hears her. “Y/n…” She dismisses him with a wave. “Go back to your little fan club, Isaac…” As Y/n walks away she blinks back a few tears that were threatening to spill. Isaac watched her sit down by the fire besides Matthew, hugging her knees. He’s making her laugh, and everything gets more real. He was the asshole, and he hated himself for it. Before going to apologize, he just needed another drink.

As he turns his back to the fire, he bumps into Grace, who didn’t seem this shocked. “God! I didn’t see you!” She feigns innocence, as she offers him a new red plastic cup. Isaac takes it without much thought, constantly looking back at where Y/n and Matthew were sitting. He’s too distracted to care about Grace and too buzzed to even understand what she’s saying. He nods at whatever she’s saying before noticing her hand on his shoulder. “Ew, get off, Grace.” The intoxication in his voice is clear, but he’ll never be wasted enough to want her, or anyone other than the girl he couldn’t keep his eyes off of. Gracie doesn’t seem to take a hint, putting her other hand on his free shoulder. By the time Isaac turns back to look at her, Y/n is already on her feet marching towards them. “Oh no… she’s coming to ruin our fun…” Grace pouts, but Isaac doesn’t hear, too mesmerized by the girl stomping her way to them. “Get off, Grace.” Y/n pushes her off and instinctively checks on Isaac. Taking his drink from him and buttoning his jacket back on, she says, “Ok, it’s time to go, pretty boy.” She softly smiles at him, knowing he doesn’t need a lecture right now. After she puts his hair back into place, she turns to a whining Grace and tells her matter-of-factly, “Also.. Gracie… eat shit and die.” She scoffs and flips her hair like in the movies. At least, that’s how Isaac sees it. His savior in slow motion, he thinks and laughs. He looks stupid and drunk, and so so so in love with her. It’s time to go home.

“Y/n, that was not nice…” Jackie comes up to her, but Y/n ignores her, fully knowing the point of her words were to be mean. She could be the devil when she wanted. And Grace was always a free pass for being bitchy. The amount of times that Y/n had to defend Isaac as a child, she knew how to take care of the boy. This came naturally to her.

“You do not want to feel the wrath of the neighbor girl, Jackie.” Cole laughs as he pats her shoulders and goes past her towards the car. Danny joins him, keys in hand. “She’s his fiercest defender, don’t try her. She’d burn the world for him, I’m pretty sure.” He warns, mumbling the last part. “Walter family! In the car! Now!” Y/n demands, holding Isaac up. “Yes ma’am!” Cole winks at Jackie, who’s slowly understing the dynamics of the family. “No one is safe if he’s the one in danger. No matter how much you think she loves you, there’s no one on earth she cares more about than him.” He whispers in her ear as he sits down considerably close to her. “She’s crazy mad, guys! Get in the car!” Danny yells for the others to come. Lee and Nathan run up to the car, fully knowing who’s boss.

When they finally get home, Y/n walks right past everyone with Isaac to put him to bed. No one says a word, knowing it’d be better not to test her in times like these.

Isaac starts laughing when they go past his door. “Y/n! Are you crazy?” She shushes him for being too loud. “Are you crazyyy?” He tries again in a loud whisper. “What are you talking about?” She can’t help but laugh a little too. “You can’t come into my roooooooom. Not at this hour! No girls over. Aunt Katherine is gonna be piiiiiiiissed.” “I’m just putting you to bed, Isaac. You’re drunk.” She chuckles, pushing him towards his bed so he can sit down. “Oh…” He’s quite obvious in his disappointment. As she chooses clothes for him to sleep in, she tries to reassure him. “Katherine said I could stay tonight, ok? Because of the party. I’ll sleep on the couch.” His excitement is brought back by that piece of information. “Oh! We can watch a movieeeeee, and-” “No, Isaac. We sleep. You don’t want to be visibly hangover in the morning. Then, Katherine would kill you.” She turns away from his dresser and puts his clothes beside him on the bed. “Here. Your pjs. Put them on, I’ll put mine on, and then we’ll go brush our teeth, ok?” “Ok…” His eyes wander to her dress. It’s pretty. It’s short. He wants to tell her it’s pretty. Instinctively, his hands wander to the hem of the dress. His thumb strokes the fabric, it's nice. There’s a silence between them. Y/n doesn’t actually leave the room, like she had planned. “Pretty… it’s-“ “Thanks.” She quickly interrupts. In his daze, his hands move from her skirt to her thigh. The touch is soft, feather-like. He’s scared she’ll break otherwise. Y/n holds her breath, but before she can say anything, he lifts his arms up. “Help.” He simply says like a child who can’t undress themselves. It takes a while for her to process his request, but she doesn’t decline.

When she first touches the bottom of his shirt, and her hand accidentally brushes over his skin, she can’t help but feel her heart skip. It’s not as if she had never seen him shirtless before. Countless summers at the Walter household gave her many opportunities to gawk. But this felt different. The two of them, alone in his room. It’s as if, in her anger at Grace, she had forgotten their own fight.

Matthew had abs too, even more, probably. A football star boyfriend would be great, she tried to convince herself. But the thought didn’t persuade her, as it didn’t give her the butterflies that Isaac’s simple smile easily could.

As she lifts his shirt up, she can’t help but think back at what Matthew whispered to her back at the bonfire party. “Go to your King. Do not settle for a lowly knight like me.” She later tried to explain to him she didn’t feel as though he was “lowly”, but he saw through her makeshift walls right to where she hid her feelings for the older Garcia boy. She didn’t know why he acted the way he did that night, so quiet, and then so rude, but she pushed it all away, they’d talk about it tomorrow.

When she finally took off his shirt, she couldn’t help but stare a little. She quickly shook it off and put his old band shirt on. There were a few holes in it, but with his grey hoodie on top, it didn’t really matter. Looking at his neatly folded red checkered pyjama pants, he got up and said, in the same way as before, “Help.” She chuckled, and turned away to leave. “You can do that part on your own, I’m sure.” She could feel his smirk burning at the back of her head.

In the bathroom, she put her own pyjama set on and started her nightly routine. Hearing a knock at the door, she swiftly opened, knowing it must be Isaac coming to brush his teeth.

They brush their teeth together and Isaac sits on top of the counter, waiting for her to finish taking off her makeup and doing all of her skincare. “You’re so pretty…” The sudden break in the comfortable silence shocks her. Of all the things he could’ve said, she didn’t expect this. Seeing she didn’t answer, he kept going. “And smart too. You’re more than your looks of course, but you are very pretty. I know I make fun of you for your thousand steps routine, but I actually do enjoy it. Gives me more time to just look at you…” “Isaac…” She tried to cut in on his rant. “And- And I didn’t mean that… At the bonfire. I know people like you. How could they not… I just- i just don’t want you to like them…” He was drunk, he’d regret it in the morning. She feels as though she’s reading someone’s secret diary. He’s drunk and an open book for her to skim through. “Isaac…” She warns again, but he shakes his head. “I guess I was just jealous… ‘cause you were laughing… so much with Matthew. What were you even laughing at? He can’t be that funny. I’m funny. I want you to like me…” He groans, hiding his face in his hands. “I do like you…” Y/n tries to reassure him. “Well then… I want you to love me.” She takes his hand, making him look at her fully. “I love you, Isaac. A lot.” He smiles. “You’re my best friend.” It drops. “No…” That was wrong. That’s not what he wanted. “No?” She questions. “I don’t want you to love me like a best friend… I want you to love me as… more.” “More?” “More.” He says it as a pledge. “Will your answer stay the same in the morning?” There’s a smile on her face. She can’t help but dwell on the possibility of what could be. “I promise.” He’s sure of himself. “Ok, then we’ll talk about it when you’re well-rested.” She laughs. “Now get down, sleepyhead. It’s time for bed.” Isaac didn’t argue, knowing full well that in the morning, he’d be telling her the same thing. Over and over again if that’s what she wished to hear.

ꕀ

‎𐦂 hope you enjoyed it!! comment what you think! and please don’t forget to reblog!!! ◡̈

ʚ masterlist + resquests!

taglist ; [making a taglist for my life with the walter boys! plz send an ask, comment, dm to be added!]

[elryuse]

i came here from wattpad 🙌🙌 i love your writings, idk if you're still accepting request but if you are , i would like to request a drunk winter x male reader fluff, just a short one will do. just a spark from watching a lot of drunk scenes from kdramas, like the one in my demon lol. im sorry if this is a burden but cant wait to hear from you soon!

Drunk Call

Winter X Make Reader

Fluffy fluff fluff

Exhaustion gnawed at my bones, a familiar ache that had become a constant companion these past few weeks. Practice sessions for our upcoming comeback were brutal, the pressure to deliver another hit song gnawing at my confidence. To top it all off, a nasty rumor about me had surfaced online, and the hateful comments felt like a punch to the gut.

Curled up on the dorm couch, I scrolled through the endless stream of negativity, tears blurring my vision. Frustration bubbled over, a silent scream trapped in my throat. "This is stupid," I mumbled, shoving my phone onto the coffee table.

Loneliness, a suffocating weight, settled in my chest. I craved a familiar voice, someone who wouldn't judge, someone who knew the real Winter, not the one fabricated for the cameras. With a sigh, I reached for my phone, my finger hovering over your name. You were more than just my manager; you were my rock, my confidante, the one person who saw through the facade.

Hitting call, I waited with bated breath, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The first ring felt like an eternity, the second a cruel joke. Just as I was about to give up, your voice, warm and soothing, filled the silence.

"Hey Winter, everything alright?" Your voice, laced with concern, sent a wave of relief washing over me. "Y/n," I croaked, my voice thick with emotion. The dam broke then, the frustration, the loneliness, spilling out in a torrent of words. I ranted about the comeback, the rumors, the relentless pressure, the tears blurring my vision all the while.

You listened patiently, your voice a calming balm on my raging emotions. You didn't offer empty platitudes or dismiss my feelings. Instead, you encouraged me to vent, to let it all out. By the time I finished, my voice hoarse and tears drying on my cheeks, a comfortable silence settled between us.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," you said finally, your voice firm but laced with tenderness. The promise sent a warmth blooming in my chest. Just knowing you were on your way chased away the suffocating loneliness.

Twenty minutes later, the soft knock on the door had me scrambling to my feet. Wiping away any lingering tears, I opened the door to find you standing there, a concerned frown creasing your forehead. The sight of you, your worried gaze softening at the sight of me, was a balm to my soul.

"Hey," you said gently, your hand reaching out to cup my cheek. The touch, warm and familiar, grounded me. Without a word, I stepped aside, ushering you into the dorm room.

The state of the room must have been a giveaway. The empty soju bottles on the coffee table, the discarded tissues, and the general air of disarray spoke volumes. You cast a quick glance at the empty bottles, a knowing look in your eyes. "Rough night, huh?" you asked softly.

I nodded, unable to meet your gaze. Shame washed over me, a childish need to apologize for my weakness. But before I could voice my insecurities, you pulled me into a hug. Your embrace was a safe haven, the familiar scent of your cologne a soothing comfort.

"It's okay to not be okay, Winter," you murmured against my hair. "You don't have to be strong all the time." Those words, simple yet profound, shattered the dam of my remaining defenses. Tears welled up again, hot and silent, as I clung to you.

You held me close, whispering words of comfort until my sobs subsided into sniffles. When I finally pulled away, you brushed a stray tear from my cheek, your thumb gently wiping away the moisture. "How about we forget about practice tomorrow?" You suggested, yoir voice laced with concern.

My eyes widened in surprise. "But the comeback…" I began to protest, but you cut me off with a gentle smile. "The comeback can wait," you said firmly. "Right now, you need rest."

There was no arguing with the determined glint in your eyes. With a sigh of surrender, I nodded. You helped me change into my pajamas, the simple act of putting on comfy clothes a small comfort in itself.

Tucking me into bed, you fluffed the pillows and adjusted the covers with a meticulousness that made me smile. "Get some sleep, Winter," you whispered, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on my forehead. "I'll be here in the morning."

As I drifted off to sleep, the weight on my chest had lifted considerably. The knowledge that I wasn't alone, that you were there to catch me when I fell, filled me with a warmth that chased away the lingering shadows of The morning light filtered through the blinds, painting the room in soft stripes of gold. A gentle ache in my head and a dry throat were the only reminders of the previous night's emotional rollercoaster. Yawning, I stretched luxuriously in bed, a small smile playing on my lips.

The faint smell of coffee and something warm and savory drifted towards me. Sitting up, I found a tray on the bedside table laden with a bowl of steaming porridge, a glass of water, and a small cup of coffee with a cartoon bear latte art. My heart warmed.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you said from the doorway, a playful smile on your face. You looked a little sleep-deprived yourself, dark circles under your eyes, but a tenderness lingered in your gaze.

"You didn't have to stay the night," I said, touched by your gesture.

"Well, how could I leave you here alone after last night?" you countered, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, who else would make sure the most important member of AESPA gets a decent breakfast?

I blushed, unable to deny the truth in your words. You carefully helped me sit up, placing pillows behind my back as I took a sip of the warm porridge. The coffee, creamy and sweet, hit the spot just right.

"Feeling better?" you asked, pulling up a chair beside the bed.

"A lot better, thanks to you," I mumbled, stealing a glance at you. The concern in your eyes morphed into something softer, making my cheeks flush again.

"Don't worry about practice today," you reassured me. "We already informed the others you're taking a break." Relief washed over me. The thought of facing the dance studio right now was daunting.

"So, what do you want to do today?" you asked, your voice gentle. I thought for a moment. The idea of staying cooped up in the dorm room wasn't appealing.

"Maybe we could take a walk in the park?" I suggested. "Just the two of us, away from everything".

Your smile widened, genuine and bright. "Sounds like a perfect plan, Winter."

The park was a welcome change of scenery. The crisp autumn air invigorated my senses, and the vibrant foliage painted the landscape in hues of gold and crimson. Walking hand-in-hand with you, the tension from the past few weeks seemed to melt away.

We talked about everything and nothing, sharing stories and dreams, laughing at silly jokes. You even indulged my sudden craving for street tteokbokki, the spicy rice cakes adding a delicious warmth to the cool air.

As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows on the park's path, we found ourselves sitting on a bench overlooking a small lake. The tranquility of the scene mirrored the newfound peace within me.

"Thank you, Y/n," I said, leaning against your shoulder.

"For what?" you asked, your voice soft.

"For everything," I replied, my voice thick with emotion. "For being there when I needed you most, for believing in me, for being my rock."

You turned to face me, your gaze filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "Winter," you murmured, your voice husky, "you are strong, talented, and beautiful. Don't let anyone, not even yourself, tell you otherwise."

And then, before I could respond, you leaned in, your lips meeting mine in a kiss that was both soft and passionate. It was a kiss filled with the unspoken words of our affection, a promise of a love that transcended the boundaries of fan and manager, idol and boyfriend.

As we pulled apart, breathless and smiling, I knew that no matter what challenges awaited me, I wouldn't face them alone. I had you by my side, my confidant, my best friend, and most importantly, my love.

The End

[geotjwrs]

Hey is it possible if you could do Jenna x male reader based off the song Dark Red by Steve Lacy? Thank you

only you babe

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; none

The faint sound of music hummed in the background, barely loud enough to be heard over the quiet tension in the room. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, his phone clutched in his hand, his eyes staring blankly at the screen. It had been an hour since Jenna had texted, and her silence felt louder than anything else in his life right now.

"I think you know that I miss you…"

The lyrics echoed in his mind, but all he could focus on was the gnawing feeling in his gut—the one that told him something was wrong. He hadn’t heard from her since their last conversation, and now every passing second felt like a countdown to something he didn’t want to face.

He stood up, pacing the small apartment. He’d always had this fear, deep down, that Jenna might slip away. That one day, she would realize she didn’t need him. And lately, that fear had started to feel more real. The way she’d been distant, the way her messages came less frequently, it all pointed to something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

"Something bad is ’bout to happen to me…"

The words from the song buzzed in his head, like a warning he couldn’t ignore.

Y/N ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of everything bearing down on him. He knew he should call her, talk to her, ask her what was really going on. But every time he thought about it, that voice in the back of his mind whispered, What if she’s done? What if you push her away?

Just as he was about to give in to the anxiety, his phone buzzed. A message.

Jenna: “Can we talk?”

Y/N’s heart dropped. He stared at the screen, his hands shaking slightly. Those words—“Can we talk?”—were never a good sign. He could feel the blood draining from his face, and the room suddenly felt too small, too hot.

He sat down again, his mind racing with every possible worst-case scenario. She was leaving, wasn’t she? She had found someone else, or maybe she had finally gotten tired of him. Y/N’s thoughts spiraled out of control, and before he could stop himself, he typed out a response.

Y/N: “Is everything okay?”

The seconds stretched into minutes, and still no response. Y/N stood up again, pacing even faster now, his palms sweaty as he waited for her reply. He couldn’t breathe. His mind was clouded with every possible thing that could go wrong.

"I think I’m losin’ it…"

He looked around the apartment, his gaze falling on the little things that reminded him of her. The jacket she’d left hanging on the back of his chair. The coffee mug she always used. The picture of the two of them sitting on the shelf, smiling like nothing in the world could ever come between them.

But now, Y/N wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t been sure for a while, and it scared him more than anything.

Finally, his phone buzzed again. He snatched it up, his heart pounding in his chest as he read her message.

Jenna: “Yeah, but… I just feel like things have been off between us lately.”

Y/N closed his eyes, feeling a lump form in his throat. He had known this was coming. He had felt it in every silence, in every missed call, in every time she had looked at him like she was seeing someone else. But hearing her say it, seeing it in black and white on his screen, made it real.

Y/N: “I know… I’ve felt it too.”

He didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to tell her how scared he was, how much he loved her, how the thought of losing her made him feel like he was drowning. But he didn’t. Instead, he just waited, feeling like the walls were closing in around him.

An hour later, Jenna showed up at his door. She stood there, her arms crossed, looking at him with those dark eyes that had always been able to read him like a book. There was something different in them tonight, though—something he couldn’t quite place.

Y/N stepped aside, letting her in. They hadn’t talked in person for a couple of days, and the air between them felt heavy, loaded with everything left unsaid.

“Hey,” she said quietly, her voice almost fragile as she walked past him.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, his throat tight. He closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a second before following her into the living room.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, the space between them feeling much bigger than it had ever felt before. Y/N fidgeted with his hands, trying to come up with something to say, but his mind was blank.

Jenna looked at him, her expression soft but serious. “Y/N… I don’t know what’s been going on with us lately. But I can’t shake this feeling that something’s wrong.”

Y/N swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to tell her everything—about how terrified he was of losing her, how he’d been feeling this weight of uncertainty pressing down on him for weeks. But instead, he just nodded, afraid that if he said the wrong thing, he’d make everything worse.

“Me too,” he finally managed to say. “I’ve felt it too.”

Jenna sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t want us to fall apart, Y/N. But lately, it feels like we’re not even on the same page anymore. Like we’re both just waiting for something bad to happen.”

Y/N’s heart sank. That was exactly how he had been feeling. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to say she was done with him. He hadn’t realized she was feeling the same way.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N said, his voice cracking slightly. He hated how vulnerable he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. This was Jenna, the girl he had loved for longer than he could remember, and the thought of her walking out of his life was unbearable.

Jenna’s eyes softened at his words. She reached out, taking his hand in hers. “I don’t want to lose you either. But we need to figure this out, Y/N. We can’t keep going on like this, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Y/N nodded, squeezing her hand tightly. “I know. I just… I’ve been so scared, Jenna. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize you didn’t want this anymore. That you didn’t want me.”

Jenna’s expression softened even more, and she moved closer to him, her hand still gripping his. “Y/N… that’s not it. I love you. I always have. But we can’t keep letting fear control us. We need to talk to each other, not shut down every time things get hard.”

Y/N closed his eyes, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. She wasn’t leaving. She didn’t want to leave. But the fear, the doubt, had been eating him alive for weeks, and now that it was out in the open, he realized just how much it had been affecting them.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own head that I didn’t realize I was pushing you away.”

Jenna shook her head, her thumb gently brushing over the back of his hand. “We’ve both been doing it. But it doesn’t have to be like this. We can fix this, Y/N. We just need to be honest with each other.”

Y/N nodded, finally meeting her gaze. “I want that. I want us to be okay.”

Jenna smiled softly, leaning in to press her forehead against his. “We will be. But we have to stop letting fear get in the way.”

They sat there like that for a while, their foreheads touching, the weight of their unspoken fears slowly lifting. The tension between them wasn’t gone, but it felt lighter now, more manageable.

As the night wore on, Y/N realized that the dark cloud that had been hanging over them for so long was starting to fade. There were still things they needed to work through, still conversations they needed to have, but for the first time in weeks, Y/N felt like maybe they could make it through this.

And as he held Jenna close, he knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t going to let fear take her away from him. Not again.

[superblysubpar]

<- part seven | part nine -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: Was it real?

the song: we can’t be friends by Ariana Grande

also for your listening pleasure: Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper, One More Night by Phil Collins, Where Do Broken Hearts Go by Whitney Houston, Who's Crying Now by Journey, I Ran (So Far Away) by A Flock of Seagulls, What About Love? by Heart, and Can't Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon

5,839 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / brief descriptions of scars-previous head injury, new injuries & blood / mentions of getting high, but not reader / douchery to the highest order in the form of Brendan - he ignores boundaries, doesn’t listen, and a physical fight ensues - I made it as brief and nondescript as possible, but take care of yourself and do not read if you find it could be triggering (I’ve marked the scene with Brendan between red lines, and all you’d need to know is Steve saves the day) | my blog is 18+

Somewhere near Cornwallis Street - Sunday

  The screech of metal on metal continuing to alert you of his presence only makes your feet pick up their pace on the grass, pavement of the sidewalk too hot for your bare soles. 

  “Sweetheart, just get in the van. You’re wearing out my brakes, here.”

  Eddie’s been trailing behind you for five minutes, calling out the open window to get you to look at him. 

  “You know,” he calls, pausing at the stop sign as you look at the empty intersection and begin to jog across hot tar, “You’re being a brat!”

  “Excuse me?!” 

  Your foot twitches to stomp, like the thing he just called you, while fighting the urge to look at him as you continue down the neighborhood’s street. 

  “You heard me! Get in the fucking car. You gonna walk all the way across town without shoes on?”

  “Yes!” 

  “Really?” He scoffs, “Okay. What happens when you get there and you’ve got no keys?”

  Your feet slow, but you call out confidently, “I have a spare hidden.”

  “Fucking stubborn,” he mumbles as he brakes and puts the car in park and hops out. 

  Eddie rounds the hood of his car, sneakers untied and black swim trunks dripping wet still, hair pulled into a low bun with curls falling out around his face. He glares at you with hands on his hips.

  “Get. In. The. Car.”

  “No!” 

  You do stomp your foot that time, and then make a break for it, a full out sprint to get around him. 

  It’s childish, is what it is. There’s no other way to describe the way you try to run away from him, literally, or the way he snakes his arms around you, shouting about what the hell your actual problem is. No other way to describe the way you swat at a hard chest doing absolutely nothing as tears start rolling down your cheeks again and you yell the word asshole at him. 

  “Me?! I’m the asshole?” Eddie’s fingers circle your wrists, stopping your useless attack. His brown eyes blink at you, “For what? For-“

  “For lying to me, Eddie!” You shout it around a sob, knowing you’re leaning towards ugly snotting crying territory quickly. Your vision blurs as you keep going, “You manipulated me for Harrington. For some extra cash. For…for what?” Lips spitting words out around salty tears, “You started this whole fucking bet and-and you let him…why’d you do this? Why’d you-“

  “Because hello!” Eddie shouts, letting your arms go and holding his out wide, “Breaking news to literally only you because the entire fucking planet can see it: You’re totally in love with the guy!”

  “I’m no-“

  “You are,” Eddie cuts you off, eyes soft but jaw hard. “And you were never gonna give him a chance without our help because, aside from him,” Eddie laughs and gestures down the road behind you, “You’re the most stubborn person on earth. You both set your sights on something and you won’t budge till you get it. And you…yours were set on hating his guts.”

  Your hand swipes at your cheeks as you look away from him, refusing to admit he’s right and Eddie shakes his head, speaking softly now. 

“And I don’t think you told yourself you were gonna hate Steve Harrington forever because of some moment when you were twelve. I think you decided you were gonna hate him, so there was never any chance the opposite could be true. Because if you hate him, you could never love him. And if you never love him, you can’t get hurt.”

  A sob cracks your chest, head hung as tears fall and darken the pavement burning your feet. It only takes three drops for Eddie’s arms to wrap around you and five for you to wrap yours around him. He waits until his white cut off tee is plastered to his chest but no longer getting freshly damp to run a palm up and down your back and kiss the top of your head. 

  “Want some pie?”

  Eddie makes a disgusted scoff as you swipe your nose on his shirt and then look down at your bare feet.

  “Can we stop and get my shoes?”

  He smiles, head nodding towards the van still idling next to you. 

  “Would Prince Charming show up at Cinderella’s doorstep without the glass slipper?”

  Your eyes roll as Eddie walks you over to the van, helping you in as you pick up the shoes in the wheel well. 

  Eddie closes the door, face twisted in hesitation before he taps the open window frame and clears his throat.

“To be clear, so I don’t get accused of manipulating and lying again,” he raises his eyebrows at you and you duck your head as he softly tacks on, “I’m not Prince Charming in this scenario.” He nods at the shoes in your lap, “Before I could even think to follow you, Harrington was shoving those at my chest and telling me to.”

  Your chin wobbles, lip quivering as you sniff and ward off a fresh wave of tears. 

  It doesn’t matter who brought them, not really. Because all that does matter is the fact that they’re here and you want to put them on and keep running. 

  Away from your arguably skewed view of the past. Away from this street and that house and the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands on your body, the ache in your stomach and chest that you worry won’t ever go away.

  Run far, so far that Eddie’s words can’t ever catch up and make you face them head on - admit the truth behind them. 

  All you can think about doing is running away from Steve Harrington, because that’s all you’ve ever done, but now, now there’s a small new thread. 

  A thread like the one in your skirt a week ago that you wonder if you keep pulling, you’ll find where it starts. 

  A thread that runs parallel to the feeling of needing to run away from him. One that makes you pick and pull and wonder:

  If you keep running from him, will Steve ever give up trying to catch you? And if you stopped running, what happens when he does? 

  What happens when the chase is over?

Hawkins, Indiana - Monday A.B. (After Bet)

  You’re not proud of it, on Monday morning when you call Keith and tell him you can’t come in, lying about being sick. 

  The feeling in your stomach as you move a shirt, a sweatshirt, and pajama pants to your dryer later that day makes you wonder if you were really lying though. 

  Rain tapping against your windows and the glow of the TV screen lull you to sleep on your couch. 

  You don’t dream about Steve Harrington. 

  And when a crack of thunder jolts you awake right when he’s not about to kiss you, you decide you’ll never watch a movie with Harrison Ford in it again. 

Hawkins, Indiana - Tuesday A.B.

  Your hand smacks the buttons of your radio as Cyndi Lauper’s voice croons out of the speakers, ironically the dark storm clouds from last night are fading to gray this morning as you drive to work. 

  Fingers rub soothing circles into your temple while the warm summer breeze blows through your open windows, placating you into calm energy until the radio lands on it’s next station. 

  “But if you change your mind, you know that I’ll be here. And maybe we both can learn…”

  As you roll to a stop at a red light, you blink at your radio with a clenched jaw as Phil laments about getting one more night. Thankfully, the song is almost over, so when the light turns green, your shoulders roll back as your wheels go forward again. 

  But it seems the universe is out to get you, and soon Whitney’s voice is prying your already cracked chest open, voice filling every vulnerable nook and cranny it can find in your body.

  “Nope!” You tell your radio, the universe, while your hands frantically grab for a mix out of your cupholder and shove it into the dash as you make the last turn onto Family Video’s street. 

  And if the Journey song isn’t enough to make you fall, as you turn into the parking lot, the sight of Steve is.

  He looks up at the sound of your music and you quickly slam it off, able to feel the tiny people going to work inside your chest, shouting orders about reinforcements around your heart with the wall back standing. 

  Steve’s car is backed into a space, and he sits on the hood of it. He holds a to go coffee cup and a brown paper bag that he grips tighter as you get out of your car and walk past without looking at him.

  “Honey-“

  “Don’t.” 

  He says your name, feet scrambling behind you until you slow to a stop.

“That was a shitty way for me to tell you, I didn’t mean to make it sound like we were all…conspiring against-“

  “But you were,” you interrupt, spinning to face him in a grave mistake. The leader inside of you shouting about more! You need more glue, more bricks, more! He’s too powerful! The walls are breaking again!

  Steve’s hair is a mess, wild brown waves with zero product in it. Circles under pleading amber eyes and you’re fairly certain the shirt he’s wearing isn’t washed if the wrinkles and mustard stain are any indication. 

  It makes you feel guilty, but then you remember that you’re not sure what was real for him this last week. Not sure if any of it was, or if you were just the thing he had his sights set on winning - the thing he couldn’t have till he could. 

  He shakes his head but you hold up your hand, “Let’s just forget anything happened, okay?”

  “Wh-what?” Steve blinks profusely and you look anywhere but his eyes, and freckles, and neck, and-

  “I just want to…forget it. Let’s just be coworkers who share friends again, okay?”

  “We…you don’t even want to be friends?” His voice cracks and you blink your own eyes too many times, feeling a sting behind them. 

  “I…I can’t be your friend Ste-“ your voice wobbles and you correct, “Harrington.”

  Your fingers fiddle with the strap of your bag and his crinkle the brown bag in his hand and you both stand there, staring at the sidewalk for what feels like forever. 

  “I s’pose you don’t want these then,” he offers the items up limply, before he walks over to the trash and tosses them. He clears his throat and calls over his shoulder, “Have a good shift, co-worker.”

  His fingers slide on the bridge of his nose as he gets into his car, but it’s no use. You don’t see him crying because you’re walking into the store, and he doesn’t see you crying, because his vision is too blurry to see much of anything.

  The truth of the matter is, you can’t be friends with Steve. 

  Because you’d rather be so much more than friends. 

  But if you’re more than friends with Steve Harrington, it was only a matter of time before something, someone, new came along. A new challenge and thing to chase after. 

  You’re swiping at your eyes still as you get into the back room, greeted by an apologetic looking Robin and Keith slurping on yogurt.

“Good thing you called in yesterday,” he speaks around the pink snack in his mouth, “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks,” you snap sarcastically, dropping your bag on the table which wobbles when you do.

  “Huh,” Keith gets up, holding the spoon in his mouth as he walks over and shakes the table. He pops it out and holds the spoon at it accusingly, “Who broke the table?”

  Your body heats up remembering Steve laying on top of you on it, the way he felt between your legs, the way he-

  “I did!” Robin scrambles up from her chair, waving her hand over it and talking too fast, “I’ll pay for it! I’ll work extra shifts! I’ll-“

  “She didn’t break it.” You look at Robin who you’re worried may offer to sell her own soul if she thinks you’re mad at her. You’re not, though you do wonder how she knows about the table. “I did.

  Keith kicks it and mumbles a ‘whatever’, tossing the yogurt cup into the trash can and licking his fingers free from the creamy substance as he talks, “How was Harrington?”

  “Wh-what?”

  “Harrington?” Keith raises his eyebrows, hooking his thumb at Robin, “I can’t trust a thing she says, the traitor’s best friends with him.”

  “He…” Robin looks at you with a pout, pleading blue eyes and you sigh, “He was actually really good. Did extra work. Did the whole shipment by himself…he was…he was great.”

  Keith nods, eyes narrowed at you and then shrugs. “Whatever, he’s the new full time guy then. Spread the good news Buckley.”

  Robin’s eyes squeeze shut in a wince as you shout, “What?!”

  Keith is already walking out into the front of store and you trail behind him as he explains, “We needed a replacement for Tracy. This week was a trial run for Harrington. Thought he told you?”

  “He…” you trail off, remembering your first shift with him last week, “He said it was while you looked for the replacement.”

  Keith starts stacking tapes and Robin starts bringing them to shelves as he rolls his eyes at you. “Yeah, but why would I go through the trouble of posting the job, interviewing, and training a new person when one of my employees wants it?”

  “But-but, I’ll do it! I’ll interview and train! You don’t have to do a thing! I’ll-“

  “What’s the issue, I thought you said he was great? Give me a reason and I won’t give him the position.”

Keith blinks at you, bored, and Robin holds her breath next to you. 

  This means Steve and you working together most days. 

  This means watching him flirt and date and parade around Hawkins with every girl other than you for the foreseeable future. 

  This means you’ll never outrun Steve Harrington. 

  Robin raises her eyebrows at you and clears her throat as Keith snaps his fingers in your face, which you plaster a smile on to.  

“Give Harrington the job, what do I care?” 

  You spend the rest of your shift silent, listening to Keith explain to you how he wants the big fourth of July display to go and reminding Robin to tell Steve he can be in charge of the park, like he asked, whatever that means. 

  You stopped listening the minute his name was mentioned and focused on finding every movie with fireworks in it. 

Hawkins, Indiana - Wednesday A.B.

  You’re balancing on the window’s ledge, one hand holding the display of Patrick Swayze up and the other reaches for the tape that’s just out of reach on the shelf. 

  The tips of your fingers brush it as you stretch another centimeter and a huff falls past your lips when you can’t get it. You rise up onto your toes, craning just a little bit further when you start to lose your footing. 

  Large hands catch your waist from behind, holding you up. In the process of steadying you, your shirt rose, and Steve’s fingers now rest against your bare skin. 

  His hand lingers on your lower back as he reaches for the tape and hands it to you, both returning to your waist as you tape Johnny & Baby to the window. 

  “Thanks,” you clear your throat, realizing it’s the first word that’s been spoken in several hours. 

  Steve just hums from behind you before he lets his hands fall, the sound of his feet dragging on carpet only just louder than your heartbeat. 

  It isn’t fair, to know how his lips feel against yours.

  It isn’t fair, to know how he looks without his shirt off.

  It isn’t fair, to know how good it feels to come around his fin-

  The chime of the door pulls you from your self-sabotaging thoughts, the scent of peaches almost immediately overpowering. 

Blonde ringlets bounce as long legs approach the counter where he leans over a clipboard. 

  “Hi there,” her voice so sugary sweet it makes your stomach ache. 

  “Hi, welcome to…H-hi,” he stands, clearing his throat. 

  She pouts and leans across the counter, fingers traveling up his arms and making yours erupt in flames. 

  “You never called me, Steve.”

  “Oh,” Steve rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah, I’m so sorry. Something came up.”

  Something came up.

  Your scoff is loud, loud enough to have both of their heads turning, so you face the window again, putting pieces of tape aimlessly on the back of the posters. 

  “That’s okay,” Brit assures, syrupy and sighing, “But how are you gonna make it up to me?”

  “Oh, well, I…”

  “Hey, Steve?” You call, looking over your shoulder.

  He blinks at you, Brit’s fingers on his forearm now and swirling circles into it. “Ye-yeah?”

  “I’m out of tape,” you respond sharply.

  “And?” His brows furrow at you.

  “Can you get me some more, or are you too busy not doing your job?”

  His eyes narrow under furrowed brows but then he turns to Brit, voice low and daring to sound smooth now, “Sorry, babe, I gotta get back to work, but I promise I’ll call this time?”

  Brit smiles, gives a nod and a little wave with her fingers and then the scent of peaches is replaced with cedar and mint. 

  You smack another piece of tape haphazardly to the window. 

  “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” His voice comes from right behind you, and you don’t dare turn around and face him.

  “You have that tape?”

  “Yeah,” Steve scoffs, handing a roll over your shoulder, his breath hot against the back of your neck, “Looks like you missed a spot.”

  “Thanks,” voice biting as your fingers yank the tape from his.

  He snorts, hand pressing to the glass next to your waist, “I seriously cannot believe you have the audacity to be jealous.”

  Your knees wobble as you spin and he steadies you again, hands on your hips and just low enough for you to look down at where your bodies press together as you swallow. Steve raises his eyebrows at you, expectantly, waiting.

  “What? You want a reward for using audacity correctly in a sentence?”

Steve’s jaw pulses, his forehead furrows again, but then you tack on, “And I’m not jealous.”

  His fingers squeeze involuntarily and he shakes his head slowly. 

  “There you go again, what’d I say about that, huh?”

  Chests heave with each of your intense breaths, his tongue wets his lip as you swallow and push against the glass behind you.

  “I have no reason to be jealous,” you respond quietly as Steve’s fingers brush back and forth under the hem of your shirt. “I hate you.”

  Steve’s eyes shift in color, darker, like the forest is being covered with storm clouds as he shakes his head no again, “Quit,” he takes a deep breath, exhaling the word as he tilts his chin, “Lying.”

  The chime above the door rings and Robin’s honey tinted waves are bouncing under it as she looks around. Steve takes a step back from you, pink cheeked and swallowing, hands shaking a little as you quickly climb down. 

  Your eyes avoid his as you grab your bag and wave to Robin, mumbling something about seeing her tomorrow. 

  You’re not even surprised at the lyrics that fill your car when you start it.

  “I ran. I ran so far away. I just ran, I ran all night and day…

I couldn’t get away.”

Hawkins, Indiana - Thursday A.B.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  Thunder booms overhead when you ask, like it’s protesting this conversation.

  Robin sits on top of the counter across from where you lean, tossing skittles in the air and catching them.

  Or well, trying to catch them. 

  A yellow one evades her and joins a green and blue one on the floor as she says, “Shoot.”

  Your fingers fiddle with the button on your vest that says ‘May The Force Be With You’ as Robin foregos throwing and starts to dump the bag directly into her mouth.

  “How…” your arms cross as you sigh and squint out the window at the gloomy evening, “How’d you become friends?”

  “Wha?” She asks around rainbow goo, blue eyes blinking rapidly as your nose wrinkles at the sight.

  She swallows quickly and waves her hands for you to elaborate, “What?”

  “How’d you become friends…” you swallow down the butterflies that ache to come out just from saying his name, “With Steve?”

  “Oh,” she says, softly. 

  “We just,” you’re back to fiddling with buttons, with the keys of the computer, “We never really talked about it, y’know? Like you hated his guts just like me and then all of a sudden you were tricking us into movies together. And getting him this job. Helping him with…”

The unspoken activities of last week hang in the air and she smiles tightly. 

  “Right, um, well,” she scratches at the back of her neck, legs swinging as she blows out a breath. “We worked together, at Scoops, remember?”

You nod as she continues to ramble, talking with her hands and skittles spilling on the floor as she does, “And well, aside from making me laugh all summer and actually being not so terrible at conversation and listening like I’d pegged him for, there was this one night, where we got a little high and he…we were playing truth or dare.”

  She trails off and looks at you, pink cheeks and biting her lip and you stand up straighter.

  “You what? You didn’t…”

  “No!” Robin shudders, she waves her hands, “Absolutely not! He…” She groans and looks out the door and hops down, pacing as she mumbles, “Gonna freaking kill me.”

  “What?”

  “Uggh! I asked him if he’d ever been in love.”

  Your heart beats erratically, like it’s trying to keep up with the constant pelt of rain against the pavement, like each thump is trying to break you from the inside out. 

  “And? His answer made you become best friends for life?”

  Robin shrugs, “Sort of, yeah.” She smiles, avoiding your eyes as she fiddles with the skittles wrapper. “This guy who seemed so high and mighty, so douchey, so…well, you know how he is,” she waves a hand with a laugh, “After a Summer of proving all of that wrong, making me eat my judging ways, this dingus goes and tells me that he isn’t sure what it’s supposed to feel like, but he’s pretty sure he felt it holding this girl’s hand on a ferris wheel when he was twelve.”

  Robin tosses the wrapper in the trash with a sigh, “And I don’t know. I folded. Now, whenever he says something dumb, whenever he’s an idiot, all I see is a guy laying on my floor telling me that. All I see when I look at him is this front covering up for a kid who thinks love is holding a girl’s hand. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with a guy like that?”

  “Did,” you start quietly, almost so quiet you’re not sure you’re even saying anything. The words muffled by rain and thunder and your heartbeat,

“Did he tell you to tell me that?”

  “What?” She asks, wrinkles deepening under parted bangs. “No, absolutely not. He told me if I ever told anyone that my ass was grass.” She snorts and rolls her eyes. 

  Robin never knew how you met Steve. She never knew why you hated him, you just bonded over the fact that you did. 

  She frowns at you, “Why do you as…oh shit.”

  You’re certain she’s connected the dots you already have but then she’s looking over your shoulder and your mouth is parting at the sight of who’s running with his jacket over his head towards the store. 

  He shakes out hair as the door chimes, swiping at his eyes as he starts up and down the aisles, searching and your hands start to shake. 

  “Go in the back room, I can manage till he’s gone,” she says softly behind you, nudging you towards the back of the store and away from the man dressed in a nice suit squinting at new releases. 

  Your head nods as you quickly and as quietly as possible make a break for it. 

  But then you trip on the Predator cut out and his voice sounds just like it did all those years ago.

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  “Hi,” you scramble to your feet, floundering with the cut out pieces as you mumble his name, “Brendan.”

  He tilts his head at you and has the nerve to smile at you, “Thought that was you! You look…”

Your body warms under his appraisal, his hold nothing back rake of his eyes over you from head to toe and back up. Only hotter when he says, “Different.”

  “You…” your mouth is dry, suddenly able to recall all the things you’d planned to say to him if you ever saw him again. A plan to rub all of your success in his face, hopes of having another beer to toss. 

  Brendan squints at you, then around the store. He scoffs, “So…this is what you’re doing, huh?”

  You’re faintly aware of the door chiming as you take a step away from him, back pressed to the shelves as he takes a step towards you, arm caging you in. “What’s a girl like you, still working in a place like this, babe?”

  Why can this guy do this to you? How does he make you feel so small? 

  “Don’t…don’t call me that.” 

  Your head shakes, but that seems to be about the only thing your body remembers how to do. 

  Brendan pouts his lips, mistaking your breathless panic as being smitten, as being nervous around him for a totally different reason. “You used to like it.”

  He touches your waist and in your peripheral you see Robin take a step towards the phone as he speaks lowly, “You know, I never thanked you.

After you threw that beer at me and he kicked my ass, I actually took it seriously. Passed Biology, graduated. I work at a law firm now.”

  His hand runs up your waist, squeezing just below your ribs as he leans in, “I feel like I should take you out, to say thank you, babe.”

  Your mouth parts, but someone else beats you to it.

  “Pretty sure she made it clear not to call her that.”

  Brendan backs away from you, if only slightly, to look at Steve standing at the end of the aisle. 

  “Seriously? Go ring up my rental,” Brendan snorts, tossing the tape at him harshly before he turns back to you. “Where were we, babe?”

  Steve’s reflexes let him catch it, while he glares and grits through clenched teeth, “Call her that one more time, see what happens.”

  “I’m not a drunk high schooler anymore Harrington, don’t think I have anything to worry about. Right bab-“

  Steve’s fist connects with Brendan’s jaw, sending him staggering away from you. Steve’s eyes are on you, frantic as he breathes heavily and pants out, “Are you oka-shit!”

  Brendan barrels into Steve, knocking him down to the ground, fists connecting with his stomach and the side of his head. 

  You shout out both of their names, shoving at Brendan to get off of Steve who coughs after the hits stop coming. 

  Brendan staggers to a stand, swiping at a bloody nose and spitting at Steve. You stand and shove at his chest, “Get out! Before we call the cops on you, you arrogant, pathetic-“

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Brendan waves you off, “Fucking deserve each other.”

  The door swings shut behind him, and you stare ahead, breathing heavily, sure it’s the rain running down the glass making your vision blur. 

  “Steve?” Robin’s on the ground next to his head.

  He moans, but motions for her to help him up as you turn back around, so she swats at his chest, “Why’d you do that! What is wrong with you? He could have killed you, you idiot!”

  “Christ Robin,” he grumbles, “I’m fine, just-hey.”

  Steve’s over to you in two steps, bloodied and bruised hands cupping your cheeks and swiping at them. 

  Even through blurred vision, you can see the bright reds and darkening purple on his forehead, your fingers brush the scrape that’s just above the two freckles on his cheek. 

  “Thanks,” you hiccup out of a sob trying to break.

  “Of course,” he murmurs, thumbs still brushing over your cheeks gently, “What are…” he swallows, “What are friends for?”

  The sob cracks just as the thunder does and Steve shakes his head, eyes big and worried, “Hey, hey, come on, that asshole is not worth these and I’m not either and-“

  “St-Steve,” you sniffle, interrupting him. Trying to reign in all the extremely big feelings that have been held back for a long time, “Will you drive me home?”

  He looks surprised but quickly nods, “Yeah, yeah of course honey.”

  “Steve, I really don’t think you should be dri-“

  Robin’s hesitation cut off from the look he gives her and answered only with her eye roll. 

  Your hands shake in your lap, fingers playing with the seams of your jeans as Steve drives silently. The radio plays softly, lost in the rain pelting the windshield and the swoosh of the wipers getting it off. It’s only when you make it to your street that you finally are brave enough to talk again. 

  “How,” you clear your throat, sniffling away any residual tears, “How are you doing? With the storm I mean?”

  “Oh,” Steve nods, frowning at the road, “Yeah, good.”

  “Was that…was it real?” Gaze falling to your lap as you dare to ask.

  “What?” He stops at an intersection, looking over at you, ducking his head to catch your gaze. “What do you mean? The storms? There’s no way, you gave them too much credit. Those kids are smart, but they’re not that smart.”

  “No, I mean…are you even afraid of storms? Or was that just another part of the plan? Was it real?”

  Steve blinks at you until a horn honks behind him and he nods as he pulls away, “Yeah, yeah it was real.”

  You nod and he looks at your profile as you stare out the windshield, tear stained cheeks and bottom lip bitten raw, your hands won’t stop fiddling with things. When he pulls into the parking lot of the complex, he faces you. 

  “Is that why you won’t talk to me? You won’t even be my friend? Because you think it wasn’t real?”

  Your shoulders rise in a shrug, heart beating harder than it ever has as Steve shakes his head. He reaches for you, but hesitates, murmuring a plead.

  “Please look at me honey?”

  Your exhale is shaky, eyes watery again as you do what he’s asked. Heart’s What About Love starts playing. You close your eyes, shaking your head with a laugh as you swipe at your cheeks. 

  When you open them again, Steve is watching you carefully, and he speaks so softly, so sincerely, like he wants you to have to lean in to hear what he has to say.

  “Everything was real. Eddie let me take you to the diner and Robin put on Peter Gabriel, but that’s it. I swear, honey. How you reacted to those things, what I said, what you said, all of it, was real. And I thought, at my house, I thought it was clear how much I want you.”

  Tears rapidly fall down your cheeks as you nod, “Okay, but, what happens if you only want me because you can’t have me?”

  “What?” Steve looks at you, frowning, eyes glassy.

  Your hands swipe at your eyes as you shrug again. “What happens when you get what you were chasing, but another, more challenging want, comes along?”

  He swallows, looks up at you with his own watery eyes, “You really think that’s all I want? Do you hate me that much?”

  Images of your hand in his on a ferris wheel stir in your mind, of what could have happened after you threw that beer in Brendan’s face, images of a kiss and another kiss and another until you’re crying again. 

  As you lean over the console, you whisper against his skin before pressing a kiss to the two freckles on his cheek.

  “Never hated you.”

  You’re quick to climb out of his car, and run through the rain up your stairs and slam the door on the storm. Your back falls against it as you suck in a breath and cry, the lamp and radio flicking on as you do. 

  Heart’s song that was just playing in his car stops, and a familiar tune starts playing. It’s melody making you think of Steve between shelves, whistling. Making you think of a pool table in a basement on Cornwallis Street. 

  Your hand swipes at your cheeks as you try to get your breathing under control. 

  What if Steve Harrington has been chasing you all these years, but it’s never been about the chase, he just didn’t know you kept changing the rules and finish line on him? What if all he’s ever wanted was to run the race alongside you?

  Robin’s voice accompanies REO Speedwagon’s, making you spin towards the door. 

  Who wouldn’t want to be friends with a guy like that?

  As you fling the door open, wondering if you can catch him, Steve’s fist raises to pound on it.

  He stands on the stoop, rain pouring down, making his hair stick to his forehead and his eyes squint. 

  “Give me one more chance,” he breathes heavily, his car lights and wipers still going from the space below. 

  The music from inside your apartment plays loudly as he takes a step towards you and keeps pleading.

  “I’ll literally get on my knees right now, honey. I am begging you, to give me one chance. One date. No help from Eddie or Robin. Nobody. Just me, and you. Let me prove it’s real. Let me prove it to you?”

  It’s the moment right before a storm starts, when it’s like the earth is taking a deep breath of, soaking up the silence before it won’t get a chance of clam again for who knows how long. 

  He blinks at you through rain droplets clinging to his eyelashes, squinting under a bruised forehead and pouting through kissable lips. Your voice wobbles even after you shove the butterflies back down, giving them no chance to escape, not yet. 

  “Ask me nicely.”

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[manicpixiedreamedwins]

I'm a little bummed Our Month™️ is ending, so I've collected a few of my favorite payneland fics I read this month to cheer me up. I may not be good about hyping myself up, but MAN I am good at yelling about things I am excited about. If I know the creator's Tumblr, I tagged them here. Please read tags and ratings when you click through, some of these are rated E. All of them are excellent. 🩵

Pride by softestpunk (@softest-punk )

The ambiance in this fic was impeccable. All the little details are really immersive, even down to small subtle things like the fact that more people can see Charles and Edwin because of some unfortunate, but very real experiences (oh, my heart). This fic has a very satisfying ending, and it is so, so worth the read. It's one of my favs.

For I Am All Sharp Edges by letters_of_stars (I do not know this user's Tumblr , please tell me if you do)

This is a pre-series fic, which means technically it is also pre-relationship... but we know how Charles and Edwin are. 👀 All jokes aside, this fic is told from Edwin's POV and it gutted me like a fish. I just had to sit with my computer for a moment when I finished it. It is a gorgeous, heartbreaking character study, and it is quintessential for anyone who wants to unravel how Edwin came to fall deeply in love with Charles.

you will never be unloved by me (you are too well tangled in my soul) by emryses ( @emryses)

This fixed something in my brain. I don't want to spoil it for you, so please just go read it. It's a lovely fix-it fic that seems entirely plausible for the in canon universe. Masterfully done.

Like Knives Clattering to the Ground by TheGoldenOath (VoiidVagabond) ( @the-golden-oath )

I... am embarrassed to admit I probably think about this fic probably more than is normal. There's WORLD BUILDING. It's a case fic, but it's also very very hot and just... this has informed a lot of my rated E payneland head canons (specifically for Edwin). It broke my brain and put it back together the first read in the best possible way. Please go read this.

Pretty perfect by Hse11z5 ( @thenyoumaykissthebride)

I have simple pleasures. Charles calls Edwin pretty and I am here for it. This is a well written, gorgeous fic. (I also think about this one often- rated E).

That's my rec list for the moment, for I have droned on long enough (I'm sure everyone tagged here has seen me in their comment section screaming and crying and hyperventilating like an absolute loon, lol). Thank you for humoring me!