#why does the word instagram face exist

[jessicatredes]

people talking about makeup are so fucking stupid. the critique on makeup isn't people who do avant garde or fx. it's on the influence it's caused for women to not be able to leave the house for a 20 min errand without feeling the need to "put on their face." it's on the influence that a bare faced women is unprofessional or looks sick or isn't put together. it's the "no makeup makeup" looks and being told by strangers on the internet how to make yourself pretty with "oh you just need some concealer and a little mascara." it's not about you putting a fucking painting on ur face for instagram and then wiping it off before leaving the house.

[fangdokja]

🔞You like them crazy because deep down, you are too.

❤︎ Synopsis. Your favorite yandere is a walking red flag, and honestly, you’re just obsessed with the idea of being loved to the point of insanity. You want someone who’ll choke you with affection (literally), and hey, that says a lot about your choices… and your taste in men.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Jujutsu Kaisen Males (Gojo, Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi, Yuji, Inumaki, Kenjaku, Shiu Kong) x Fem. Reader (separate)

♡ Headcanon. What Your Favorite Yandere Says About Your Interesting Kinks

♡ Word Count. 4,055

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age. This post is meant to be a fun, exaggerated meme—don’t take it too seriously. It’s all in good humor and not a deep psychological analysis (but maybe a little bit).

♡ A/N. So, I enjoyed making the Genshin shiz post and decided to make a JJK version. Might do a HSR one next as well... maybe. Also... I kinda went overboard here, compared to the more organized Genshin one, but seriously I was laughing while writing this. Just funny shiz post. I would say this one's more explicit though haha (no explicit sex), I had way too much fun haha, especially Naoya's and Kenjaku's.

♡ Gojo Satoru.

You have a god complex by association. You want someone who could obliterate the entire planet, but instead, he chooses to stalk your Instagram at 3 a.m. to overanalyze your cryptic "feeling lonely" post.

You’re into men who act like they’re God’s gift to humanity, and honestly? You believe them. You probably like bratty tops who think they’re in control but low-key need to be chained down before they destroy Tokyo because you wouldn’t let them kiss you.

You like men who are unbearable, but in a way that makes you want to lick their face instead of slap it. You saw him take his blindfold off once and immediately decided you’d risk everything for a man who can and will ruin your life with a smirk. Therapy? Never heard of it, because why would you need that when you’re obsessed with a 6'3" man-child whose idea of foreplay is showing off while making you think it’s all about you? Spoiler: it’s not. It’s about him, and you’re fine with it.

You like the idea of someone worshipping you, but also low-key want them to ruin you mentally, emotionally, and physically—preferably in that order.

But you’re still into being spoiled rotten—designer everything, sugar daddy vibes, and someone who’d probably keep you locked in a gilded cage. You pretend you have standards, but deep down, you’re just into being treated like you’re the rarest Pokémon in existence.

You don’t want a boyfriend—you want an all-seeing sugar daddy who gaslights you into thinking the world revolves around him (because in his mind, it does). You probably love the idea of being tied up in a metaphorical (or literal, no judgment) infinity of his obsession. Big on tease and denial, huh?

You’ve definitely thought about what his infinity could do in a make-out session and probably Googled "can Gojo turn infinity off during sex." (No, you’re not getting an answer to that.)

You're also into being teased until you're on the verge of tears, only for him to laugh and say, "Aw, you're so cute when you're frustrated," while continuing to absolutely destroy you. Bonus points if he calls you sweetheart in that condescending, sing-song voice while pinning you to the bed with one hand.

You're also into blindfolds… probably for the aesthetic, but we all know you’re fantasizing about what comes after he takes it off. You’re not scared of being kidnapped, you’re scared of never being spoiled again.

You’re also the type of person who screenshots memes and sends them 3 weeks later without context.

♡ Ryōmen Sukuna.

You're feral. You don’t want love—you want to be destroyed. You want a man who’ll treat you like garbage and somehow it’s hot. "I can fix him" but also, "I don’t want to fix him. Step on me, Daddy."

Your idea of romance is someone who could rip your heart out (literally) and then hold it hostage as you beg for his attention. You’re also too into biting. If he left a handprint bruise on your neck, you’d frame it. Low-key fantasize about getting kidnapped because you think you’d be “too bratty to kill,” and he’d find that cute.

You’re into primal domination, teeth marks, and being pinned against the wall while he laughs at your “attempt” to fight back.

You think it’s hot when men are morally bankrupt and would rather die than be called soft. You definitely believe in Stockholm Syndrome as a viable love language.

This man could call you maggot filth and you’d be texting your friends, “Sukuna said he cared about me today 🥰.” You secretly want him to slap you so hard you see the Cursed Realm.

The worse he treats you, the harder you simp. If he kills your whole family, you’d probably just be like, “They were annoying anyway, babe.”

You’re into primal play, possessiveness, and hearing “you’re mine” growled into your ear like it’s a death sentence (which, with Sukuna, it might be).

You definitely have unresolved trauma and thought “you know what would help? A walking red flag with abs.” You want someone so feral they’d burn down a village just because someone looked at you for 0.2 seconds. Also, you like men who are literally impossible to please because the idea of “earning his love” gets you off.

Your kinks? Pain. Not just physical—emotional, spiritual, metaphysical. You’re the type who thinks choking is romantic foreplay and that love should feel like a hostage situation.

You act like you hate red flags, but you’re planting them in your garden, watering them, and crying when they bloom. Therapy is not in your vocabulary.

You’re deeply into degradation and secretly believe you could “fix him.” Spoiler alert: you can’t, but you’ll die trying. You probably tweet things like “If a man doesn’t put me in his domain expansion, does he even love me?”

Bonus points if you’ve searched for Sukuna x Reader fics where he calls you pathetic but won’t let anyone else touch you.

We see you, masochist. We see you.

You also have daddy issues so big that Sukuna would probably laugh in your face while exploiting them. You’re a masochist in denial and definitely want him to choke you out with those extra hands.

You’ve 100% Googled "can I sell my soul for demon dick" and meant it. You're 100% into monsterfucking. Your search history also includes "tentacle bondage" and "can cursed energy be sexy?"

♡ Suguru Geto.

You have a superiority complex and an inferiority complex. You want someone who’ll emotionally devastate you while maintaining the vibe of a calm, manipulative cult leader. You think you’re classy, but we both know you’re just a slut for a man who says “we need to cleanse the world” like he’s ordering wine at a fancy restaurant.

You think cult leader chic is hot. Your dream date is being kidnapped and indoctrinated into a religious group. You’re into soft-spoken manipulation and think “he didn’t abandon me, he abandoned humanity.”

You want someone who sees you as the one good thing in a world full of “monkeys,” but also you secretly like the idea of being his religion.

You’ll excuse literal genocide because "he’s got a point."

You want someone who hates everyone else but you. Like, he would literally commit mass murder just so you can have a peaceful walk in the park. Into spiritual awakening, but make it horny. Imagine him whispering sacrilegious promises in your ear while surrounded by cursed spirits. That’s your vibe.

You’re the kind of person who’d get Stockholm Syndrome after two days and start quoting his manifesto back to him. He’d probably love-bomb you, use you for his master plan, and then leave you to pick up the pieces. And you’d thank him for it.

You’re into praise kink but only if it’s delivered in a soft yet condescending tone while you’re kneeling in front of him. You want someone who’ll call you his “favorite pet” while subtly threatening to end your bloodline if you step out of line.

Your other kinks? Corruption. You’re into “turning to the dark side” scenarios, and the idea of being brainwashed is weirdly hot to you. Maybe you need a therapist, but Geto would probably convince you therapists are a scam.

You probably daydream about scenarios where you “fix” him, but let’s be honest—you’d fold faster than a lawn chair if he so much as smirked at you. You want a man who looks like he listens to lo-fi while murdering people. You also have unresolved issues with wanting to “save” someone who’s already beyond saving.

You’re down bad for emotionally unavailable men who’ll manipulate you into thinking you’re special. Also, you think long hair = good in bed, and you’re not wrong.

Hair-pulling kink? Try him pulling yours while telling you you’re his only salvation.

Also, he probably tells you to call him master, and you’re into it.

Also, you’re a sucker for men who look like they haven’t slept in 10 years but can still bench press you emotionally.

♡ Naoya Zen'in.

You hate him. You absolutely despise him. And yet, why are you blushing when he calls you a stupid little slut?

You have daddy issues, but instead of unpacking them, you decided to make them worse by stanning this sexist menace. You hate him, but that’s the appeal.

Congratulations, you’re a walking meme of bad decisions, and your search history definitely includes “toxic alpha male x reader.” You don’t even want a healthy relationship—you want to be insulted creatively until you're crying, and then have him smirk while telling you how pretty you look when you break.

You tell people you hate misogyny but get weak in the knees when he says “stay in your place, woman.” You want someone who’ll treat you like garbage, then be jealous when other people try to respect you.

You think Naoya calling you a “stupid little girl” is the height of romance (because if you’re into him, you’re already used to disrespect).

100% into punishment kinks. The idea of Naoya spanking you until you cry and then calling you a “good little servant” lives rent-free in your head.

You have issues in general—daddy, mommy, and probably every other flavor. You like them toxic because boring men don’t deserve rights. You thrive in arguments, especially if you’re the one winning.

You have the worst taste in men, and you know it. You actively choose violence. You think hate sex fixes everything. Spoiler: it doesn’t. But you’ll still keep coming back for more.

You either have a degradation kink or you’re lying to yourself. You want someone to look you in the eyes and call you pathetic while simultaneously making you feel like the most desired person alive.

Into degradation? No, you’re into obliteration. You want to be called the most heinous names and still hear him say, “Good girl” after. If he spit in your mouth, you’d say “thank you” like it’s a five-star Yelp review.

You're the type to start arguments on purpose because makeup sex is your Olympic sport. You think misogyny is hot as long as it's directed at everyone but you (spoiler: Naoya’s a yandere, so he’ll worship you, but he’ll still be the absolute worst).

Brat taming. You want Naoya to slam you against a wall and hiss, "You're so mouthy for someone who's about to beg for mercy," and you’d call him an asshole just to see him lose it.

You also have a breeding kink, don’t lie.

You’re into enemies-to-lovers with 90% enemies and 10% begrudging affection.

You’re probably the most unhinged of them all. Like, “I hate him but also step on me” vibes. You’d start a fight with him for fun, only to let him win because he’s hotter when he’s smug. Also, your type in men is the human embodiment of the patriarchy, and that says a lot.

You also secretly love being called slurs in bed, and you’d let him ruin your life if it meant he’d pay attention to you. You tell people you don’t believe in second chances, yet you’d give him 47.

Naoya IS your red flag, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’re also that person who gets mad when people insult your favorite character, even though your fave literally deserves it.

♡ Megumi Fushiguro.

You're into the quiet ones, but let’s be real, you know he’s one bad day away from snapping and going full “yandere shadow puppeteer” on you. You want someone who’s obsessively loyal, even to the point of chaining you to a radiator “for your safety.”

You’re that person who says, “I can fix him,” and you believe it. Spoiler: you can’t.

Soft yandere vibes are your weakness. You want him to apologize for locking you up and then immediately do it again. You cry during sex, and Megumi is your dream man because he’d hold you gently while fucking you senseless.

You’re basically the emotionally repressed type who cries over sad anime but denies having feelings. You low-key want to be fixed, but you also get off on being the problem.

Silent, brooding types who lose control just for you. You’d die if Megumi whispered, "I don’t care what happens to the world, as long as I have you," while dragging his nails down your skin.

You want a yandere who doesn’t look like one. You’re basically into emotionally constipated men who will quietly destroy anyone that looks at you wrong, but they’ll do it with zero fanfare.

Pretends he’s not obsessed, but you find out he’s been tracking your location via his Shikigami for weeks.

Slow burn? Try agonizingly torturous burn. You love the suffering.

Your kinks? Praise and ownership. You want a boyfriend who’ll carve your name into his soul and blush when you call him a good boy. You also cry during movies about dogs.

You fantasize about wholesome dates that spiral into him casually committing arson because someone looked at you the wrong way. You think being protected is sexy, but deep down, you know you’re the real danger.

You have main character syndrome, but you’re too awkward to admit it. You think you can “fix” people and are always attracted to brooding, emotionally unavailable boys. You’re the type to fall for someone because of their tragic backstory and spend hours analyzing their behavior like you’re trying to win a Nobel Prize.

People think you’re quiet and reserved, but deep down, you’re the freakiest person in the room.

Also, you want his demon dogs involved somehow, and we’re not unpacking that.

♡ Yuji Itadori.

You think sunshine boys are the ultimate bait-and-switch. You want someone sweet and wholesome on the surface but capable of going feral if someone threatens what’s his (spoiler: it’s you).

You’re into soft yanderes who make you think, “Wait, am I the villain here?” But then he kisses you with tears in his eyes and says, “I just don’t know what I’d do without you,” and you’re like, “Oh okay, my bad, ruin my life I guess.”

You’re delusional and think nice guys finish first. You believe you can fix him, even though there’s nothing broken except his moral compass after meeting Sukuna.

Your kinks? Consent (most stan a green flag king), but also low-key primal. You want someone who’s soft and sweet but will absolutely ruin you when pushed too far. Also, you’re probably into breathy whimpers.

You’re into soft yandere energy, like him cooking you dinner while thinking about how to “disappear” your coworker for complimenting your outfit. You also have a praise kink, but you want it to feel genuine. You’re high-key a romantic but still enjoy the thrill of danger.

You’re the type to fall for cinnamon rolls, but you secretly want them to have a feral, toxic side. You pretend to be wholesome but you’re just as depraved as the Sukuna stans—you just hide it better. Also, you’d probably call him “puppy” in bed, and he’d eat it up.

You probably fantasize about “accidentally” walking in on him shirtless after training.

You’re into strength kink. Yuji carrying you around like a sack of potatoes is your idea of foreplay.

If Yuji’s your fave, you’re into the gentle dom who’d snap someone’s neck for you aesthetic. He’d die for you, but he’d also kill for you. And you’re oddly okay with that.

Bonus points if you want to corrupt him because you think it’d be hot to see him snap.

You’re also the type to fall in love with someone because they smiled at you once in 2017.

♡ Toge Inumaki.

You want someone who won’t talk back. Literally. You think communication is overrated and fantasize about a partner who’ll just look at you with hungry eyes while whispering forbidden words into your ear.

You’re the quiet type who wants absolute filth whispered into your ear.

You want to be whispered sweet nothings like "sleep" and then wake up in his bed with a collar on. The duality of “onigiri” and “shut the fuck up” does things to you.

The idea of hearing nothing but the word “come” and losing your mind sends you feral.

You’re into restraint—both the literal and metaphorical kind. You’ve imagined him using cursed speech in the bedroom, and you know exactly how you’d want him to shut you up. You definitely think subtlety is sexier than overt passion.

You claim you like soft boys, but really, you’re just waiting for him to whisper something filthy in that raspy voice.

You’re into the duality of him being both your sweet protector and your most dangerous weakness.

You think “silent but deadly” is hot, but you also have a thing for guys who communicate through body language and emotional gestures. You probably have a Tumblr tag called “soft yanderes” that’s full of questionable content.

Your kinks? Teasing. You want to be pinned down, held firmly, and whispered sweet nothings in cursed speech that leave you trembling. Also, bondage. Don't not lie to yourself.

You think you’re subtle, but everyone knows you have a thing for quiet guys with devastatingly good bone structure. You’re also into the idea of being “the only one” who truly understands him. Let’s be real: you’d let him ruin your life with three words or less.

You’ve definitely thought about what those cursed speech commands could do in the bedroom, haven’t you? Don’t lie. “Stay.” “Kneel.” “Louder.” It’s a problem. You think you’re subtle, but the fact that you bookmarked that one smut fic about him proves otherwise.

You’ve also Googled "what does ‘salmon’ mean in bed" and debated buying a Toge cosplay for your next convention.

♡ Kenjaku.

You’re insane. Full stop.

You’re the type who’d fall for the villain just because they’re hot.

You tell yourself it’s because you “appreciate complex characters,” but it’s really because you have no self-preservation instincts. You’re also probably into weird shiz like non-human anatomy, but you’ll never admit it.

Let’s be honest: you’ve considered the implications of his ability to switch bodies. Your fantasies are wild, and you need a moment to collect yourself.

You want someone who’s both your daddy and mommy because Kenjaku’s body-hopping antics make that possible. Extreme levels of psychological manipulation and kinky body horror. A true deviant.

You’ve definitely read an NSFW fic about body possession and didn’t even flinch. You like the idea of someone who will tear your life apart but still call you their “greatest creation.”

You’re a mess. Like, emotionally and spiritually. You’ve been reading dark fanfics for so long that nothing fazes you anymore.

You don’t want love—you want chaos. You like characters who are 50% sexy and 50% terrifying. You probably think brain surgery is hot. You’re also into weird power dynamics where you’re both the victim and the accomplice.

You think mad scientist energy is hot, and you’d probably let him experiment on you just for the intimacy of it. You’re into power play and mind games, and the idea of someone controlling you physically and mentally is your ultimate kink. You’d sell your soul for five minutes of his attention, and he knows it. Your moral compass? Nonexistent. You just want to get tied up and brainwashed by a centuries-old freak.

You think it’s hot that he’d use your body as part of his experiments. You’d let him ruin your entire lineage for “science.”

You’re not even into happy endings; you just want to be obliterated.

♡ Shiu Kong.

If your favorite yandere is Shiu Kong, congratulations—you’re into men who could ruin your life with one smirk and a casual drag off their cigarette. You like your chaos with a suit and tie, and you’re absolutely weak for someone who looks like they’d call you “kid” while tying you to a chair in a dimly lit room. You’ve definitely fantasized about being the center of his cold, calculated obsession, probably while he’s adjusting his cufflinks and making morally questionable business deals.

You love the idea of a man who’s emotionally unavailable but physically possessive. Shiu wouldn’t say he loves you, but he’d definitely let you know you’re his. You probably have a thing for the cold, calculated type who’ll throw you a smirk that says, “You won’t survive me, but you’ll die happy.” Let’s be honest—you want someone who treats you like a business deal but kisses you like he’s closing the contract with teeth and tongue.

You’re into men who handle their business—and by business, we mean kidnapping, extortion, and murder with a side of snark. You probably tell yourself you’re into “stoic bad boys,” but let’s be real, you just want a man who can pin you against a wall and growl something like, “Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart.” Bonus points if it’s in a low, gravelly voice that makes your knees weak.

You’re the type to think a cigarette dangling from his lips while he manhandles you is peak romance. He’d pin you to a desk, adjust his suit jacket, and ask, “Do you really think anyone else could handle you like this?” in that calm, businesslike tone that makes you feral. You like being dominated by someone who looks like they just closed a multi-million-yen deal, and you want him to ruin you in the same suit he wore to work.

You want someone who exudes “don’t waste my time” energy but secretly has the patience to torment you until you’re begging (for mercy or more, who’s to say?). You saw him in that suit and immediately thought, “I wonder if he’d use that belt on me?” Spoiler: he would, but only after lighting a cigarette and telling you to be quiet.

You fantasize about someone who’ll say, “Don’t get attached,” while making you fall so hard you’re practically writing your own kidnapping ransom note.

You’re also into the grudging protector trope—he’ll act like he’s just “handling business,” but the second someone else looks at you wrong, you know he’s flipping tables and snarling something like, “They should’ve known better.” Bonus points if he dusts himself off afterward and says, “Clean yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve got plans for us.”

“I’ll only associate with you in hell” energy that screams hot and toxic.

———

P.S. Actually fun fact, among all JJK yanderes, I enjoy writing Kenjaku the most.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud

[winterrrnight]

unravel

PAIRING: frat!soft!rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe has had his eyes set on the girl who isn't falling for his charms the way every girl seems to do.

WARNINGS: college!au; reader is hard to get, an ambivert, reserved; rafe is just frat!rafe in the start but slowly develops into extremely soft!rafe; a lot of comfort; rafe calls reader princess; intentional lower case

EDITH SPEAKS: this was initially just a little concept on rafe pining for a hard to get reader, but it got longer than the usual word count of my concepts so it's now a little fic! i hope this is extremely comforting cause I swear we all need this 💞🥹 just wanna say I'm here for every single one of you 💗💗

please reblog if you liked reading this! feedback is always highly appreciated 🌻

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rafe’s heard it all; hot, sexy, handsome, charming, and boy, does he eat it up each time. he knows he is a 10 out of 10, and when each girl in college is always on her knees for him, it doesn’t help but only boosts his ego.

but when you come around, it is all so different.

you don’t give into his charms the way everyone else seems to give. you aren’t running after him like a lost puppy, you aren’t pining for him, and that sets rafe off.

and that’s exactly why he needs you.

he catches you any moment he can; before class, after class, in the cafeteria, in the huge lawn, outside your dorms; any moment he sees you, he’s coming over to you, and never being able to keep his mouth shut.

“so princess…”

“shut up.”

that’s basically how all your conversations go. you roll your eyes at him each time and just walk away, but he has a smirk pulling on his lips all the damn time, always walking right next to you.

it’s like he’s forgotten about all the other girls in college. the ones who are willingly ready to take him, to give him attention every second of every day; but here he wants you, who doesn’t even make eye contact with him for more than two seconds without you rolling your eyes at him.

he always looks at you as the reserved kind of person. you aren’t seen around with a big group of friends, but just two or three close ones. you aren’t always talking, but you are quite open with your close friends. it’s hard to gather much information about you from around, and he believes that if it was the other way round, information about him would be so easily accessible. oh, and it does not help that your instagram is private and you still haven’t accepted his request.

if anything, that intrigues him even more. he wants to get close to you, to find out more about you, to unravel every thread of your existence till he knows you better than you know yourself.

it’s a nice spring afternoon, and rafe had quite few classes as compared to usual. he decides to head to the library – a place whose exact location he didn’t even know until 5 months into college – to finish this goddamned essay that’s been hanging on his head for the past week now.

as he walks inside, the vexed look on his face is instantly replaced by a quite simpered one when he spots you. he’s already making his way to you, around 20 different one liners in his head he can kick start the conversation with to see that irritated look on your face which he adores with his whole heart. but the coy smile leaves just the next second when he gets a clear look at you.

you’re crying.

your head hangs low as you’re quietly sobbing so absolutely no one else can hear you; but then the library is quite empty. your eyes are shut tight as tears roll down your hot cheeks, and rafe feels his heart physically break.

break in such a way that if you hear carefully, you can hear it shattering.

a frown etches his lips and a deep furrow forms in his brows as he slowly makes his way to you.

“princess…” he mutters softly, keeping a gentle hand on your shoulder. you’re startled at the sudden touch which causes you to gasp and makes you look up, your blurry eyes coming in contact with his warm, blue ones.

“not now rafe…” you whisper, shifting your shoulder which causes rafe’s hand to drop. you move a hand to your face to wipe off your tears, sniffling silently.

“hey talk to me…” he whispers softly, sitting down in the empty chair next to you. he doesn’t touch you in any way, just keeps a soft gaze at you and notices how you still keep your head down, trying your best to not sob as much as you were earlier. he makes a quick note of how your fingers are pulling onto each other, pinching and squeezing the flesh of them.

rafe knows for sure he’s never experienced anything sadder than watching tears roll down your pretty face. he knows it’s the last thing he wants to see. and he knows he wants to be the one who makes sure a tear never falls down your face ever again.

“listen princess…” he whispers, leaning just a bit closer to you, “you can trust me okay? you really can,” he gently places a hand over your snaked fingers, causing you to stop your fidgeting. his hand is warm, and as he gently caresses the back of your hand with his thumb, you can slowly feel your tears dying down.

rafe gently holds one of your hand and brings it up to his chest, placing it right above his heart. you look up to him, your glassy eyes slightly widened at his action. “just feel it okay?” he whispers. “try to match your breathing with it.” you feel the rhythmic thumping of his heart under your palm, and your expression softens as your eyes flutter shut, your breathing starting to match with his.

“good… good…” he whispers gently, moving his other hand to gently wipe your cheeks. his breath gets caught in his throat when he sees you don’t move away, but ever so subtly lean more into his touch.

“talk whenever you feel like, I’m not putting you in any hurry…” he mumbles, his thumb now gently skimming your cheek in a periodic manner, his palm resting against your cheek, and your face nuzzling against the warmth of his hand.

you nod at his words, just letting his soothing words, touch and presence take all over your senses, before you slowly collect your thoughts to talk to him.

if rafe would’ve earlier known that the way to your heart wasn’t dropping a snarky one liner each time he sees you, but to provide you a safe and comforting space to open up in, he would’ve done it way sooner.

because he’s finally doing what he wanted.

unraveling every thread of your existence till he knows you better than you know yourself.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @shores-kayla @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-tortured-poets-depxrtment @rafesgiirl @theoraekenslover @fals3-g0d @personalfavsthatarerandom

[machveil]

okay pookies!! I’m in a writers slump so I’m going to pop off some mini blurbs with Instagram links<3 because the words are not being written correctly for my wips [cries]🎀✨

Simon “Ghost” Riley

playing with his cat

admittedly, Simon is up at odd hours from bouts of insomnia. it doesn’t really bother him when his cat is up too, sitting in bed and flipping him around. it’s cute, more so funny when he flips his cat off and gets pounced on, not taking it seriously - one of the rare times he’ll let chuckle and crack a smile to himself

John Price:

pranking Price by telling him your tampon is stuck

John comes as soon as you call for him - what he wasn’t expecting was you telling him your tampons stuck. but John’s smart, he sees your phone in his peripheral and doesn’t say anything about it. he knows your pranking him, if it wasn’t obvious from your phone recording him and the way you giggle, well, “I know you’re cycle, love.”

driving around to see Christmas lights

John loves his dog, just a sweetheart. one thing his dog loves is seeing Christmas lights - John doesn’t really know why, but he’s more than happy to drive around so his puppy can see them all. it makes him chuckle seeing their tail wag, heater keeping the car nice and warm as they drive down a couple blocks

John “Soap” MacTavish:

bear hugging Johnny

you didn’t really know what Johnny was doing, you just knew you wanted to hug him. it’s out of the blue, catches him off guard in a way that has him asking if you’re okay - and you are. he doesn’t waste time, moving to scoop you up, hold you close and goof around. he had been organizing your books, just a little surprise

asking Recruiter!Johnny questions

Johnny didn’t want to be stuck recruiting people, but he somehow got picked to do it. what he wasn’t expecting was your question, “Are you hot?”. he wants to sputter out, try to be slick - respond with a, “Well, you can come find out.”, but he stops himself. he knows he’ll be telling the 141 about this, chest puffed up and a lopsided smile as he brags

showing off for the neighbors

Johnny is springy and flexible, his ass can dance. if you catch him while he’s on a jog he’ll flag you down and start flipping around. he’s a show off, it goes to his head how the neighborhood moms watch him. his show is for you, but he won’t turn down the ego boost he gets from others eyeing him up

“you know where the matter daddy is?”

Johnny’s a menace when it comes to the 141, calling Gaz for ‘help’. he can barely get the opener out without laughing, hitting the punchline takes a hot minute. Gaz can hear him sputtering on the other side, little bursts of laughter leaving him. it’s amazing that Gaz falls for the joke at all, Johnny laughing harder as he grips his phone

König:

playing with his cat

does König talk to his pretty kitty in German? of course he does, and he’ll goof around with them too. his favorite thing is pretend dialing on his cat’s toe beans. he’ll pretend to meow for his cat and voice the person ‘on the line’. totally straight faced, he takes business calls with his kitty very seriously

parenting his cat

sometimes being a parent is having human children, other times it’s cradling your baby kitty in your shirt while you make lunch. König is the latter, and he’ll always say how easy it is to be a parent. “Ja, she is a little thing. Here, I have photos—”, he carries printed photos of her in his wallet to show off, his favorite is of her swaddled in bed with her favorite blankie

walking his cat

König likes getting out, it’s natural for him. it gets a little lonely sometimes though… and boy is excited when he learns cat harnesses exist. weather permitting, he enjoys going on walks with his cat. sure, his kitty might wander into a bush here and there, but König will get them out before trailing down the block

[anyalovesu]

𝓤nder a pile of papers

IT intern!Sunghoon x HR intern!reader

—in which sunghoon is a hopeless romantic and you are a dense office siren in the guise of an intern.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

genre : fluff

pairings : sunghoon x fem!reader

wc : 5.4k+ words

cw :

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ non-idol!au

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ sunghoon is cringey and rizzless asf

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ( ft. en- , yunjin from lsf , and wonyoung from ive )

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ sunghoon and wonyoung are related + wonyoung is regarded as a future fun sapphic aunt

☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ not proofread ( yet )

song : "slut" (from the vault) - taylor swift ( 1989 (taylor's version) , 2023 )

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Sunghoon was drawn to you from the very first time you walked out of the office elevator to submit your internship documents. You seemed aloof until the associate spoke to you and from then on, Sunghoon swore he was hooked. He slowly finds himself glancing at the elevator whenever it opens, hoping he gets a glimpse of you before you enter your little cubicle and dabble in your own tasks. 

Jake thinks he's just infatuated. Why wouldn't he? It was apparent to Jake that you had your charm and it was especially effective on his best friend. But his best friend disagrees. Sunghoon believes he’s finally met the love of his life. For sure, the poor IT intern is a mad man and a loser. His knees would buckle whenever you passed by them to grab lunch in the cafeteria with your co-intern, Yunjin, but you don't seem to acknowledge Sunghoon's existence. Yet, he didn't seem to mind. He solely believes that the stars have finally crossed for him and it brought you to him.

Lucky for him, Yunjin was not as dense as you and immediately noticed the young man's overflowing feelings for you. She found it laughable at first how downbad he is, but then maybe that's exactly what you needed—a little excitement, a little thrill in your routinary life. If she can't stop you from your clockwork, maybe a little office romance would.

And so, through Jake, just so she wouldn't excite Sunghoon too much to the point of combustion, Yunjin managed to slip a sticky note with your number and Instagram username. Oh boy, Jake was sure he saw a tear slip down Sunghoon's eye when he handed him the note. God, Jake had to hold his laugh back with his friend’s extreme reaction. He's expressive, he tries to convince himself… nothing's wrong with that.

“Good morning, this is Y/N from HR. Mrs. Lim is asking for a keyboard to be replaced here in the training room,” your voice was static and monotonous over the telephone, yet Sunghoon on the other line was already imploding. It wouldn't be reaching to say he might've peed his pants. 

“Coming right up, love,” Sunghoon blurts out before he could second guess his impulsive thought. 

“Boy, what?” Jake was quick to hit the back of his head out of second hand embarrassment. 

“But my name is Y/N…” you replied innocently, confused as to why he thought your name was love. You said your name clearly, didn't you?

“Yeah, right… Sorry… It kinda slipped, I had a friend named Love and I was thinking of her just before you called.”

“Well I hope your girlfriend is thinking of you too, Sunghoon. Mrs. Lim needs the keyboard to be replaced ASAP. It's kind of urgent,” you replied to him politely, completely not noticing the fact that he just openly flirted with you and failed so miserably.

“You are an embarrassment to this family!” Jake whisper-yelled at him, running hand on his face as he gets up to go to the training room. Sunghoon does not seem fazed by his rizzless attempt to flirt with his office crush. Jake, on the other hand, wants the ground to open and swallow Sunghoon whole so he doesn't have to deal with his cringeworthy attempts to woo you.

“Do you honestly not find him attractive?” Yunjin asked you as she sat next to you in your little secluded cubicle in the corner of the office. “He's tall, and honestly conventionally handsome—c'mon, he's an athlete! He's literally preparing for the national figure skating competition on the weekends as we speak!”

“I suppose he is,” you hummed, seemingly uninterested, while your eyes tunnel vision to him in the training room which you and Yunjin had a clear view of from your little corner. He was fighting with Jake over something about picking the wrong wire. “I guess he's cute. But he has a girlfriend. So, he's not that interesting at all.”

“The fuck you mean he has a girlfriend?” Yunjin asked, appalled at the sudden information, while still keeping her voice in a whisper volume, afraid to attract attention and get a violation for swearing. “That son of a bitch has been flirting with you and I'm finding out that he has a girlfriend? How did you find out?”

“On the phone when I called them over. He thought my name was Love and he said he was thinking of a friend with the name Love. So that friend must be his girlfriend right? If he's thinking of her!”

Yunjin's face falls before letting out a snort that she tried very hard to hide but it turned out to be louder than she thought it would be. 

“Miss Yunjin, inside voice please,” your other supervisor, Ms. Hwang calls. Yunjin slaps a hand over her mouth to hold back her laughter.

“Bitch, Sunghoon has been giving you heart eyes since you walked into this office! How dense must you be to not see that he was openly flirting with you?” Yunjin argued in a whisper tone. “I am so done with you!”

“He was thinking of Love!”

“You are Love! He probably made up a stupid excuse because you didn't buy his advance!” Yunjin continued laughing. “Oh my God! Baby girl! Are you okay? Have you ever flirted in highschool?”

“I was homeschooled…” you replied shyly at your lack of experience with socialization. “Family moved a lot when I was a kid.”

“Explains why you're so weird,” Yunjin nodded understandingly. “Doesn't matter now! Do you like Sunghoon?”

“I never spoke to him other than a while ago when I had to ring him up to fix Mrs. Lim's issue,” you replied shortly. 

“Ugh! Do you find him attractive?”

“I told you! He can be cute,” you replied, nonchalantly as you slowly transition your focus back to your unfinished task. 

“Then text him! I have his number!” Yunjin clapped excitedly, earning another stern glare from Ms. Hwang but Yunjin does not pay her any mind and instead pulls her phone from the back pocket. “Text him! Here!”

You mindlessly copied her actions, unlocking your phone and typing the number from Sunghoon's contact displayed on Yunjin's phone. But as you typed, the same number appears in your suggested contacts. 

“Wait? Do you have his number?” Yunjin asked, confused as she took your phone from your hand. “Why is his number named ‘Weird delivery man’? Is he stalking you? Already?”

“No! The weird delivery man keeps sending me delivery notices! I didn't even order anything and nothing ever arrives! I only saved its number to report it to my service provider this weekend!” You explained, taking your phone from Yunjin to show her the messages between you and the weird delivery man.

“What a fucking loser,” Yunjin mumbles to herself as she holds back a laugh. “It is Sunghoon. It's obviously Sunghoon! You don't have to report it. I gave your number to Jake yesterday, that's why he has it!”

“So you're just giving out my phone number out there, Jennifer?”

“I only ever gave your number to Jake and Sunghoon!” Yunjin replied, holding her right hand up to prove her innocence. 

“What are we talking about? Why am I being spoken about?” Sunghoon asked, popping right beside your cubicle.

“Why did you pretend to be  stupid delivery man, you idiot?” Yunjin asked him, moving to slightly slap his arm. “You almost got reported to the service provider!”

“Wait, you thought I was an actual delivery guy?” Sunghoon asked, flabbergasted that she bought on to the joke when he only thought she was just playing along.

“You introduced yourself like a delivery man, Sunghoon, what were you expecting from me?” you roll your eyes at me. “You're disturbing my work. Go back to your area now!”

You wanted them out as soon as possible—you were embarrassed, of course! Your heart was beating so fast and it wasn't something you were used to. Is it really embarrassment that got your heart racing? Or was it your first time ever finding someone attractive and then realizing they are into you?

You hated to admit it but you knew deep inside it was the latter. Yunjin would agree.

“You like Sunghoon,” Yunjin happily says before moving to look at her pile of papers to scan on her own.

Just as when you thought your internship term was boring.

 .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The following weeks were filled with you, Yunjin, Sunghoon and Jake waiting for each other on the way to the office,  before lunch or before going home. It turned out that Sunghoon and Jake live in the same apartment complex as you and Yunjin, just a few floors higher up. So, it was only sensible to just wait on each other and just take one cab instead of going on two different cabs on the way to the office.

You could’ve sworn you were buying your own morning coffee for the entire week. Until you realized you had saved up some money already from Sunghoon buying your coffee before you could do it for yourself. You couldn’t hide the violent blush that rushed to your face when you realized that while you were sitting in your cubicle with Yunjin. You couldn’t calm your heart from racing once again the moment you put in a thought about it. 

Sunghoon took the time to note your usual order when you were ordering it for yourself one time and made sure he got the same one every day before you and Yunjin met them in the apartment lobby. He always made sure you were seated behind the driver because not only was it the safest seat to be in, but also he noticed you got motion sickness whenever you sat in the middle seat. He would also drop by whenever he has the chance to the cafeteria before lunch to ask for what would be served for lunch and inform you and Yunjin beforehand, just in case you were allergic or did not feel like eating what was going to be served. 

So, yes. You are violently and absurdly blushing over the fact that for once in your life, you are experiencing what it is like to be adored by someone who isn’t a friend or family. While most of the times, you didn’t pay it much mind, due to the fact that you always seemed to be busy getting buried under mounds of papers that needs to be scanned, sorted and filed into very specific color coded folders—now it made so much sense why Sunghoon stuttered whenever you two spoke, because you were gradually finding yourself doing the same way.

“Coffee,” you smiled at Sunghoon, handing him his usual iced americano. The boy seemed surprised that you were earlier than him and Jake without Yunjin to be found anywhere. 

“You didn’t have to!” he blushed, a smile growing from ear to ear as soon as he saw the little ‘Good luck with your day’ note you asked the barista to write on his cup. “I was supposed to get your coffee every morning. Why are you here so early?”

“I just thought I should get the coffee this time. Here’s Jake’s!” You smile at him, handing Jake another cup from the carton tray you obviously struggled to hold on your own, leading Sunghoon to immediately take it from you. “Thank you. Yunjin could not be bothered to wake up earlier than she usually does, so I just went and grabbed our coffee on our own.”

Sunghoon couldn’t help but look at you adoringly. You were so… nice and innocent in a way. Over the course of the past few days, you seemed like the person to just mind your own business, succumbing into your own little world. With a little more confirmation from Yunjin, he was able to understand that this has always been the case for you. You weren’t  the best at socializing and it really does take some time for you to adjust to some people. And something about you being so lively and smiley with him and Jake now (compared to your stoic expression when he first saw you) meant too much to him because it was as if you were finally letting them in your little bubble. 

“Thank you, Y/N!” Jake happily takes the coffee from the tray. “Yunjin just texted me. She’s on her way down. I’ll go book the taxi right now.”

“I’ll wire you the amount–”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on me–”

“What? Sunghoon, no!” You argued but your little arguing figure only seemed to bring him even more joy that you were interacting with him more and more. 

“You bought us coffee, the taxi is on me this time,” he explained carefully.

Oh boy. You just looked at him, stunned at his soft tone. 

“Smitten, I’m telling you. Sunghoon is smitten, and you can’t do anything about it, Y/N. Just let him pay for your taxi. Plus it’s gonna be like you paid for it anyway because you bought us coffee.”

You already felt like you weren’t going to win an argument with the both of them especially without Yunjin’s presence so you decided to just let it go. 

 .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Lunch break came around sooner than you thought as you were sorting through the signed official documents that needed to be filed away in the storage room after lunch. Yunjin was going around trying to get some documents signed by the superiors so it was mostly her doing all the tedious work without anyone to remind her about the time. You were only brought back to your senses when Yunjin came back calling you to go get lunch as Jake and Sunghoon were already waiting by the exit door of the floor. 

You tried to hide your excitement to see Sunghoon and Jake and complain about the piles of papers you had to sort through just a while ago. Yunjin often rants about it more, but since you did most of the work, you couldn’t help but get excited over wanting to dish about it. 

Yunjin could not help but notice the way your face and mood dropped when you found Wonyoung from Marketing talking to Sunghoon, even laughing about something you couldn’t quite point out. You heard they were working together on the upcoming event, which honestly, for the first time in your life you wanted to be involved in but unfortunately it wasn’t a job for the Human Resource department, so there wasn’t that much to do. 

Does Sunghoon find her more interesting now that they’re spending more time together outside of lunches? 

You couldn’t explain why you were feeling that way. You and Sunghoon haven’t even talked about where you stood and you were already reacting like this. He would definitely lose interest in you even more as soon as he realizes how hard it is to put up with you.

“Jang Wonyoung!” Yunjin happily calls as the both of you approach them. “I haven't seen you around in a while!”

“The marketing team has been really busy with the event, so I haven't had much time to hang around,” she explained. Jang Wonyoung was ethereal to look at. You were sure that even if you spent the entire day staring at her face, you would still struggle to find a flaw. Even so, she had this light aura around her that made her so easy and light to be around with. Sunghoon would like her even more than you, surely. You had no chance against Wonyoung.

“Hi, Y/N!” She greeted you happily. “I haven’t seen you that much around. It’s nice to finally have a face to your name!”

“Hello, Wonyoung,” you replied, shyly, trying to match her energy even though it took a lot of energy for you to do so. “It’s nice to finally meet you too.”

“Well, I should go. Sunghoon, please remind Mr. Kang that the meeting in Room 601 at 2PM. Thank you so much, you are a saint!” Wonyoung skipped away, which somehow made you feel bad that you thought of her as someone who would take from you—she did nothing wrong and either way, she did not care. You seemed like the only person who cared about it and what does that make you feel? Pathetic. 

You couldn’t believe it. All these feelings for a boy that you’re not even exclusive with! You thought you were going insane!

“Y/N, are you coming?” Sunghoon asked, snapping you back to your senses, realizing that they were a good few steps away from you now on their way to the office cafeteria.

You nodded at him before following them, sticking close to Yunjin this time, instead of your usually comfortable proximity from Sunghoon. This time you were sat farthest away from him, avoiding any glances that would make you feel even more pity for yourself. It was ridiculous! All this for a boy? Insane! That’s what it is.

“Don’t you like your vegetables?” Sunghoon asked once again as he noticed you just looking at your beans and carrots on the side of your tray. You usually loved those, but you did not seem to be in the mood for them right now. Mind going back to the thought of Sunghoon falling for Wonyoung and choosing her instead of you over and over. 

You shrug your head, still not giving him a verbal response until now. “But you always ate those?” He asked curiously. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?”  Jake asked.

Oh you hated that everyone’s eyes were on you now, even Yunjin’s. You feel like you were being put on the spot and you hated it. It feels like you don’t have a choice but to say something even though technically you have every right not to say anything. 

You lied and nodded at them. 

“Liar,” Yunjin rolled her eyes. “Your mood has been off since we got to the dining hall. It’s going to help you so much if you could just tell us what’s going on.”

You could already feel that you were creating an awkward atmosphere by going non-verbal on everyone. “Sorry. Just wasn’t feeling like talking.”

Lunch was over before you knew it. Even though everyone carried on with their conversations with you just listening to them, you knew that all of them were concerned with the sudden dip in your mood with how everyone glanced at you every now and then. 

“Jen, could I borrow Y/N for a minute?” Sunghoon managed to grab you by the arm as you and Yunjin moved to leave the cafeteria. 

Yunjin looked at Sunghoon understandingly before turning to look at you. “Do you want to be borrowed?”

You looked at Sunghoon, who looked like a kicked puppy, pleading for a bit of your time. How could you say no to that? 

The both of you found yourself in one of the empty balcony areas of the office that usually served as a smoking area to some visitors and employees that smoked. 

“Did something happen?” He asked, as he sat next to you in one of the benches in the balcony.

You thought of it hard if it was worth saying. After all, you really were no competition to Wonyoung. There was no point fighting him for it—it’s not like you were something in the first place. You were just overreacting right?

“I’m just overreacting. Nothing really happened,” you confessed, looking at your hands while you picked on them to continue avoiding his gaze. 

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You hoped he would eventually buy your lies but it did not seem to convince him at all.

“If it makes you react like this, then it must’ve mattered to you,” he explained, reaching for your hand to keep your fingers from picking at the skin around your fingers, a habit he noticed you do whenever you were uncomfortable or anxious. “Was it something I did?”

You shrugged, letting him hold your hand. “You’re okay.”

“Then what seems to be wrong, darling?”

You contemplated on whether you should tell him or not because now that you’ve thought of it, you think that you might’ve been jealous and had been obvious with it. You and Sunghoon are merely just friends—you haven’t talked about anything. You knew you absolutely had no right to be jealous if that was the case.

“It’s petty.”

“I don’t care if it is,” he sighed. “Petty or not, I want to know just so if I can do something about it, you wouldn’t be uncomfortable about it the next time.”

“What’s it like to work with Wonyoung?” You blurted out.

He looks at you surprised, though somehow was able to piece it all together as he smiled at you softly, squeezing your hand in between his. 

“Were you jealous of Wonyoung?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘jealous.’ We’re not even a thing to begin with.”

“Do you want us to be?”

It was your turn to be surprised. You did not expect to hear that question so soon, with only just two weeks of hanging out. Well, if he was that important to you to the point that you were feeling jealous, then maybe you liked him that much as well, don’t you? You liked Sunghoon. You were way past the point of denying that when you asked the barista to write him the note this morning and when you decided that you were going to make an effort to do something nice for him today.

You didn’t know what made you confident enough to do what you did, you managed to clasp your hand with his and nodded your head. 

Sunghoon almost jumped in his seat, he could feel a tear forming in the corner of his eye. Despite his cold visuals, god, he was expressive as hell and his eyes always had a warm look on them. You didn't quite understand why his parents made him look like that. He looks so handsome and confusing everytime you look at him, but it is always a pleasure to be confused if it's Sunghoon you're looking at.

“What's to say you're not going to choose Wonyoung over me along the line?” You asked him, making him chuckle.

“Because Wonyoung and I are related,” he smiled softly. “She's close to me, we grew up together. Our mothers are siblings.” He explained it so carefully while he ran his thumb in circles against the back of your hand, soothing you as he breaks down his relationship with Wonyoung. “I'm also pretty sure Wonyoung likes girls more than she likes guys. Who knows? Maybe Wonyoung can steal you from me?”

Now that you know that information, you realize that Sunghoon and Wonyoung did slightly look alike. You were too jealous to spot it the first time—also, how dare Yunjin not tell you earlier! She's friends with Wonyoung! There's no way she wouldn't have known! She definitely knows.

“Wonyoung could be our kids’ fun sapphic aunt!” he joked, making you snap back to reality.

“Hold your horses, Sunghoon,” you chuckled at him. “Dine me first, at least!”

“What does 7PM after shift sound like? I'll tell Yunjin that I'll bring you home before 10?”

“Only if there's wine.”

“We'll take the best one they have then,” he chuckled, pulling you for a tight hug. You instinctively wrapped yours around his waist and accepted his embrace. “I'm sorry for making you feel weird about me and Wonyoung, Y/N.”

“I should've asked first,” you mumbled. “At least I can be friends with Wonyoung without worrying if I'm homewrecking her relationship.”

Sunghoon laughed at your reply, pulling away before checking his watch. 

“I should give you back to Yunjin. Your break time is almost over,” he sighed. “But I'll pick up at your table later, alright?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed. “Don't miss me too much.”

“A lot to ask for, darling.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

“Are you cold?” Sunghoon asked as soon as they entered the diner near the office. It wasn’t too casual, it didn’t look too fancy either. It looked like it was built a few decades before but it was well-maintained, especially the mini tabletop jukebox sitting on the table that’s looking more pristine than ever.

You shrug your head politely at Sunghoon. “How did you know about this place?” You asked, looking around, mesmerized at the decades old interior that survived the different aesthetics that evolved outside of it through the years. 

“My mom used to bring me and my sister here after practice,” he smiled, looking around even pointing at the diner’s mini photowall. “I have a picture right there when I was seven, when I won my first junior national title. During the weekends, my mom and my sister would wait for me until late night to finish practice. We’d eat late dinner here because it would be the only place that’s open by the time I get out of training.”

Something about Sunghoon fondly looking at the place while he talked about his childhood made your heart swell in your chest. You were at least glad that the story behind bringing you to a cute diner was a fond memory and not a routine thing for every single girl he asks out on a date. You were relieved to find out that he isn't like anything Yunjin had tried to warned her about.

“Any suggestions on what I should order then?” you smiled at him. Sunghoon wanted to melt right then and there when you asked, he already had everything written and rehearsed in his head back when he was only fantasizing about talking to you and how here he is on a full on date in a place that he have always been dreaming of taking a girl to ever since he was a little kid.

Sunghoon excitedly scooted over and smiled at her, reaching for the menu to see if it had changed and if his favorite burger was still there. Fortunately, it was still there. He chuckled and pointed it out, explaining every ingredient and how to add up to the immaculate taste of it. He does the same in the pizza that they decided to order. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how big of a nerd he is. It was cute. It really adds up to his charm.

“The last time I was in an actual diner was when my mom picked me up from the hospital because I broke my arm from a bullying incident in school. I was homeschooled after that and we tend to move a lot so I didn’t have any friends prior to being classmates with Yunjin when we finally settled here in Seoul,” you told him, looking at your phone scrolling through your mom’s facebook to show him a photo of you from your freshman year in your pretty private high school uniform with a cast and a pink sling on your arm. You had spaghetti sauce all over your face and your uniform from trying to eat with one hand only. 

“Do I have to get you a napkin? You seem like a really messy eater,” Sunghoon teased. You glared at him playfully, locking your phone and putting it back in your purse.

“No, thank you. I have two functional arms now.”

“Was it fun?”

“What is?”

“Moving around the world,” he asked, fiddling on the engravings of the spoon as he looked at you. 

“Depends on how you define fun,” you responded. “I'm convinced I never really had fun before I met you, Jake and Yunjin.”

Sunghoon cocks his head to the side, curiously raising his brows as if it was going to help him hear better. 

“You guys seem to know how everything works and rarely ever cared about how things would affect you,” you explained. “Maybe that comes with being exposed to the world. I didn't have much of that. Myself from 3 years ago would have a heart attack if she found out that I am on a date now, to be honest.”

“Myself from 3 months ago would have a heart attack if he found out that I am on a date with you right now,” he grinned, eyes crinkling cutely as he giggled. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

After many more personal stories and a few more glasses of wine, you were tipsy enough for Sunghoon to assume that it was time to go home. He later found out that you have never tried riding a bus without your mom before due to your semi-overprotective mom choosing to drive you around or give you cab money instead of letting you get on the platform. There was no judgment at all, after hearing all your stories about you and your mom’s adventures around the world and with your dad walking out on you and your mom when you were very young, Sunghoon understands that you were all that your mom has and even he would do whatever it takes to make sure you were safe and alive if you were the only one left for him too.

That being said, it’s the exact reason you and Sunghoon are waiting for the bus’ last trip all tangled in each other's arms, giggling as you continue telling each other’s lores.

Sunghoon was nice. Scratch that—he was amazing—incredible even. He walked on the side near the street, he held your hand while crossing, always made sure you were comfortable, seeing as it was your first time experiencing all that. He was a gentleman. Oh dear. You couldn’t ask for anything more. 

It didn’t take that long though before you started gaining stares, especially after the event where the other Marketing interns watched Sunghoon cling to your side the entire time despite them having more time to work together during the preparations. Wonyoung had her fair share of death stares towards her colleagues but it could only go so far—she couldn’t control them whenever she had her back turned on them. You and Wonyoung eventually became friends too after all that fiasco.

“It’s so annoying!” Wonyoung complained as she brought her tray next to you and Yunjin across from her cousin and Jake. “They are still yapping about seeing you and Y/N in the event! It’s not like they’re entitled to your ugly ass’ attention! Literally it’s so awkward to work with them! All they talk about is Sunghoon this, Sunghoon that. It’s like they want to lick your ass or something!”

“I’m not sure if I want to hear that girlypop,” Jake snorted, holding back his laughter at Wonyoung’s choice of words. 

“I heard one of the marketing interns whispering names when we were in the elevator this morning,” Yunjin rolled her eyes. 

Jake found it bizarre that you seemed to be the most unbothered among you three. You were just minding your own business sorting out the beans and the carrots from your vegetable side and seemed to be having a great time unlike your friends who are about to burst in annoyance that all those are being said to you.

“You don’t seem bothered by it, Y/N. No?”

“I’ve been bullied multiple times before,” it was your turn to snort now. “All these are not even a quarter compared to what I’ve experienced. Plus, if I’m going to be called a slut, which happened on multiple occasions in middle school and high school, it's at least worth it now.”

“For the record, I do not treat you like anything of that sort,” Sunghoon defended himself. 

“Thank fucking god, Sunghoon!” Wonyoung dramatically sighs. “Thank you for giving us the bare minimum!”

“The bar is in hell anyway,” Yunjin laughed. “I think he’s at least decent.”

Everyone else will have an opinion about how Sunghoon treats you but to you, Sunghoon was the nicest guy you’ve ever met. Okay, maybe that’s not as reliable to hear considering you don’t meet and be friends with a lot of people—but Sunghoon isn’t anything like Yunjin’s ex-boyfriends. He listens to every word you say and remembers it. He treats you very well—even your mom agrees when you told her about him once. Yunjin was giddy kicking her feet while lying on her stomach on your bed that night. They were both so fond of Sunghoon and how gentle he is with you.

So, yes. Maybe you were going to be called a slut probably more times than you thought but maybe for once it’s worth it—if this time, you are with Sunghoon.

—end

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

masterlist

a/n : hi hello ! i've been soooooo busy with internship and the idea of this fic might or might not be inspired by my little office crush on the IT intern on the other side of our floor pls HAHAHAHAHA anyways, i hope you liked this one ! you can leave your thoughts here or through the notes! lemme know what i can still improve on or what you want me to write nexttt !!

tnx for making it this far <33

xo, anya ୨୧

[satorusleftnut]

Bully Gojo x Fem Reader

Prologue: Satoru Gojo was a pain from the moment you transferred to Jujutsu Tech—teasing, mocking, and getting under your skin. You hated him, and couldn’t figure out why he had it out for you. But everyone knows there's a thin line between love and hate.

First time posting kinda nervous😣

The sound of hallway chatter fades into the background as I walk down the corridor, my headphones blasting music. Nothing beats tuning out the world—it’s the closest thing to peace I get these days. But, of course, peace is always fleeting at a school with Satoru Gojo. Before I can even process what’s happening, I’m shoved hard, my body hitting the floor with a thud. My headphones fly off my head, skidding across the hallway tiles. I barely catch myself with my hands before my face smashes into the ground.

A string of curses escapes under my breath as I whip my head around, and there he is. Satoru Gojo, the bane of my existence, standing over me with that signature cocky grin plastered across his stupidly perfect face.

“Y/n, you crying?” he teases, his tone laced with mockery.

The words are a cruel echo of my first day here, back when I was still a sophomore. He’d dumped a carton of milk on my head in front of everyone, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. “What’s wrong, new girl? You crying?” he’d sneered back then, not even bothering to learn my name first.

My jaw tightens as the memory burns in my mind. I scowl up at him, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Fuck off,” I snap, my voice low and venomous.

Gojo’s grin only widens, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Tsk, such a smart mouth. I bet I could put it to good use.” He wiggles his eyebrows, the innuendo in his tone making my stomach churn with disgust.

“You’re fucking gross, Gojo,” I bite back, glaring at him as I push myself off the floor. I ignore the hand he offers, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Dusting myself off, I grab my headphones, trying to shake off the humiliation.

“You wound me,” he drawls, placing a hand over his chest as if I’d actually hurt him. His voice is mocking, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes.

“Get a life,” I mutter, turning on my heel to walk away. But I can feel his gaze burning into my back, the weight of his presence refusing to let me go. I clench my fists, determined not to let him win, even as my heart pounds with a mix of frustration and something I don’t want to name.

_________________________________________________

After arriving at the classroom, I slip into my seat at the back with a heavy sigh. But before I can put my headphones back on, the teacher’s booming voice stops me.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath, draping the headphones around my neck instead. 

Fifteen minutes into the lecture, the doors fling open, and in strolls Gojo, looking like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. The teacher doesn’t even glance his way, let alone reprimand him. It’s no secret that Gojo’s family is filthy rich, and his father’s ownership of the school gives him a free pass for practically anything.

Gojo flops into the seat next to mine, shooting me a brief, unreadable glance before pulling out his phone and slouching back in his chair. I roll my eyes and try to refocus on the teacher’s droning voice.

A low whistle escapes Gojo’s lips, making my irritation spike. Then, as if determined to test my patience, he drags his chair closer to mine.

“I didn’t know you were hiding such a hot body under that uniform, baby,” he says, his tone a mix of mockery and something else—curiosity, maybe.

I whip my head toward him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

His lips curl into a smirk as he slides his phone toward me. I hesitate for a moment before glancing down, my stomach dropping the second I see the screen. It’s a picture of me from the summer, wearing a bikini at the beach.

I roll my eyes and shove the phone back at him. “How’d you even find my Instagram?”

Gojo snatches the phone, his smirk widening. “Didn’t realize you were such a whore,” he says casually, the possessiveness in his voice barely masked.

My eyes narrow as anger bubbles up. “What?” I ask, though I heard him loud and clear. I just want to see if he has the guts to say it again.

“You heard me, whore.” He leans back in his chair, his expression dripping with condescension. “You’re practically begging for attention with that post.”

I clench my fists, forcing myself to stay calm. “What I post on my Instagram is none of your business,” I snap, my voice sharp enough to cut through his smugness.

Gojo’s smirk falters, but only for a second. “It is when you’re flaunting yourself for every loser to drool over,” he mutters, his tone darker now, tinged with something unsettling.

“Jealous, Gojo?” I fire back, meeting his gaze head-on.

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, the air between us feels charged, heavy with something unspoken. “You wish,” he finally replies, his voice low but laced with irritation.

I scoff and turn back to the front of the classroom, trying to ignore the heat of his stare still lingering on me.

_________________________________________________

The rest of the lecture drags on, but I can feel Gojo’s eyes burning holes into the side of my head. My fingers tighten around my pen as I focus on jotting down notes, determined not to give him the satisfaction of reacting again.

When the bell finally rings, I gather my stuff quickly, hoping to escape before he can say anything else. But, of course, Gojo’s quicker.

“Wait up, Y/n.” His voice is smooth, almost teasing, as he falls into step beside me.

I don’t bother slowing down. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

He chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why would I? You’re way more fun.”

I roll my eyes, clutching my notebook tighter. “Yeah, well, I don’t have time for your bullshit, Gojo.”

“Harsh,” he drawls, tilting his head to look at me. “You wound me, baby.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? You don’t like it?” His smirk is infuriatingly persistent.

I stop abruptly, turning to face him. “No, I don’t. In fact, I don’t like anything about you.”

He takes a step closer, his towering height forcing me to crane my neck slightly to hold his gaze. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice low and almost daring.

My heart pounds, but I refuse to back down. “Yeah, it is.”

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the hallway around us emptying as students head to their next classes. Then, Gojo leans in slightly, his smirk softening into something more dangerous.

“You know,” he says, his tone quieter now, “you’re a terrible liar, Y/n.”

My breath catches, but I quickly mask it with a scoff. “Get over yourself, Gojo.” I turn on my heel and walk away, ignoring the way my pulse races.

But even as I disappear into the next hallway, I can feel his eyes on me, like a thread tugging at something I don’t want to acknowledge. 

_________________________________________________

I make it to my locker, finally free of Gojo’s relentless teasing. As I spin the combination, a voice to my left pulls my attention.

“Hey, Y/n,” says a guy from my English class—Kenji, I think. He leans casually against the locker next to mine, flashing me an easy smile. “I was wondering if you’d want to grab coffee after school sometime. You know, to study or something.”

I blink in surprise, not expecting the sudden invitation. “Uh, coffee?” I ask, trying to buy time while I process the offer.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, you’re always killing it in class, so I figured I could learn a thing or two from you.”

Before I can respond, a familiar voice cuts in, cold and sharp. “Wow, Kenji. Really scraping the bottom of the barrel, huh?”

I don’t have to look to know who it is. Satoru Gojo strolls up, hands in his pockets, his smirk somehow even more insufferable than usual.

Kenji’s expression hardens, but he holds his ground. “What’s your problem, Gojo?”

“Problem?” Gojo chuckles, his gaze flicking to me before returning to Kenji. “No problem. Just giving you a heads-up. Y/n’s not exactly the studious type, if you catch my drift.”

My fists clench at my sides, my blood boiling. “Shut up, Gojo,” I snap, stepping between them.

He leans in slightly, his smirk darkening. “Just looking out for you, baby,” he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

I shove him back, my eyes blazing. “I don’t need your protection. You’re not my keeper, so stay the hell out of my business.”

Kenji glances between us, clearly confused but not wanting to get involved. “Uh, I’ll catch you later, Y/n,” he says awkwardly before walking off.

Gojo watches him leave, his jaw tight, shoulders tense. Then he turns back to me, his usual smugness replaced by something far more serious. “You’re not going on that date,” he says, his voice low but firm.

I snort, crossing my arms. “Since when do you get to decide what I do? Newsflash, Gojo—you don’t.”

His icy blue eyes narrow, and the tension radiating from him is almost suffocating. “I’m serious, Y/n. You’re not going.”

“And I’m serious too,” I snap, stepping closer, my own anger rising to match his. “You don’t control me. You don’t even like me, so why the hell do you care?”

His jaw ticks, and he takes a step forward, closing the space between us. “Because I said so,” he growls, his voice sharp and possessive. “That guy doesn’t get to have you.”

I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “Oh, please. You’re insane. I’ll hang out with whoever I damn well want—”

Before I can finish, Gojo’s hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist. His grip is firm but not painful, his fingers curling around my skin like an unbreakable chain. “Enough,” he mutters, his voice cold and clipped.

“What the hell—” I start, but he’s already moving, pulling me down the hallway with a determined stride.

“Let me go, Gojo!” I hiss, struggling against his grip, but he doesn’t loosen it. Instead, he yanks open the door to an empty classroom and drags me inside, slamming the door shut behind us.

He finally lets go of my wrist but steps in close, his towering presence blocking any chance of escape. His eyes are stormy, the usual playful glint replaced by something much darker, more possessive.

With a fiery rage burning in his eyes, he locks the door and strides towards me, his steps echoing off the walls. My heart races with a mixture of fear and excitement as I stand my ground, refusing to back down. But as he gets closer, I find myself frozen in place, unable to move as he towers over me.

"Don't you fucking get it, Y/n? You're mine," he growls, his voice low and menacing.

My breath hitches in my throat as his hand grips my chin, forcing me to look up at him. My mind goes blank as I stare into his intense gaze, feeling completely under his control.

A small whimper escapes my lips as he leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from mine. "No the fuck I'm not," I manage to say, though my words lack their usual defiance.

He laughs darkly, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "You and I both know you belong to me."

Before I can respond, his mouth crashes down on mine in a desperate kiss. His lips are rough and demanding against mine as if he's trying to consume every part of me. Our teeth clash together and our bodies press against each other in a primal dance of dominance. 

His tongue traces the seam of my trembling lips, silently demanding permission with each slow, deliberate stroke. I feel his hot breath on my skin and the raw hunger in his eyes, sending shivers down my spine as I realize I am completely at his mercy.

I gasp involuntarily, parting my lips just enough for his tongue to slip inside. He explores my mouth with a possessive fervor, his hands gripping my waist and pulling me flush against him. My mind screams at me to push him away, to slap him, to do anything but give in. But my body betrays me, melting into his touch as if it's been waiting for this moment.

His lips leave mine, trailing hot kisses along my jaw and down my neck. I tilt my head back, giving him better access despite myself. "Gojo," I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nips at my pulse point, eliciting a soft moan from me. "Say it again," he demands, his voice husky with desire.

"Satoru," I whisper, surprising myself with the use of his first name. He groans against my skin, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through my body. His hands roam my sides, fingers digging into my hips as he pulls me even closer.

"You're mine," he growls again, his lips brushing against my ear. "Say it."

I want to resist, to hold onto the last shred of my defiance, but the words tumble out before I can stop them. "I'm yours," I breathe, my voice shaky.

Gojo pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with mine. There's a fierce intensity in his gaze, a mix of triumph and something deeper, more vulnerable. For a moment, I see past the arrogant facade, glimpsing the raw emotion underneath.

His hand cups my cheek, surprisingly gentle compared to the urgency of moments before. "I've wanted this for so long," he admits, his voice low and husky. 

My mind barely has time to register his words before his lips are on mine once again, igniting a fire within me that spreads throughout my body. His touch is hot and insistent as his hands grip the back of my thighs, lifting me up with ease and placing me on the cool surface of the teacher's desk. The tension between us crackles in the air, swirling with desire and need. My heart races in my chest as I give in to the sensations pulsing through my veins. With each kiss, I fall deeper into him, losing all sense of time and place until the only thing that exists is our passionate embrace.

My legs instinctively wrap around Gojo's waist, pulling him closer as our kiss deepens. His hands roam my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, craving more with each passing moment.

"Satoru," I gasp as his lips move to my neck, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin. My senses blaze with pleasure as his fingers deftly unbutton my shirt, revealing more of me to his hungry gaze.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes dark with desire as they rake over my form. His hands cup my breasts through my lacy bra, thumbs brushing over my hardened nipples. A soft moan escapes my lips as I tilt my head back in response.

Gojo's mouth travels lower, leaving a trail of hot kisses down my chest. He pushes my bra aside, taking a nipple between his lips and sending jolts of ecstasy through me. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close.

His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher. Shivers run down my spine as his fingers brush against my center through my lacy panties. "Already so wet for me," he growls approvingly. 

I whimper as he strokes me through the thin fabric, my hips involuntarily moving against his hand in search of more friction. Gojo smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he has on me. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties, slowly sliding them down my legs.

The cool air hits my heated core as Gojo spreads my legs wider. His fingers trace my folds teasingly before plunging inside. My inner walls clench around him as I cry out at this sudden intrusion.

"That's it, baby," he encourages as he pumps his fingers in and out. His thumb finds my clit, circling the sensitive bud and intensifying the pleasure building within me.

Just as I'm about to give in to the overwhelming sensations, Gojo withdraws his fingers, leaving me whining with need. He chuckles darkly, bringing his glistening fingers to his lips and sucking them clean while maintaining eye contact with me.

"Patience," he murmurs huskily. I watch with hooded eyes as he unbuckles his belt and pushes down his pants and boxers, revealing his hard length that springs free eagerly.

Gojo positions himself at my entrance, the tip of his cock teasing my sensitive folds before slowly pushing inside. With each inch that he fills me, we both moan in mutual satisfaction until we are finally joined completely.

He begins to move, setting a steady rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through me with every thrust. My nails dig into his shoulders as I cling to him, overwhelmed by the intense ecstasy he evokes within me.

"Harder," I plead, craving more of this intense sensation. Gojo obliges, snapping his hips faster and harder against mine, creating a symphony of skin slapping against skin that fills the room and drowns out all other thoughts and sounds.

Gojo responds to my plea with a growl, his hands gripping my hips tighter as he increases his pace. The desk beneath us creaks with each powerful thrust, the sound mixing with our heavy breathing and soft moans. 

"You like that, baby?" he pants, his voice husky with exertion. "You like it when I fuck you hard?"

I can only nod, words escaping me as pleasure courses through every nerve ending. My legs wrap tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper with each thrust. The new angle sends sparks of ecstasy shooting up my spine, and I cry out, my back arching off the desk.

Gojo's lips crash against mine, swallowing my moans as his tongue explores my mouth. One of his hands leaves my hip, sliding up to cup my breast, his thumb circling my nipple in time with his thrusts.

"You feel so good," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "So tight and wet for me."

I can barely form coherent thoughts as waves of ecstasy wash over me. My legs tremble around his waist, toes curling with each deep thrust. The coil of tension in my core winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

"Satoru, please," I whimper, my voice breathy and desperate. "I'm so close."

He smirks, slowing his pace to an agonizing crawl. "What was that, baby? I couldn't quite hear you." 

I whimper in frustration as Gojo slows his pace, the pleasure building inside me threatening to ebb away. "Please," I gasp, my hips bucking against his in a desperate attempt to regain that delicious friction.

"Please what?" he teases, his voice low and husky. His cock slides torturously slow in and out of me, barely grazing my most sensitive spots. "Use your words, Y/n."

I bite my lip, torn between my pride and the overwhelming need coursing through my body. Gojo's eyes bore into mine, dark with desire but glinting with challenge. He gives a particularly deep thrust, hitting that spot inside me that makes me see stars, before returning to his agonizingly slow pace.

"Fuck," I moan, my resolve crumbling. "Please, Satoru. I need more."

His smirk widens as he leans in close, his lips brushing against my ear. "More what, baby? Tell me exactly what you want."

The heat of his breath against my skin sends shivers down my spine. I swallow hard, my cheeks burning with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. "I want you to fuck me harder," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Gojo clicks his tongue, pulling back to look at me. "I can't hear you, Y/n. Louder."

Frustration and desire war within me as I meet his gaze. "I want you to fuck me harder," I repeat, my voice stronger this time.

"Better," he growls, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. "But I think you can do better than that. Beg for it, Y/n. Beg me to make you cum."

His thrusts pick up speed, but it's still not enough. I'm teetering on the edge, desperate for release but unable to reach it. Pride be damned, I think, giving in to the overwhelming need.

"Please, Satoru," I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please fuck me harder. I need to cum so badly. Please, please make me cum!"

A primal growl escapes Gojo's throat as he finally gives in to my pleas. His hips slam against mine with bruising force, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the empty classroom, mixing with our heavy breathing and desperate moans.

"That's it, baby," he pants, his voice rough with exertion. "Take it all. You're such a good girl for me."

His words send a fresh wave of arousal through me. One of his hands snakes between our bodies, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing tight circles against the sensitive bud. The dual stimulation is almost too much to bear, and I feel myself rapidly approaching the edge.

"Oh god, Satoru," I moan, my back arching off the desk. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

Gojo's thrusts become even more frantic, his hips slamming against mine with a force that threatens to push me over the edge of the desk. His fingers grip my hips so tightly I'm sure there will be bruises tomorrow, but I can't bring myself to care. All I can focus on is the overwhelming pleasure coursing through my body with each powerful thrust.

"Fuck, Y/n," he growls, his voice strained. "You're so fucking tight. You're gonna make me cum."

His words send a fresh wave of arousal through me. I clench around him, relishing in the way he groans in response. His thumb continues its relentless assault on my clit, the pressure building to an almost unbearable level.

"That's it, baby," Gojo pants, his eyes locked on mine. "Cum for me. I want to feel you fall apart around my cock."

The coil of tension in my core winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. Gojo's thrusts become erratic, his own release clearly approaching. He leans down, capturing my lips in a searing kiss that steals what little breath I have left.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire and something deeper, more intense. "You're mine," he growls, his voice low and possessive. "Say it again. Tell me who you belong to."

"I'm yours, Satoru," I gasp, teetering on the edge of oblivion. "Only yours. Always yours."

With those words, the dam finally breaks. Waves of ecstasy crash over me as my orgasm rips through my body. I cry out Gojo's name, my back arching off the desk as my inner walls clench rhythmically around him. 

Gojo follows me over the edge moments later, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep inside me. He groans my name, his fingers digging into my hips as he empties himself into me.

For a long moment, we stay like that, both panting heavily as we come down from our highs. Gojo rests his forehead against mine, his breath hot against my skin. Slowly, he pulls out, causing both of us to wince at the sensitivity.

As the fog of pleasure clears from my mind, reality starts to set in. I just had sex with Satoru Gojo - my sworn enemy - in an empty classroom. And worse, I enjoyed every second of it.

Gojo seems to sense my inner turmoil. He cups my face gently, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Don't overthink this," he murmurs, his thumb stroking my cheek. "We both wanted it. We both needed it."

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. But before I can answer, he’s pulling me back to him, cupping my face and kissing me again—gentle at first, like he’s testing the waters, but then more urgent, more desperate as I respond, my hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.

When he pulls away, we’re both breathless, and the world outside the classroom feels miles away. “You’re mine, Y/n,” he says quietly, there’s no doubt in his voice.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t argue. “And you’re mine,” I whisper back, the words feeling as right as they sound wrong.

[f1minist]

Feminist Youtube Videos for Every Topic

A collection of feminist content, organized topically for ease.

Separatism:

on separatism and heterosexuality

why separatism is good

we're gonna die sometime. might as well be separatists.

stop choosing patriarchy

separatism is a choice

biggest impact, but most won't do it

on vetting men

the benefits of separatism are endless

men cannot be rehabbed

of course the slave is full of rage for her slave master

Lesbian Stuff:

who can use the word 'lesbian'?

on defending gay rights and spaces

what are lesbians supposed to do about het women?

gender critical lesbophobia

the constant rage for gold star lesbians

Political Lesbian Critique:

a simple breakdown of political lesbians

political lesbians... are you ok?

political 'lesbians' are not actually lesbians

i didn't 'come to lesbianism'. i was always here.

homosexuality is not a choice

for those who confuse polilez vs febfem

Comp Het Critique:

comp het isn't a thing

lesbihonest-art (RIP) on comp het

on lesbian experience, by @sunlight-beauty

on comp het, by @rakastiikeri

sespursongles (RIP) on comp het

Preferred Pronouns:

on 'cis' and other language

pronouns are rohypnol

preferred pronouns? no.

what are your pronouns?

Anti Make-Up / Beauty / Femininity:

3 years without makeup: 5 benefits i've experienced

sephora girls: why are ten year olds wearing make-up?

marked women

makeup isn't empowerment

why i stopped wearing makeup

bimbofication: a dangerously idiotic trend

empowerment? no.

give the middle finger to patiarchy

radfems in eyeliner

makeup infinity

on makeup and radical feminism

maintaining the status quo hurts all women

the audacity of the bare-faced woman

critiquing is not shaming

why do women do beauty?

choice feminism is a lie

actually gender critical

Anti Surogacy / Natalism / Procretion:

about mothers

forced pregnancy is involuntary servitude

egg "donation" is exploitation

on sperm giveaways

motherhood is not untouchable

homosexuality does not include reproduction

why i don't want kids

why i'm childfree

on procreation and patriarchy

Porn / Sex Work Commentary:

instagram vs porn

'sex-positive feminism' benefits men (and hurts women)

the influence of porn on the trans trend

on 'sex work'

speaking out on prostitution

'sex work is work'? no, not really.

let's stop acting like 'sex work' is empowering

is porn 'for women' okay?

porn is apocalyptical

'ethical porn' cannot exist

stop glamourizing 'sex work'

porn is the pinnacle of evil

is r/antiwork pro exploitation?

Trans Critical:

mainstream, revisionist, queer nonsense

why transwomen don't have 'female brains', from @ilistened2transwomen

why the hate?

why i decided to stop using the term 'transwoman'

on trans rights activists

TRAs loooove white men

the untouchable male creep - AGPs on parade, from @ilistened2transwomen

'intersectional' does not mean 'trans inclusive'

non-binary is deeply rooted in misogyny

25 questions for trans activists

women's sports are not a dumping ground for mediocre men

on "identifying as" women

stacia samaya on 'non-binary'

why sex is binary

trans rights, or trans privileges?

always chasing the dragon

27 ways in which trans activism is harmful

the actual human rights law

on 'trans women are women'

is transitioning ever 'the best' option?

autogynephilia - a brief overview

the rise of the heterosexual queer

phobia indoctrination

transing away the gay

5 tips for talking gender critical, by @runawaysiren940

the transing of language

autogynephilia, not dysphoria

rainbow-washed progressivism

transwomen are not women

how i became gender critical

autogynephilia explained

[muniimyg]

prologue // series m.list

note: no concussion will stop me … hi jus making sure u all still love me </3

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @kekerrreke @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

//

Jungkook hates studying. 

Although his grades prove to differ, a part of him has always thought it was simply good luck. For the most part, he’s an A student… Truth be told, he’s more of a cram-it-all-at-2AM kind of guy. On the odd days that Jungkook felt like he needed to prepare more, he liked studying in the University’s nest. There’s a good coffee cart there and it’s definitely much more social than the hideous library. 

Yet, the nest and his bedroom ceased to exist when he met you.

When he met you, Jungkook stepped into the library for the first time in nearly three years.

It was so odd.

He felt like a new student. It was a whole different world in that stuffy library of yours... He wanted to understand it so bad. Maybe that's why he kept coming back. Sooner than later, he realized that it wasn't the library he was trying to understand; it was you.

And it felt weird right off the bat. He felt so... Confused? Alone? It occurred to him just then that no one really talks about what happens when you develop feelings for someone... How you begin to alter your routine just so it can match theirs and how every little thing that you see becomes an excuse for you to use to see or talk to them about.

Since when did he care about who was in your Instagram story?

Since when did he care about which parties you were attending?

Since when did he give a shit about sitting next to you?

Oh, and not to mention the sudden change in preference... But let's fucking talk about the preference change.

He used to really like going down 3RD Ave to go home from the library, but you said it was too busy of a path. Going down 5TH Ave takes 5 minutes longer, but it's okay. The scenery is prettier. The walk is calmer. It's also conveniently closer to your place.

He used to not give a shit about oat or soy milk. Regular milk is fine. He's not even lactose. But since you prefer oat milk; so does he. You're right. It does make drinks taste better.

He used to only get haircuts once every 2-3 months... But you said he looked handsome when he cut his hair shorter than usual. Now, his barber asks him, "Seriously, bro, what's her name?" once a month.

It's mindblowing.

There are so many things he's changed about himself before he even realized he liked you. There are so many things that changed in his life just for the mere chance of you liking it or noticing it.

Like, fuck.

He's such a fucking loser.

Jungkook doesn’t know why he feels this way... He just does. It swirls in his stomach and presses on his chest. Simply, he’s confused about whether he can control it or not.

This feeling.

This change.

Truly, all he knows is that if you like something, he likes it too.

If you hate something, he hates it too. 

If you do something, he will do it too. 

A part of himself can’t even be upset at this change. At the end of the day, he was studying better. He was seating himself in a less overstimulating environment and above all; he was always with you. 

How could he be upset at that?

His thoughts pause as he feels you squeeze his arm for his attention. Gladly, he gives it to you.

"Hmm?"

"I think I'm all done for tonight—oh gosh—" Your words are cut off as you turn your face and meet his. He's so close! It caught you so off guard that your phone slipped from your hands.

"S-sorry," you apologize, pushing your chair back, bending down, and getting on the floor to find your phone. Jungkook quickly follows you, getting off his seat and meeting you under the table. "I didn't realize you were so close—"

"I was?" he asks, voice a little shakey. From the corner of his eye, he sees your phone and reaches for it. Just as he's about to give it to you, you laugh in response.

"I guess that's how close you usually sit to me. I was so focused on my work and when I finally turn away it was like boom! Jungkook!"

His facial expression remains blank as you ramble. You look at him softly, feeling a little confused. "Did you get another haircut, by the way? It looks good!"

He blushes.

You smile at him warmly, inching backward to get up from under the table.

"This? It was whatever—"

Jungkook's words cut off as a muted thud interrupts. He saw it happen. It happened so fast. Your forehead collides with the table's edge, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain.

He reaches for you, placing his hand over your forehead and hissing. "Shit, ___! Are you okay?"

Blinking away tears of discomfort, you wince as Jungkook presses his hand to your throbbing temple. "I'm okay," you murmur, trying to downplay the pain, though your voice trembles slightly.

It's in this moment that you take in how Jungkook looks at you. His eyes soften with concern as he studies your flushed cheeks and furrowed brow. Leaning in closer, he brushes a strand of your hair away from your face. His touch is so gentle and reassuring at the same time. It must be the bump because for some reason... You're dizzy.

You meet his gaze. Jungkook offers you a small smile and you melt. Despite the throbbing ache in your head, a warmth spread throughout your body at the sight of his fucking smile.

It's not even his best one.

His best smile happens when you say something under your breath and he catches it. Teasing you relentlessly, you've grown to accept his behaviour in exchange of seeing that damn smile of his.

It was worth it.

"Here," Jungkook takes your hand, “let’s get you an ice pack—owh, fuck."

Unsure if it's because he was nervous and distracted by the fact he was holding your hand, Jungkook clearly got ahead of himself. He doesn't time this right. His body jerked up too early, swiftly attempting to escape. Instead, a similar muted thud noise causes a muffled curse to escape his lips. The pain radiates through his skull and you look at him, knowing the feeling all too well.

Jungkook is stunned.

Jungkook is stupid.

What kind of genius hits his head trying to get out from under the table too?

As your eyes widen, your hands fly to the back of his head. You rub his head and lean in closer. Jungkook places his hand on your wrist, biting the inside of his cheeks.

He didn't know what emotion he felt more of... Was he embarrassed or was he was just super pissed at this fucking table right now?

Or was he kind of loving this?

You're so close to him that he can take your scent in. You smell so good... And you're so pretty up close. He pouts, and utters; "fuck, that really hurt."

You throw your head back and laugh. "I think we're idiots," you tell him. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“Yeah..” He snickers. "Wanna keep this a secret? Let’s never tell anyone about this... Ever."

He offers you his pinky. With your free hand, you intertwine them and make your promise.

At that moment, as you two locked eyes, everything began to fade away. Jungkook wasn't pissed anymore.

Why should he be?

There was solace in your gaze. It was a good reminder that you care for him... And wow, did that make him feel good.

His heart beats faster and faster.

Then, it skips a beat.

As Jungkook feared, you had truly done it now.

With the slightest touch, the softest smile, and kindest eyes... You mesmerize him and he finds it difficult—impossible—to get himself out of this.

“Is this even helping—“

Jungkook catches your hands, keeping them on him. You tilt your head but smile shyly. He clears his throat.

“Y-yeah,” he lies. “I think I hit my head harder than you. Can you just.. Yeah?”

You nod, moving in closer. At this point, there’s no space between you two. You continue to rub his head and he does everything he can to memorize this.

Every detail on your face.

How your touch feels.

How you touch his heart.

The way he feels right now… Oh, god. It’s too much. It’s a kind of high he has never felt before.

For a moment you two sit there and it’s like there is no world aside from the one you two found in each others presence. Under the table, laughing and comforting each other—oh, it felt golden. Jungkook couldn't believe it... He couldn't believe how this fleeting moment changed everything he ever felt about you. There was no going back. There was no way out either... There was just... This.

Here.

Now.

What bliss? How slowly, then all at once, you bloomed for his gaze.

[solarwynd]

The way the BP members are being well promoted and preforming everywhere really puts in perspective how little Hybe has been doing for every member that isn't Jungkook. This is how a member of one of the biggest groups in the world should be promoted. BTS members should be getting more than BP even, but instead they're being treated like they're the members of a random 4th gen boy group. I think so many fans have gotten too used to the bare minimum, they don't realize that this isn't the norm, that any other artist in this level is being given ten times more. If you show a western artist and their label Jimin's promotions and the amount of time he was given to promote and they would be appalled. Like Crazy was given nothing and Who is barely getting anything. Jimin had one fucking week to promote an album he spent months working on. Like, I need people to stop and think about that again cause I feel we forget how insane that was. Look at any other artist and how long they normally promote their albums for. Jimin had one week. Not one month, one week. I'm going to saying it again because it's so ridiculous: One week. ONE! And armys think this is normal?! How low are standards at this point that this is considered not a big deal? That getting a few extra remixes and covers (that are only useful if you already have a lot of fans willing to buy and stream) is considered peak privilege even though those things don't help introduce the song to anyone that isn't a fan. That is not promotion. Do these people know the meaning of the word promotion? You don't need to promote to people that are already fans. Which is why that Instagram channel (that is of course already being used for another member because Jimin has never actually been privileged and nothing he is given is ever exclusive to him) can't be called promotion. You know things are bad when people think privilege is a fucking Instagram channel that no one but fans that already follow them would even know exists. Do armys think this is 2013 and BigHit is a small little company that can't do much for their artists so it's up to the fans to do all the work? Do they not realize Hybe is a huge company worth billions of dollars? Jimin asking his multi-billion company (that he helped get that rich in the first place) for 4 music videos is not in fact a demand so crazy he needs to apologize for even daring to ask it. To even talk about budget when not only does Hybe already have so much money but Jimin constantly makes them even more is absolutely ridiculous. In one day he made them at least 11 million dollars (definitely more) with a documentary that cost almost nothing considering it was all recorded by SGMB themselves, had simple editing, didn't have any promotion other than posting about it on their own social media and was released in a platform Hybe already owns, meaning all the money goes straight to them. And in return Hybe gave him a fanmeet that looked like it cost maybe a 100 dollars. They were being stingy with the number of fucking balloons on his livestream, that company is actually unhinged.

I know this is has already been said before but sometimes is just hits me how incredibly incompetent Hybe is and how ridiculous it is that armys will try to convince us that this is all normal and we're crazy for thinking Hybe should be doing more.

I’ve seen armys complain about BTS’ lack of promotion before. (mostly where it concerned nwjs but still) Outside of that though, they’ve definitely always prized the fact that BTS got their accolades despite BH not doing anything for them. It was their prime dragging material for years towards western and other kpop artists.

But now, the complacency definitely comes from the fact that they don’t see that there’s anything wrong with the inequality between JK and the other members. Not a new development, it’s been discussed before. They’re never gonna call it out because it would mean having to face the fact that everything that has happened in chapter 2 completely goes against OT7ness BTS themselves have crafted, criticize their favorite member and realize that they’re complicit in turning a blind eye to that same inequality in spite of their own 7 or nothing mentality.

And as long as HYBE knows that armys will be there to provide adequate returns, they’re not gonna do anything substantial for the other members. Since it makes them feel like they don’t need to. (This especially goes for Jimin.)

So it’s not incompetence. Bang knows how the music industry operates and what it takes to successfully navigate it. You see how they magically gained the ability to provide prompt links, CDS for both pre release and title tracks (with an additional version) pre orders and pre saves for Jin. Whereas it took their mess getting aired out on national news for them to give Jimin much of anything. And since Jimin is still able to produce stellar results with the meager aid he receives, armys and all these other solos still think that he’s the most favored member. That’s also why even with discussing the inequality the other members receive in comparison to JK, I still can’t find it in me to group them with Jimin’s inequality cause it’s still night and day. He’s still the only member really getting fucked over.

That’s why the constant gaslighting armys will do like chalking it up to jealousy everytime someone points it out, or either make it a “western industry” or a collective BTS issue really exhausts me at an atomic level.

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛

chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 

Of course not. 

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are. 

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 

So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope. 

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 

It’ll all be fine. 

“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”

The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in. 

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics. 

You’re fine. 

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“

“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it. 

The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”

The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”

Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed. 

“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”

Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”

Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“

“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment. 

Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”

“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off. 

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.

His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut. 

Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”

His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”

Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race. 

Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“

“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”

Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”

Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”

Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”

Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride. 

When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”

Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips. 

Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated. 

For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture. 

Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote. 

 “Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”

He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“

Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”

Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”

Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”

He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”

Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.

Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”

You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”

When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan. 

Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you. 

The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him. 

Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.” 

As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into. 

A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside. 

Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room. 

Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction. 

This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.

The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom. 

Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”

“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”

His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”

Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”

Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”

The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”

“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection. 

“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”

Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”

“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no. 

“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.

“Have fun walking back then!”

Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”

“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution. 

“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption. 

Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”

You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat. 

When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”

Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match. 

Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath. 

“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”

Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips. 

He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”

The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.

Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.

“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”

Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”

Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore. 

Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine. 

As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”

“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”

“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further. 

Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do. 

“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”

Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.

Strike one. 

“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”

You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie. 

“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence. 

“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”

Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you. 

“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”

You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him. 

Strike two. 

Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”

Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him. 

“You have nothing and no one.”

Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you. 

“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”

SMACK.

Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry. 

“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier!” 

When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly. 

“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels. 

Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence. 

“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”

The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict. 

“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”

The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”

Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”

His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch. 

Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care. 

Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”

SMACK.

A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”

The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you. 

“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”

You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder. 

“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”

Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.

“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot. 

“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”

You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?

Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”

His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”

More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops. 

“Yeah, me too.”

Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you. 

It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there. 

Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed. 

Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying. 

You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time. 

Strike three. 

It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief. 

Denial. 

We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on. 

Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly. 

Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths. 

Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-

“Out of the bike lane!”

You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter. 

Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps. 

The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell. 

The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it. 

“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat. 

Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”

“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly. 

Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”

“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you. 

Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you. 

He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met. 

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.

“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.

“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”

“Good.” 

“Yeah.”

Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread. 

You hate that you don’t hate him. 

You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out? 

“You two are acting weird.”

Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head. 

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”

Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”

Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.

Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension. 

“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”

Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.  

Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”

Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms. 

Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”

As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”

Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”

Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you. 

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?” 

Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”

Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”

You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”

“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk. 

“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.” 

The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.

You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?” 

He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”

Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?

“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake. 

“Oh yeah?” 

You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”

“No you didn’t.”

Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”

Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”

His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”

A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily. 

“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”

Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking. 

“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”

Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”

The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”

You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”

Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”

Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…” 

When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?

Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.  

It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”

Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help. 

But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”

Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!” 

Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”

As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings. 

Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.  

The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it. 

You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on. 

“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…” 

“Y/N, wait-”

You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone. 

The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.  

He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”

Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you. 

A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”

Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.

Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”

Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”

He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”

“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you. 

“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”

“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”

Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”

“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up. 

Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter. 

“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation. 

Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space. 

Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”

It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika. 

She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”

As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”

“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders. 

“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table. 

Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”

Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly. 

Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name. 

Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”

Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe - 

“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”

Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”

“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”

“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”

“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”

Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.  

“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine. 

Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky. 

Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page. 

Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”

The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.

Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean. 

It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you. 

“So you’re not in love with her?”

As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe. 

It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it. 

Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”

A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”

“Placeholder?”

You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”

“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.

“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”

Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”

Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other. 

“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”

You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”

“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body. 

You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”

Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”

You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”

“I-”

“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it? 

“I can’t believe you two.” 

This is the moment. 

It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.

It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.

Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”

Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door. 

Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”

Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face. 

“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis. 

It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you. 

This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap. 

You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.

Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers. 

The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 

“Fuck!”

Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it. 

You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry. 

This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him. 

As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.  

You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.

Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable. 

When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray. 

“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future. 

Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from. 

The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out. 

“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens. 

“You’re lower actually.” 

A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.  

You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”

A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”

It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”

You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them. 

Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”

She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.” 

Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will. 

Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no. 

She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”

As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”

Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”

Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”

A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”

Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”

You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him. 

“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”

Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it. 

She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”

Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”

“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”

Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”

She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”

As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”

She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”

As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day. 

“Have you talked to him?”

Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”

Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat. 

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”

“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!” 

Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”

“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.” 

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell. 

As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin. 

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”

She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out. 

As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”

“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away. 

The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…

Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done. 

As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.

How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?

But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?

As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign. 

Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve. 

Easier than breathing. 

An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do. 

You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy. 

The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.  

But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down. 

Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you. 

Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds. 

What if. What if. What if.

The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.

 “Hi.”

Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”

“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”

Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt. 

“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.

“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.

“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.

“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”

“Woah, woah, woah.” 

Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”

He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in. 

Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”

“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back. 

Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”

“What? Steve, why, what-”

His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”

You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”

Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”

He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been. 

Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”

“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”

Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”

“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world. 

“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips. 

Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath. 

“You liked it.” 

And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower. 

The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love. 

WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995

[hyakujuuou]

One thing that I think TikTok achieved better than any other social media app (of my time), and the thing that set it apart from other social media (again, of my time) was that first being the cringe app and then being *the* social media app during the pandemic created a culture of imperfection that actually allowed it to develop its own unique cosplay subculture and be the origin site for somewhere between “a lot of” and “the majority of” the memes of the past 5 years. If I were to narrow down one reason why TikTok is this popular as a social media, it would be the culture of imperfection, and I’m legitimately doubtful that this will carry over to a US-owned TikTok.

(long post)

On the other social platforms that I’ve experienced (Google+, YouTube, Tumblr, Instagram, a brief stint with Twitter), there has always seemed to be an expectation that I’m putting my best face forward, and that I’m sort of polishing my words and content, and publishing something that is as perfect as I can manage at that moment.

For cosplay specifically, it is my perception that TikTok successfully developed its own kind of subculture within cosplay as it is done in online spaces, and that it exemplifies the sort of imperfection culture that makes TikTok appealing in a way that Instagram doesn’t. On TikTok, there’s much more of an expectation of imperfection and improvement that allows much more experimentation, less immediate competition, and gives a cosplay stage to people who wouldn’t be able to access conventions for travel or money or ability reasons. On TikTok, I’m not worried about my cosplay being perfect or even being finished— it was common to present works in progress and even to not know what a ‘finished’ version of the cosplay would look like, or if one ever even wanted to finish the build. TikTok was less of a performance in the way that cosplay IRL seems to me and less of a simulation of that performance in a way that IRL cosplay carries onto other social platforms. I think the best ways to describe the energy of TikTok from the reflections posted at shutdown are as a time capsule, a photo album, and a middle school yearbook. Being an app where posting cringe was the expectation for a long time certainly didn’t give TikTok a non-judgemental atmosphere, but there was a sense of community in being cringe but being free.

I think this also reflects in the creation of memes, and also brings in the anonymity aspect of TikTok. On TikTok, people can not only remain anonymous, but aren’t encouraged to use their real names (in the way Facebook and, to a lesser extent, Instagram does) and there’s not as much pressure to connect your profile and content to other media (as with Google+ and YouTube). It wasn’t as connected to other places on the internet (as far as I know I couldn’t directly share an article from a major news source to TikTok the way I could do so via email, Twitter, Facebook). Content posted on TikTok is divorced from reflections of one’s person, in contrast to Instagram, which is much more a place to post snapshots of one’s successes. I think that this, along with the expectation of posting low-effort cringe, gave the app its appeal and unique user culture.

And I don’t know if this is going to be able to exist on a US-owned TikTok, specifically, Donald Trump’s TikTok. In addition to Trump’s ownership driving away a lot of the original “cringe” creators (cosplayers, weebs, furries, visibly queer people, alt people, etc), pro-Trump propaganda forces everybody else willing to post political content to do so in a serious manner, exactly the ‘showing your best face’ that cause other media to be less desirable (or desirable in different ways) than TikTok. When Trump uses his new propaganda toy to amplify his politics, it will push cringe culture either into a small minority of users or off the app entirely. I don’t believe that the same meme culture will be able to continue on Trump’s TikTok, both with the overbearing presence of his social agenda that he’ll be able to push and with cringe culture dying on the app.

And I have no idea what it’s going to do after that. Once it turns into a right-wing echo chamber, it’s going to shut itself off from all other audiences. On an app that pushes Trump-wing propaganda, visibly being anything else will be dangerous to impossible. Once Trump’s right-wing doesn’t have anyone else to mock or criticise, the app will cannibalise itself.

:/

[gluion]

there have been many discussions surrounding the boycott of riize that i think there's no harm in sharing my two cents on this issue.

seunghan’s removal from riize speaks a lot about the state of the kpop industry, from the constant accommodation to fans' parasocialism to a lack of mental health protection for kpop idols. idols are being treated as commodities versus real people. we’ve seen it in newjeans’ situation, seungkwan’s instagram post, the starlight boys mission, and anecdotes from other idols.

what happens in the behind-the-scenes of the kpop industry is generally not common knowledge, but as more idols continue to speak up about mistreatment, it’s clear to see such a capitalistic industry does nothing but service management more than the idols themselves.

with that, i think it’s important that we don’t forget the purpose of the boycott. while it does have aims to bring seunghan back, i think it also speaks up against the lack of protection idols have.

still in doubt? well, i thought i could take some time to offer a different perspective on some common reasons people don't believe in the boycott.

"seunghan made the decision to leave the group."

it's not enough to take the statement at face value because you wouldn't be considering the context of the situation. seunghan left because of all the backlash he received. i wish more people recognized the reason why he made that decision. ultimately, the circumstances/situation cornered him to make that decision—and it shows the lack of protection that SM has over their artists. and you have to recognize that seunghan, although he's 21 years old, is a rookie artist. this is his first time as an idol, and to receive all that backlash after being relatively fresh from debut are waters he has never navigated.

"oh, the boycott won't work. SM is a big company."

everyone knows of SM’s status. the purpose of a boycott is to put pressure on them in light of seunghan’s removal. after all, the boycott is happening because people recognize a deeper issue that reflects the kpop industry: a lack of protection for their own artists. there is a long, ongoing history of boycotting and its success. boycotting is not instant. it will take time like any other boycott. this initiative aims to put pressure on SM to reevaluate their actions and current protocols in handling defamation of their own artists, especially rookie ones.

"let's just support the boys as they are now."

i understand that most people think it's better to support them as who they are now, but i would like for you guys to remember back to the reason why people are boycotting in the first place. the group fought for seunghan's comeback and it would be understandable for them to be stressed out by this whole situation. you can still support the current members while still holding SM accountable through a boycott. how? letters is always a start. weverse exists to help send your messages to artists. after all, we know how much riize would prefer to read your thoughtful and comforting words, especially now.

i would like to reiterate that boycotting doesn't translate in hate for riize but an initiative to put pressure on SM. people have reasons of why they chose to unstan riize due to how split the current fandom is between ot6s and ot7s. when a subgroup in a fandom manages to push for the removal of a member, it's hard to feel safe in such a space. however, instead of wasting your time trying to fight seunghan antis, you can find more ways to support the boycott and offer your own perspectives on why you support it.

i wish more people realized and reconsidered why multiple kpop fans from across different fandoms are united about this issue. as always, please reconsider if you aren't participating in the boycott!

resources:

boycott sm by @hanibani-world

boycott plans as international briize by @seoktized

BOYCOTT RIIZE with petition by @axibani

google drive of riize content sorry for the mention to these accounts! — thank you again for your posts <3

[homeisxlarry]

even though the topic has passed, i want to vent a little. i think what happened with daisy and all the drama about erasing freddie's face and explaining why she did it, represents too much of what "babygate" means: an unscrupulous show.

and i don't mean that this started from freddie's birth… from the moment louis saw briana for the first time in his life this was a show. they even posed for paparazzi photos that would later serve to "confirm" a pregnancy.

do you remember when briana's mother started spreading rumors that she and louis were going to get engaged? louis had to go out for a walk holding hands with a friend to shut her up.

not to mention that we even had a birth certificate, photos of louis outside the hospital, briana walking that poor child when he was a couple of days old everywhere, when louis and briana exchanged the baby on the street or in parking lots. all the people who were watching live and in person how careless they were with that baby, exposing him to real dangers: exposed to the sun, to the heat of LA, to irresponsible driving with the baby in the car, leaving him in the care of unknown people just days after he was born, the circus that briana put together when danielle approached freddie and there are even photos of freddie with briana's ex-partners in ~awkward situations

and i think the biggest reason this topic has come back to the conversation is because of all the inconsistencies that were created in the pandemic: the complaint from briana's ex-partner where she indicates that he was keeping the child because louis was an absent father (a situation that made both briana and her mother close their Instagrams for a few weeks), the times that louis' family forgot that freddie existed or the incongruent answers in interviews, the photo of the "birth" in a fertility treatment clinic (??) and so on all day.

(and i mention the above paragraph because there was a period of more than a year and a half – pre-pandemic – where there was no sign of louis getting close to freddie)

and everything i wrote above is not even 1% of everything that has happened. many people who are new to the fandom missed most of these events, and the truth is that i understand in a way that they "freak out" when they see someone who does not believe in louis's paternity.

i am a fan of louis, i will continue to be for a long time to come (i hope), but there is something that has bothered me a lot and that is that in a way he exposes the larries to be seen as the bad crazy ones for believing in "stupid theories", but in contexts outside of social media, he has no problem interacting with them.

the truth is that none of what happens makes sense to me. before, i could blame his team, and perhaps they have some responsibility in how louis' image has changed so much during these last years. it hurts me to think that he is leaving aside a significant amount of his fandom. he wants us away, and not only that… he exposes us to an endless cycle of hate. I still remember that tweet about the chicken and the conspiracy theories. was it really necessary? what is the context of that post? it wasn’t necessary and there is no context, but there we had to put up with every bad word and every insult just because “louis” felt like it.

none of this would have happened if everything had been clear from the beginning. they try to stop everything when it’s too late and in the stupidest ways. they want to deny larry, but louis shows up making a thousand references about harry. they want to say that louis is an exemplary father, but as soon as he had the chance, he sold all his properties in LA. they want to say that louis cares about his son’s privacy, but you can make a timeline since that child was born with his daily photos from day one. they want to say that louis and harry hate each other, but there louis shows up including a lot of scenes of them in his documentary. they say louis hates larries, but every chance he gets, he says hi to every person who mentions the subject.

the truth is that this whole subject has me bored and for some time i have thought that all this hostile environment towards us is going to end up distancing us even more from him (even during the fitf era, many people have already left). and it seems even worse to me that an artist with almost 15 years of career enters the dynamics of the fandom and his interactions are limited to what the “supposed” majority wants to hear.

i will just leave one question, are we larries really to blame for the fact that they can't show their faces to freddie now?

ps: louis has shown on too many occasions that when he wants to maintain his privacy, he does it without any problems. and do you think that everything that happened before was beyond his control?

[iridescentparkers]

vanilla palm trees → four - salted caramel kisses

vanilla palm trees → four - salted caramel kisses

summary ⇢ it’s been years, he should get over it, right? but, peter just can’t. he looks up, he sees her. he goes to bed, he dreams of her. he wakes up, he can smell her. he goes out one night and he sees…her. no, not gwen but his ticket to stop moping around on the anniversary of her death. what is meant to be one quick night of putting sadness on the back burner, is now a blossoming new love that feels all too perfect for peter. was this new woman in his life meant to be? or was this just another set of poorly dealt cards that would leave him walking away empty handed. all or nothing, right? ↝ college!au ↝ one night stand gone wrong trope | masterlist

parings ⇢ tasm!peter parker x female reader

warnings ⇢ alcohol use, lots of mentions of death, sexual themes

a/n ⇢ this one is long - 2.5k words, but i think its my favorite so far!!!!! also please lmk what you guys think in my inbox!

“YOU’RE GLOWING,” Harry teased as Peter shut their apartment door last weekend.

Peter Parker found himself slightly swooned by his evening guest. Days would pass, and Peter would find himself daydreaming like a schoolgirl about when he would see her again. The only problem was he forgot to get her number.

Shit. 

He would sit on his couch and open his laptop, watching as the search engine glared back at him. Think, what would be the best place to start? 

The Trenton! 

That has to be her last name. Duh! And what do you know, a Y/N Trenton does exist! Thousands of results show up. You name it, it's there. Even old news articles.

Should he message her on Facebook? No, she’s older but not 40.

Instagram. Great. On his computer, he sees that she has 10k followers and 162 posts. 

Wow. She’s stunning. He shouldn’t, but he scrolls a bit, finding some old photos. Dozens from her USC days where she had blunt bangs and florescent pink lip color. 

Scrolling down, he clicked on one of her at a college party. He scrolled through the page to see the five other pictures on the post until he eventually stopped. The photos were covered in a golden filter, with Y/N practically devouring this one dude's face. 

Maybe not devouring, but she looks pretty happy kissing his face. He was blonde, with light eyes, nothing like Peter. It stung a bit, but it was from 6 years ago. It couldn’t mean anything now. 

But what in the world was he going to say to her? Peter was so lost, he never had to slide into a girl's DM’s. Eww, it was so odd to think about that. 

“Hey,” he typed out before deleting it, maybe three times with varying amounts of y’s and e’s. 

Then there was “Hi,” or “Hiiiiiii,” or “Sup girl.” No, please do not think like Harry. 

“Hi, Y/N. Remember me? Would you like to meet up for lunch this Thursday?”

“That seemed relatively normal. Right?” He murmured under his breath but, he scratched his head as the pondering developed into pure confusion.

“And, send,” Harry announced after hovering over the couch and Peter’s shoulder to send the DM. 

“Harry!” Peter shouted. “Why the hell would you send that?”

Harry grabbed the laptop after hopping over the couch and Peter snarled as he sat by him. 

“I’m just doing you a favor?”

“Really? First, you tell me to put myself out there, which I do. Next, you butt into my personal life, sending messages that I have no idea were a good idea or not! I mean, why can’t you just leave me alone? What if she doesn’t want to see me again!”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Harry smiled, watching the screen from his lap.

“How the hell would you know?”

“Just see for yourself,” he announced as he turned the laptop around. There sat a reply, 2 seconds ago from Y/N.

“I’d love to.” It read, and Peter smiled to himself for his sweet date this week.  

“You’re welcome.”

“HOW’S SCHOOL?” Y/N asked, walking down the New York City street.

“Hard,” Peter informed, walking alongside her. “Finals are coming up before the break, so I’m studying as much as I can before the weekend is over.”

She nodded, turning her body sideways as she slid between moving bodies. 

“Wow, this is so cool!” She smiled, running up to the nearby paper stands. “The new Spiderman comics. My brother loves them, but I have never seen them in person.”

Peter giggles at her fascination with the book, watching as she flips through the colorful pages. “I never read them, but I always see them on the corner.” 

Peter raised his brows as he gazed at the array of colorful printed books, “Wow, there are hundreds of them.”

“I know, but he always gets them as soon as they come out, or they sell out quickly.” She informed as she closed the book. “I’m talking like he’s a 10-year-old kid. He's a little older than you.” 

He laughed, pulled out his wallet, and gave the cashier some change. Her mouth gaped as he executed the gesture, Peter then putting a small hand in front of her. "I insist. What do you think about Spiderman?”

Y/N looked between Peter and the book, her brows furrowing as she looked at Peter, “I think the work he does is cool. I don’t know much about him, but people love him.” 

"Mostly."

"Yeah, but I feel like those who dislike him are just mad at the fact that they don't have super cool web lasers that shoot from their arms," she laughed, making arm gestures to imitate the hero with her hands, and Peter then laughed. "He's making an impact on the city."  

Y/N gestured towards the printed comic in hand, looking at Peter’s expression, “Like at The Trenton, a local artist is doing a sculpture of multiple 3D spiderwebs layered with these comics and Spiderman newspapers.”

“I’d love to see it.” 

“You can. The only thing is, it won't be ready for another 3 weeks. I can take you to the opening,” she informed. “I will say, I think a lot about who he is. Is he a rogue cop? Some sort of scrawny underdog?” 

She spoke as she began putting the book in her bag as Peter paid the cashier. “Whoever he is, I think he’s a hero.” 

He felt a bit flattered at her sentiment, smiling as he listened to her interest in him as what she called “a hero.” Those words left the mouths of few but when they did, Peter filled with gratitude.

The phone in his pocket began to buzz, and Peter lifted it into his palm, “Damn it.” 

"What time is it?"

"A little past one." 

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to make this cake for a friend, and my Aunt says she can’t come over to help me later.” He informed. 

“I could help.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, placing his phone back in his pocket as he hesitated, “Sure.” 

THEY FOUND THEIR WAY BACK TO PETER’S APARTMENT, Y/N giggling as she placed her bag down. “And you thought that was okay?”

Peter rubbed his nose, curling his lips as breathy chuckles fearfully left his lips, “I was 14 and thought the frosted tips were a ‘look.’” 

“It was definitely... a look.” She said, widening her eyes, moving them across the apartment  “Last time we were here, we uh…”

“Yeah,” he laughed, his eyes squinting as they met hers and laughed in a delightful unison. “I could use a drink. Beer?”

“You have nothing else in this house to drink?” She laughed, “College boys, I swear.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged, walking over and opening the door to his fridge.

“I’ll take one.”

“And I’ll get this recipe open. Feel free to look around.” 

Y/N moved around the apartment, looking at shelves and trinkets of stored memories between Peter and his roommate. Some shared, and others individualized. She moved to one of their bookshelves, grazing her fingers along the spines of varying albums and books on their shelf. She stopped at the one bright pink book, resting in the corner and drowning in the bland sea of book covers. 

The hot pink album was coated with foam stickers and glitter, some getting on the shelf and Y/N’s hands as she opened the book. 

Flipping to the first page, there sat a picture of Peter receiving a kiss from a girl with platinum blond bangs and pale skin, her fingers painted a baby pink nail color. 

“Who’s this?” 

Peter swallowed, as he placed two beers on the counter. “Gwen.”

“Why do you have this album with her in it?” 

Her tone wasn’t mad, more curious for his answer, “She made it for me when we were together.”

“And you still have it?”

“She passed,” he informed, raising his brows as his hands slid into his front pockets. “Around 6 years ago.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” He repeated, looking at the book in her hands. 

“I overstepped.” She stated, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf. 

He shrugged as his lips began to curl further inward on his mouth, “I said you could look around.”

It remained silent as Peter settled more ingredients on his center kitchen aisle, Y/N creeping closer in delicate footsteps, careful in their newfound silence. She sat on the barstool in his kitchen, folding her hands carefully into a neat knot in front of her.

Peter reaches for and guzzles his open beer. He locks his eyes on the ingredients, his long lashes fluttering as the cold liquid slides down his throat. Peter places the empty bottle on his counter, speaking softly as the beer bubbles build in his chest. “Why don’t we make a cake?”

“Okay,” she nods, revealing her smile as she moves to Peter’s side. “What kind?”

“It’s weird, I know, but salted caramel.” He stated, and she jutted her neck backward. “Exactly.”

“Where should I start?”

Peter swiftly travels to the speaker on his bookshelf, blasting rock music and nodding as the beats echo inside his apartment. Y/N’s head finds the beat as the song rushes beats over her stance. 

They whisk themselves around the kitchen, taking turns putting ingredients in the wet and dry bowls as the rhythm picks up under them. Peter reaches for three more drinks, the bottles clinking as they pile up in his trash can, and he wipes his lips free of the smeared alcohol. 

“I didn’t take you for a dancer?" She chuckled as he shook his head on her face, his brown locks tickling her features. 

“Me neither,” he yelled, lifting his head as his words fought with the blasting music. 

With each bottle, his moves got sloppier, and Y/N laughed each time a new move developed in his repertoire. Smiling, his eyes crinkled as he jounced his chest to the down beats of the song. Y/N laughs at his lack of rhythm, and Peter pulls her by her arm to his chest. He whisked Y/N to the kitchen island, swirling her in the air, and settling her down next to the now-panned cake batter. 

He leaned in close, kissing her lips, the wheaty beer taste sizzling on her lips. The kiss was sloppy but sensual as his tongue dipped into her mouth. He pulled her in deeper as his hand slung down to her lower waist, Y/N then pulled away as the oven beeped behind them. 

“The oven,” Y/N whispered as she pulled away. “You should put the cake in.” 

“Right, the cake.”

“WATER?” Peter asked, throwing his body next to Y/N on the couch.

She gave him a knowing look, playfully shoving him as he sat, “You first.”

“Pfft,” he waved, sinking his body on the furniture. “I’m fine.”

His words slurred as his drunken eyes wandered to Y/N’s figure. ”Peter, are sure?” 

He huffed, pointing a finger to his bookcase, “That girl, Gwen. The one you saw earlier in the scrapbook…”

“Her favorite was salted caramel...everything. Salted caramel coffee, salted caramel chocolate, salted caramel ice cream, and especially salted caramel cake. She had it for her birthday every year.” 

“And when is her birthday?”

“Tomorrow.” 

Her lips formed a thin line as she scratched the open part of her chest. She immediately nodded as she pushed her legs from her chest, Peter moving his eyes down her body.  “I don’t want your pity.” 

She raised her brows as she chuckled, the air seeping through her teeth, “I wasn’t going to give you any. Why would you think that?”

“Everyone does.” He wavered. “They all want to tell me where I need to be, when to go out, when to...date. When to talk about her, when not to talk about her.” 

“I mean this, truly, in the nicest way.” She began, placing a hand on his leg. “You said it's been 6 years? Why do you still care about what others think?”

“Because I don’t have much family left,” he informed, slurring his words as he flailed his loose arms in the air. “I need to make them happy.”

“You don’t need to, you want to.” She corrected. “And if they truly loved you, as long as you are happy, they wouldn’t care. At all.” 

“You’re right.” he trailed, “But, I’m not happy. You’re the first date I’ve had in 6 years.”

“You were in high school!” Y/N exclaimed, hitting the back of her hand gently on his shoulder. 

He shrugged,  “I still could have put myself out there in college.”

“Not everyone finds the love of their life in high school and college. Believe me.”

“What does that mean?”

Y/N pursed her lips as she looked towards her feet, “Nothing.”

Peter put a hand on her knee, leaning closer to her figure, “Tell me.”

“I was engaged to a man I met in college,” she began, glancing vaguely at the left hand in her lap. “About three months ago, he died in a car crash.”

Was it the guy from her pictures?

Peter’s expression softened as he reached for her hand, pulling it to his. “M’Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” she began, her voice softening as she avoided eye contact “I found out, the day I met you, he was having an affair with his secretary. And now, she’s asking for some of his things because she claims, 'he loved her too.'” 

 “Y/N”

“Like you said, I don’t want your pity. I’m okay.” 

“I’m too drunk to give pity,” he slurred, drooping his head to her knees, inhaling as he leaned on her body, forcing her to drop her knees, and his head fell in her lap. She ran a gentle hand along his head, rubbing it slowly along his head.

He lazed in the physical contact, before grabbing her hand from his head. He pulled it to his chest, moving it to the cadence of his soft speech, “Vanilla.” 

“What?” she questioned. 

“You smell like her. Gwen,” he began, raising her hand to his nose and inhaling her scent, “Gwen used to wear some perfume. I forgot the name. I think it was like Vanilla Palm Tree or some sugary scent. I only remember she always smelt like Vanilla mixed with…beach.”

She chuckled awkwardly, letting go of his grasp, “Vanilla mixed with beach? Peter, you are drunk.”

“No no,” he assured as his eyes fluttered shut. “It’s… It’s Vanilla Palm Tree.”

“I should leave.”

“It’s why I stayed and brought you home from the bar…”

Y/N felt as the smoke smell rushed through her airways, “You don’t smell that?”

“Smell…smell what..” he muttered as his limbs went limp.

“Peter!” 

Grey lines of smoke trailed the ceiling of his apartment, and Y/N shot up to Peter’s kitchen, “Lightweight...”

[ifitmeanslosingyouthenno]

au in which nathaniel is married to riko part 2 (part 1)

(like 2 people asked for this but lmao thats good enough for me)

i had to think hard about this ngl, i kinda just like leaving my thoughts open ended like that, and i had a choice, to like, be nice to neil

here is the opposite of that <3

tw for domestic abuse, manipulation, suicide attempt

neil doesn't truly remember what happens next, he just knows he's in a hotel room and he's in pain and he can barely open his eyes and he can see riko is right there in the room and neil just wants to cry and scream and go back and he doesn't want to be here

and riko is right fucking there and he's threatening neil and he's just going on and on about how much trouble he's been, and how much trouble he's going to be when they get back to new york and how riko wont ever let him slip away like that again

and then riko just fucking... stops, stops shouting, stops pacing, stops spitting things at neil, and he just cries and tells neil how much he has missed him all these years and he apologizes and he holds neil close despite the pain, despite the wounds, and he promises to be better, he promises he will take care of neil

no, not of neil

of nathaniel

and nathaniel, exhausted and terrified and hopeless and in agony, can do nothing but whisper to riko to take him home, even if the words taste like venom, even if there's nothing he wants to do more than throw up, even if there are tears rolling down his cheeks and blood covering his skin

because this is all there is for him right? neil josten wasn't real, his hopes and his friends and his family and his- no, andrew is not his anymore, none of the foxes are

neil josten's life isn't nathaniels

it never was

bc neil josten didn't exist in the first place and he never should have existed

meanwhile back in seattle (and what neil doesn't know), andrew felt guilt of all things, at seeing the look of heartbreak in neils face, of hope and despair and loss, so he forces himself to stop off the road not even a kilometer later (don't ask me about miles i have no idea how those work) and he kinda just hits his steering wheel in a sprout of anger but he cant make himself to go back just yet, so he calls aaron

aaron kinda just yells at him lol, bc he's been worried about neil himself all morning and him and kate are dying bc they are scared and they just want to know how neil is doing, and like aaron just makes andrew go back for neil while aaron gets there

except neil is gone

obviously, bc wtf andrew its been like half an hour where you expecting him to be waiting for you?

and when he asks around well, the cashier just knows, ah yes the fidgety redhead kid? oh yeah some rich asian guy in a mercedes picked him up, yeah they looked close, the asian guy even hugged him and basically left clinging off the readhead, yeah sorry buddy, they left like half an hour ago, why tho? is he in some kind of trouble?

and andrew just, loses it

the next few days are a blur for andrew, he knows wymack pulls some strings and with the help of the foxes and his own money they manage to get the recorded tapes from the security camera at the gas station and its grainy as shit and

and why the fuck is riko moriyama hugging neil?

how does riko even know him?

it doesn't make any sense, why is riko kissing neil, andrew’s neil, like there's no tomorrow??

why is neil leaving with him??

and why the fuck is riko posting a picture on instagram, ready to fucking come out and announce that he has a husband??

and why is that husband neil??

except its not neil, except riko says his husband is nathaniel, and well would you look at that?? nathaniel is nothing but a fucking liar, who didnt tell him that he's with someone else, who didn't even tell him his fucking name

andrew loses himself a little after that, even if he convinces himself that he's fine, that he even ended things with him, that neil is living the happy rich life with the richest and most popular man in exy, good riddance

(but andrew can never forget, not only the good things about the relationship, no, what he can never forget is neil- nathaniel's flinches, the way he would curl up into himself when someone spoke too loud, the fear in his eyes whenever he messed up at something, the quiet sadness when they- when they started being something, andrew and neil, and he confessed that he was scared of things changing, and he confessed that it was scary to open up to someone, the again implicit in his shaky voice)

(andrew can never forget the rage when neil confessed he wasn't in the mood for sex most times, and the confusion when andrew said they didn't have to have sex when it was a no, the rage at neil's soft whispered "i can say no?")

andrew can never shake off the feeling that something is so fucking wrong, but he convinces himself to stay the fuck out of it, that its none of his fucking business, that nathaniel can live his life however he fucking wants to, andrew doesn't need him, he never has (he's always been a good liar)

months go by, in which riko posts pictures of his perfect life with his perfect husband, who doesn't have social media accounts of his own bc he likes his privacy (then why is riko sharing his pictures-)

months go by where andrew gets drunk beyond relief, but he needs to keep his pro career to pay aarons tuition so he sucks it up and does the bare fucking minimum while making sure he doesn't get fired

aaron can never truly shake off the worry, he and katelyn were the ones who saw him when he arrived, beat up and terrified and so dangerously hurt, and how hard it was for him to open up and start to accept good things, kind things

so he keeps up with them, with rikos pictures and videos and stories, trying to find proof that there's nothing wrong there, trying to find a way to convince himself that no, he's making it all up bc he himself was abused by somone he loved and trusted, and he's just proyecting

but neil is too quiet, all respectful smiles and wrapping arms around himself, always wearing baggy clothing and turtleneck shirts

the smile never reaches his eye

aaron just cant help but worry for him, bc he cant worry for andrew anymore, not he doesn't want to worry about himself, not when he's ready to pretend nothing happened and wants to keep going like neil didn't even exist

its aarons day off, and it's been 8 months since he's seen neil when he gets a call from an unknown number and he answers expecting to hear from a colleague or a resident or a med student on shift at the hospital

what he doesn't expect is ragged breathing from the other line

"hello? who is this?" he almost hangs up when all he gets is silence and that faint sound of breathing for a full minute, but before he can he hears a sob

"im so sorry, i didn't- i didn't know who to call"

aarons heart stops, bc its neil, holy shit its neil and he asks if neil is okay, he asks if neil is safe, he asks what's going on

neil remains silent again for too long, and his voice is barely a whisper "i will be soon"

his heart drops to his stomach, fear, no, absolute terror, engulfing him, "neil what did you do"

silence and then "he got me prescribed valium"

his heart is beating too fast too fast he's going to have a heart attack, "neil, neil i need you to tell me how many pills you took"

that for some reason brings out a small giggle, "i dont, i didn't count, i just, I just swallowed them all"

"neil i need you to call 911"

"i dont want to do that"

"neil, please please call 911"

"i just, im sorry i called you, i just didn't want to be alone, i- andrew didn't pick up the phone"

aaron can feel the tears on his face, "neil please, just call 911, I'll, tell me where you are and i can come get you okay? you dont, you dont have to do this"

he takes a beat too long to answer, and he does with a sob "i cant take this anymore aaron, i can't- i can't stand living with him anymore, he won't let me go any other way"

"neil i promise I can get you help, legal help, we can get you away from him, you would never have to see him again, you would be safe"

neil is still crying, "it didn't work before, it, nothing works, nothing- this will make it better"

aaron is starting to hyperventilate, "neil, please just..."

"can you, can you tell andrew i didn't mean to fuck it up? i couldn't- i couldn't marry him without getting a divorce and I couldn't- i didn't want himto find me"

"neil you can tell him yourself, lets just call 911"

his words are slurring, he sounds so tired, "thank you for being such a, such a good friend aaron"

he's too quiet on the other line, aaron is fucking terrified, god he's crying and panicking, god what does he do what does he do

he puts the phone on speaker and texts kate who's just out getting takeout and god he really needs her right fucking now

thankfully, he hears the car come in the driveway and he runs down the stairs to meet her

the call is still going, but neil hasn't said anything

"neil?? are you still there?? NEIL??"

by the time kate opens the door, he's telling her to call 911, they're able to locate calls right?? even if neil hasn't answered, the call is active, thats enough right??

"i have someone on the line who i think is attempting suicide, i- i dont know where he is, and he isn't answering, but the call is still going"

its enough

"an ambulance is on its way, do you have any idea of what happened?"

"i think he overdosed on diazepam"

"you did great by calling us"

they can do nothing but sit in silence, call ongoing in aaron's phone, holding each other as they both cry and pray to a god aaron barely believes in that the ambulance gets there in time

he can't even read how much time has passed on the phone, when he's suddenly aware of noise on the other end of the line, what sounds like a door breaking, and then chaos

he can't distinguish what's happening, he doesn't know if they got there in time or not

"hello?? is someone there??"

"YES, yes is he alive? is he...?"

"he's alive, just barely, we gave him an antidote to reverse the effects and he's breathing, you did a great job sir"

"can you tell me where you're taking him? im in seattle but i will book a flight as soon as i can"

they tell him the name of the hospital, they tell him he will probably be there for a few days under suicide watch

before the paramedic ends the call he makes himself say, "can you make sure his husband doesn't see him? he's, he abuses my friend, he's the reason he took those pills"

the paramedic takes a deep breath, "can you tell me his name? the husband's?"

his voice trembles, "riko moriyama"

"i will personally make sure he doesn't have access to him"

"thank you"

the phone disconnects at last and through the tears, the first thing aaron does is book two flights for new york

one for him and one for katelyn

he hesitates, before rubbing his eyes free of tears and realizing andrew is in a game

he books a third ticket leaving a few hours later than his and kate's, grabs a bag and they're out the door in less than 5 minutes

he can do nothing to leave a voicemail for Andrew's phone, that he knows will destroy him and give kevin a headsup too, bc he might not be much, but he's all the support andrew is gonna have at the time

he prays to the god he's believing in a little bit more than he did an hour ago, and asks nothing more than for neil to be okay when they get to new york

did not mean for this to become longer than 2 parts oop

[lunaviee]

04. JEALOUSY…?

(with some writing below)

rin states at your instagram post. annoyed.

it’s a weird feeling, he thinks. he doesn’t even know you, so why is he so annoyed at isagi for getting so close? all he knows is that your favorite pen to use is a pale blue one that’s running out of ink soon. and how you get annoyed when that one strand of hair gets in your face. and that you take off your bracelets when you write because they’re uncomfortable. and that he catches you glancing at him sometimes.

oh. okay, maybe he does know a bit about you..but that’s no reason to be so jealous, right? whatever, he doesn’t need this right now. he should focus on school no matter how many times you catch his eye.

————————————————————————

you walk into class and see a worker standing around the area where you would normally sit. you look at your teacher and he holds up a finger, indicating you to wait a moment. so you do.

soon, the worker (which you find out is a remodeler) calls your teacher over and you and your classmates are left conversing with each other.

“what do you think they’re doing?” a voice asks you, trying to start conversation.

you turn around, still keeping your eyes on the two men near your seat “i’m not sure…my guess is-” you freeze. you finally look at who you’re talking to and it’s rin. you’ve only heard him speak once and you were a bit too flustered to remember what he sounded like. he was quiet in class and didn’t even know he existed up until a few weeks ago.

his voice is smooth and low, which makes you just a tad bit nervous…

“uh huh? you were saying?” he questions, raising an eyebrow at you. “oh right. uh my guess is they’re fixing the charging plug next to my desk. it doesn’t work” you finally look into his eyes to answer. his eyes are pretty..icy irises surrounded by long eyelashes.

“hm.” he hums back in response. before either of you could say anything else (if you even wanted to), your teacher makes an announcement.

“alright, all students seated in columns 8-12 are moving desks. everyone else, go to your seat please.”

you turn back to rin and your eyes meet again. you were sat in column 12 and rin was in 10.

“uh do you wanna-” you start.

“yeah sure” rin walks past you and towards 2 empty desks.

even though there were only 36 people in your class, the size of your classroom was able to fit just under 50 students, so finding an empty seat was easy. (you really aren’t sure why your teacher had assigned seats in the first place…)

when you sit down, you take out your notebook and pencil case. well, it seems like you didn’t properly close your pencil case all the way when you last used it, and one of your pens had dropped. you lean over to get it, your head being dangerously close to the desk…

rin sees this and his hand slides over to the edge of the desk while you’re grabbing your pen, making sure you don’t accidentally hit your head.

once you sit back up, rin’s hand is back to its original spot before you can notice it had ever even left. your teacher walks back up to the front of the classroom and assigns a worksheet for the rest of the class period.

“work with a partner if you need to, i’ll be dealing with the remodeling situation.”

the word “partner” makes you glance at rin out of the corner of your eye. unfortunately, his eyes are set on his own paper.

though, his eyes do flicker to your desk as he watches you shake your favorite pen in hopes of using it again before it’s completely out of ink.

PREV | NEXT | MAIN EVENT

oh my god i’m SO sorry i didn’t upload for so long and this chapter SUCKS😭i’ve been so busy recently and writers block definitely doesn’t help

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