#if these change again i'm exploding something

[leesleelee]

hiii,first of all i wanted to say that I LOVE the way you write and i'm a huge fan of your works, and also I'm so glad you write x male reader because I love this kind of fanfics but they're so rare to find.

I wanted to request a Steve x male reader where steve doesn't know how to first approach the reader, oh and also i'd like the reader to be the cool dustin's brother (it would be awesome for them to interact).

i don't know if I was clear but enflish is not my first language i'm sorryyy.

anyways i don't actually care that much if you take my request as long as you pubblic a new fanfic because I NEED it.

thank you anyways

Atlas <3

p.s. I thought it would be cool and romantic to put my name at the end lol

Mixed reviews.

Steve Harrington x Henderson! Male reader.

Steve Harrington never expected to catch feelings for Dustin’s older brother — cool, calm, and completely unreadable. With help (and heckling) from Robin, Eddie, and Nancy, Steve tries to figure out how to make a move… without totally embarrassing himself.

CW: Slow burn romance, light swearing, identity exploration, Dustin.. being Dustin, soft and emotional vulnerability.

Word count: 3,414

Steve Harrington’s having one of those weeks.

Eddie wants to brainstorm a new campaign and keeps calling him “Himbo Bard” like it’s a compliment. Robin’s insisting he needs to stop flirting with girls he doesn’t actually want to date. And Nancy—well, Nancy has been giving him these little looks, the kind that make him wonder if she still sees parts of the old him.

The lost, trying-too-hard version. He doesn't like that.

So when Dustin asks him to pick him up for Hellfire after school, Steve jumps at the chance. Something easy. Something familiar.

He pulls up in front of the Henderson house right as the afternoon heat starts to melt into golden haze.

Hawkins is sticky this time of year—quiet, bugs humming, the air heavy with that particular scent of cut grass and nostalgia.

The kind of day that feels like a movie just before something changes.

Steve taps the steering wheel, sunglasses on, waiting.

The front door swings open like a storm. Dustin comes charging out with his bag half-zipped, curly hair frizzed up like he’s been running around since lunch. He's shouting back into the house, voice high-pitched with indignation.

“I told you, I don’t need a jacket! I’m not gonna freeze to death in a temperature-controlled room, Mom!”

Steve leans out the driver’s side window. “You fightin’ the entire climate again?”

Dustin flips him off without looking. “I’m fightin’ oppression.”

Steve chuckles. “Well, tell oppression to zip your backpack before it explodes.”

But Dustin isn’t listening anymore. He’s already shouting again, this time toward the side of the house.

“Y/N! You coming tonight or what?”

Steve leans forward a little, curious. He’s heard Dustin mention his brother in passing—a few stories here and there. You were older.

Did something with music. Liked “weird art films” and refused to help Dustin cheat on his algebra homework even when begged.

But he’s never actually seen you.

Not until now.

You’re perched at the edge of the porch, a slim book in one hand and a can of soda sweating in the other. You’ve got sunglasses on even though the sun’s already starting to dip.

Your legs are kicked out in front of you, ankles crossed lazily, and there’s a pair of over-ear headphones hanging around your neck, one side still slightly playing a muted drum beat.

You don’t look up right away. You just keep reading, flipping a page with your thumb.

“Y/N!” Dustin yells again, hands on his hips like a mom at the end of her rope.

Finally, you glance up. Slowly. Like you’re weighing whether it’s even worth the energy.

“Didn’t Blake bail on work again?” you ask, voice quiet but distinct. Calm. Kinda raspy, like you’d just woken up or maybe didn’t care enough to pretend.

“Probably!” Dustin calls back. “But you said if he flaked, you’d come!”

You sigh like you’ve already regretted making that deal. “I said maybe, not promise. There’s a difference.”

Steve watches the whole exchange with mild amusement.

There’s something about you that’s... unbothered. The kind of cool that isn't about clothes or cliques—it’s just baked into how you move, how you don’t move unless you want to.

Dustin gestures toward the car. “Steve’s here! Just ride with us!”

You finally turn your eyes to Steve.

He feels it. The click.

Even behind your sunglasses, he swears you’re looking right through him. Not in a mean way. Just... curious. Calm. Like you’re deciding if he’s worth your attention.

Steve’s mouth is dry.

You give a small, two-finger wave. “Hey.”

It’s not shy. It’s not warm, either. Just simple.

Steve clears his throat. “Uh. Hey.”

Dustin walks toward the car, oblivious. “This is Steve. You probably know him from, like... every girl’s locker in 1985.”

You snort.

Steve flushes a little.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about you,” you say, still looking at him.

“Oh.” Steve shifts, suddenly aware of how he's leaning too hard on the door. “Good things, I hope?”

You shrug. “Mixed reviews.”

Dustin howls with laughter as he gets in the passenger seat.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek and forces a smile. “Tough crowd.”

You smirk. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He opens his mouth to reply—but you’re already putting your headphones back on, lifting the book, retreating into your little bubble of calm again.

Steve stares for a second too long. Then snaps out of it.

He gets in the car, trying not to let his face give him away.

Dustin’s still grinning. “You totally froze up.”

“I did not.”

“You did, dude. You were, like, blushing.”

“I was not blushing—”

“You want me to introduce you again next time? Maybe say you’re single and emotionally available?”

Steve throws the car into gear a little harder than necessary. “Keep talking and I’ll make you walk.”

Dustin laughs so hard he snorts. “Oh, man. This is gonna be good.”

---

As they drive off, Steve glances in the rearview mirror. You’re still there on the porch, book in hand, but your head’s tilted just slightly—like maybe, just maybe, you’re watching the car pull away too.

---

It starts with a song.

Steve doesn’t even realize it’s one you were humming the last time he saw you until it comes on the Family Video speakers, some dreamy B-side from The Cure, just after closing. Robin’s in the back pretending to organize tapes but mostly just slapping labels on things that don’t need them.

“Did you put this on?” Steve asks.

Robin peeks her head around the aisle, eyebrows arched.

“You’ve worked here for a year and still don’t know how the rotation schedule works?”

“No—I mean—” Steve waves vaguely at the speakers.

“This song. Just reminded me of... never mind.”

Robin narrows her eyes. “Reminded you of who, Harrington?”

“No one,” Steve says way too fast.

She walks around the counter, crossing her arms. “You are being weird lately.”

“I’m not being weird,” Steve says. “I’m just... thinking.”

Robin snorts. “I’ve seen you think before. It usually involves staring into the middle distance and chewing on a pen cap. This is different. You’ve got that soft crush energy.”

Steve’s face burns. “I do not have soft crush energy.”

“Oh really? Because yesterday, when we were at the arcade, and Dustin mentioned his brother might show up, you whipped your head around like a golden retriever on espresso.”

Steve glares at her. “I did not.”

Robin leans on the counter, chin in hand. “Is it the hair? The voice? Is he older and smarter than you? That’d make sense.”

“I don’t even know him,” Steve says, flustered. “He barely said five words.”

Robin hums. “Must’ve been five very hot words.”

Steve groans and buries his face in his hands.

---

It gets worse later that night...

He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, and the scene keeps playing in his head.

The slow wave you gave him. That effortless, unreadable smirk. The way you sat on the porch like you weren’t waiting for anyone, like time moved around you.

He thinks about how your voice dipped when you said, “Mixed reviews.”

And the way you looked at him—really looked.

He swears you knew.

He rolls onto his stomach, face in a pillow.

God, he’s so obvious.

---

Saturday – Eddie’s Garage

Steve’s sprawled on a beat-up couch in Eddie’s garage while Eddie tunes his guitar and complains about Mike screwing up another campaign.

“I mean, he’s a good kid,” Eddie says, twisting a knob, “but you miss one session and suddenly everyone thinks they’re the dungeon master.”

“Right,” Steve mutters, barely listening.

Eddie glances up. “You alright, man? You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you pretend to listen but you’re secretly spiraling inside.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Steve lies.

“Uh-huh. Is this about Nancy?”

“No.”

“Robin?”

“No.”

“...Dustin’s brother?”

Steve freezes. “What?”

Eddie grins, smug. “Bingo.”

“I don’t even know his name,” Steve says defensively.

Eddie shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen that look on your face before. You’ve got the ‘I think he’s hot and he intimidates me’ stare.”

Steve leans back and groans. “He just—he’s so—calm. Like, he’s not trying. And when I talk, I feel like I’m in a middle school play.”

Eddie chuckles. “You’re not used to being the awkward one, huh?”

Steve mutters, “It sucks.”

Eddie flicks a pick at him. “You’re fine, Romeo. Just don’t try too hard. You’ll crash and burn.”

---

Sunday – Wheeler’s House

Steve and Nancy are in the living room with Dustin and Mike, sorting through board games that somehow migrated into the garage.

Dustin is holding court, naturally.

“So Steve’s been acting super weird,” Dustin says, like he’s announcing global news.

Steve snaps his head up. “No I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have,” Mike says. “He showed up early to pick me up. He’s never early.”

Nancy looks up from the game box. “Is this about Y/N?”

Steve nearly drops the Clue board.

Dustin squints. “Wait. What about Y/N?”

Nancy blinks innocently. “Oh, I just figured. He’s been kinda... watching Steve lately.”

Silence.

Steve’s face goes blank. “Wait. What?”

Nancy smiles slightly. “You didn’t notice?”

Steve is spiraling.

Dustin looks from Nancy to Steve and howls. “OH MY GOD.”

Steve rubs his face. “No. No no no. Don’t start—”

“YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON MY BROTHER!”

“Dustin, I swear—”

“This is disgusting! I’m telling Mom. I’m telling EVERYONE.”

“You are not—!”

“Do you wanna MARRY him?! Are you gonna be my brother-in-law?!”

“Dustin—”

Nancy’s laughing softly behind a hand while Mike looks vaguely horrified.

“Wow,” Mike mutters. “Now I can’t unsee it.”

---

Later that night – Steve’s House

Robin’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, holding a grape soda.

“So let me get this straight. You’re crushing on Dustin’s older brother, and Nancy thinks he might be into you, and Dustin wants to exile you from Hawkins.”

Steve sinks into the cushions. “That about covers it.”

Robin pats his leg. “You’ve had worse weeks.”

Steve sighs. “He’s just... different.”

Robin tilts her head. “Different how?”

Steve shrugs. “He doesn’t try to be cool. He just is. And when I talk to him, it’s like... I don’t know. I forget how to be a person.”

Robin hums. “That’s kind of sweet. And tragic.”

Steve kicks at the rug. “I don’t even know how to start.”

She pauses. “You know, he works at Vinyl Alley, right?”

Steve looks at her slowly. “How do you know that?”

Robin grins. “Please. I’ve had a crush on him since junior year.”

Steve nearly chokes. “WHAT?”

“I’m over it. Relax,” she says. “I mean... not totally, but I like chaos, so I support this.”

Steve groans. “I need help.”

Robin clinks her soda can against his knee. “You need to just talk to him.”

Steve mutters into his hands. “Yeah. Right. Easy.”

Robin smirks. “Or, you could keep making puppy eyes from twenty feet away. That’s a solid long-term strategy.”

Steve throws a pillow at her.

---

It’s just past six when Steve pulls up to the Henderson house, thinking he’ll grab Dustin for movie night with Robin and Eddie.

It’s supposed to be a distraction. Keep things light. Keep his brain from looping around the way you looked at him a week ago—half bored, half curious, all center of gravity.

He hops out of his car, slicks his hair back once out of habit, and jogs up the driveway.

No sign of Dustin.

He knocks once. Waits.

No answer.

Then the screen door creaks open, and there you are.

Leaning against the frame like you’ve been there for hours. Barefoot, with a loose T-shirt that hangs perfectly, sleeves rolled a few times.

You’ve got a ring of condensation around your hand from a lemonade can. There’s music playing low from somewhere inside the house—Mazzy Star or maybe Cocteau Twins. Steve doesn’t know, but it fits you.

Your gaze is easy, slow-moving, like you already clocked him before the car even turned off.

“Dustin’s not here,” you say.

“Oh,” Steve says, heart immediately catching in his throat. “I—uh—he said to pick him up?”

You shrug, stepping onto the porch. “Probably got caught up at Lucas’s. He’s been biking over there after dinner a lot.”

Steve blinks. “Right. Yeah. Cool.”

You glance at the street. Then back at him. “You drove all the way here?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Thought we were gonna watch Predator or something. Eddie said he had this whole commentary planned.”

You hum. “That sounds... unbearable.”

Steve laughs, more at himself than anything. “You’ve met him.”

“I’ve survived him,” you reply, lips twitching into a smile. “Wanna sit? Porch’s not that exciting, but it’s better than standing there sweating.”

“Sure,” Steve says, a little too fast.

You sit first, folding into the wooden chair like you belong there. Like you’re part of the furniture, part of the air. Steve chooses the chair beside you, not too close.

The space between you hums a little louder than it should.

It’s quiet for a while. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

You crack your can open again. The fizz breaks the silence.

Steve tries not to stare at your fingers.

“So...” you say, almost lazily. “You’re the guy who picks Dustin up like clockwork.”

Steve chuckles. “Somebody’s gotta keep him alive.”

“True,” you say, eyes half-lidded behind the dying light. “He listens to you more than he listens to me.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“No,” you agree. “But still.”

More silence.

Steve wants to fill it. He wants to ask you if you’ve always lived in Hawkins, what kind of music you like, whether you’ve ever felt like you were supposed to be somewhere else—someone else.

Instead, he says, “What’re you listening to?”

You tilt your head slightly, like the question caught you off guard.

Then you reach for the portable cassette player on the table beside you, flip it around so he can see the label.

“Red House Painters – Rollercoaster.”

He nods slowly. “Never heard of it.”

You give him a sideways look. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Steve laughs under his breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve got... radio taste,” you say. “Like, safe taste.”

He smiles. “You’re not wrong. I was more of a Top 40 guy.”

“And now?”

Steve shrugs. “Trying to listen to other things.”

You lean back, one knee bouncing slightly. “Trying to impress someone?”

That hits.

Steve looks at you, eyes flicking to your mouth and then away. “Maybe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is it working?”

He pauses. “Am I trying too hard?”

“No,” you say easily. “Trying too hard would mean you’re saying things you don’t mean.”

Steve looks at you again, slower this time.

“And I don’t think you’re doing that,” you finish, voice quiet.

The cicadas buzz louder in the trees. A neighbor’s sprinkler clicks on across the street. Somewhere inside, a clock ticks.

Steve swallows. “You don’t talk like other people.”

You huff a soft laugh. “You don’t either. You just think you do.”

He looks down at his shoes, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Robin says I act like a golden retriever when I have a crush.”

Your head tilts, just slightly. “Do you?”

“I didn’t think so,” he says, shrugging. “But lately? Kinda feels like it.”

He looks up.

You’re watching him now. Really watching.

The smirk you wore earlier is gone, replaced with something more grounded. Thoughtful.

You shift a little in your seat, angling toward him.

“That’s the thing with you, Harrington,” you say, voice just above a whisper. “You don’t hide things very well.”

Steve’s heart thumps loud in his chest. “That bad, huh?”

“No,” you say simply. “That honest.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. And for once, he doesn’t feel like he has to.

The two of you sit in the warmth, the kind of quiet that stretches like a yawn.

The song from inside fades into another one—slower, sadder. Steve doesn’t recognize it either, but it makes his throat tight.

You lean forward to grab your drink again, and your knee brushes his.

Neither of you moves.

Steve feels electricity crawl up his leg, warm and searching. He doesn’t look away from you. And you don’t look away either.

Eventually, you sit back.

“You’re better company than I thought you’d be,” you say casually.

Steve grins. “I get that a lot.”

You smile. Real this time. Not cocky, not distant. Just there.

Before Steve can say anything else, the distant sound of wheels on pavement echoes from around the corner.

Dustin.

You sigh through your nose. “Saved by the little brother.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, barely hearing it.

You stand slowly, stretching, the hem of your shirt lifting slightly.

Steve catches a glimpse of the soft curve of your waist, a hint of ink near your ribs. He looks away before he stares.

As Dustin’s bike screeches into the driveway, yelling something about Lucas being the worst teammate in D&D history, you nudge Steve lightly with your elbow.

“See you around, golden retriever.”

He freezes.

You smirk.

And just like that, you’re back inside, the screen door creaking shut behind you.

Steve watches it swing until it stills. And even when Dustin’s hopping in the passenger seat, still ranting about Mike and Eddie and his dice rolls, Steve’s brain is still on you.

And that quiet moment on the porch.

That brush of your knee.

And the smile you didn’t let anyone else see.

---

It happens again a few days later.

The air is thick with leftover heat, that sticky summer cling that hangs around after the sun dips below the trees. Streetlights flicker on like they’re yawning awake, fireflies blink lazily in the shrubs, and somewhere down the block, a lawn sprinkler ticks in time with the chirp of crickets.

Steve’s car rolls up quiet in front of your house.

It’s not planned. He tells himself he just happened to be driving by.

But the way his palms are sweating against the steering wheel says otherwise. He parks and sits for a full minute, watching your porch light glow through the screen door.

He could leave.

He should leave.

But then the door opens—and there you are, stepping out barefoot again, holding two bottles of orange soda by their necks.

You see him and smile like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You just gonna lurk there, Harrington? Or you want one of these?”

Steve laughs, shaking his head as he gets out of the car. “Do you read minds or something?”

“No,” you say, handing him a soda. “You’re just predictable in a charming, lost-puppy kind of way.”

Steve flushes but doesn’t argue.

You sit on the steps this time, not the chairs.

He drops down beside you, leaving a sliver of space between your knees. It’s quiet except for the bottle caps hitting the porch and the fizz of carbonation as you both take a drink.

After a long silence, you speak first.

“Rough night?”

Steve exhales slowly. “Just been... thinking.”

You nod, slow. “Dangerous habit.”

He smiles weakly. “Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say something,” he finally admits.

You glance at him, brows raised slightly.

“Something I haven’t really said out loud before,” Steve continues, staring straight ahead.

“I’m listening,” you say, voice gentle now—none of the teasing from before. Just there with him.

Steve fidgets with the label on the bottle.

“I’ve always been good at liking girls. Or, like... thinking I liked them. It was simple. Easy. You get a girlfriend, you hold hands, people nod at you in the hallway like you’re doing something right.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t look away.

“But lately...” Steve trails off, then huffs out a breath. “It’s not that I don’t like girls. It’s just... they don’t make me nervous the way you do.”

That makes your mouth quirk just slightly. But you stay still. Let him keep going.

“I keep thinking about you. Not just the porch stuff. Just... how quiet you are. How you look like you’re always hearing things no one else can. How you talk like you’re choosing every word on purpose.”

He finally looks at you, full-on, eyes searching.

“I don’t even know if this is anything,” he says, voice low. “I just know I don’t feel like this around anyone else.”

You let the words settle.

There’s a warmth behind your ribs now. A slow, uncoiling understanding.

You set your soda down beside you. “You’re allowed to like things you didn’t expect.”

Steve watches you carefully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean back on your hands, letting your knee brush his again. This time, it lingers.

“You don’t have to label it,” you say. “Or explain it to anyone. Especially not me.”

Steve laughs quietly. “I don’t think I care about anyone else knowing. Just kind of wanted you to know.”

You nod once. “I know now.”

You both sit there a moment, letting the air fill the space between words.

The porch light buzzes overhead. A breeze picks up, rustling through the nearby trees. And in that space, something clicks into place—not like a dramatic kiss, not like fireworks. Just… gravity realigning.

Steve bumps your shoulder. “You still think I have radio taste?”

You grin. “Definitely. But I can work with that.”

He smiles. A real one this time. Open. Grateful.

You glance at him, a little softer now. “You’re better when you’re not trying so hard.”

“I’m not used to that.”

You shrug. “Start practicing.”

Steve lets out a breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Would you ever wanna—” he clears his throat, face flushing, “—hang out? Just, like... you and me? Sometime?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “That depends. Are you gonna keep saying weird, vulnerable stuff?”

“Maybe.”

“Then yeah,” you say, lips tugging into a crooked smile. “I’m into that.”

Steve lets out a short laugh, head falling forward. “Thank God.”

You chuckle, nudging his knee. “Easy, Harrington. Don’t faint on my porch. You’re too pretty to pass out.”

He looks up, eyes wide. “Was that—did you just call me—?”

You stand, grabbing your soda, and walk inside without answering.

The screen door swings closed behind you.

Steve stares at it for a long time, heart racing like he just ran a mile uphill.

Then he grins.

Yeah. This is definitely something.

---

Days pass..

It’s a late Saturday afternoon, the kind where Hawkins glows like it’s been dunked in honey — warm and slow, shadows long on the sidewalk.

Robin convinced everyone to meet at the old picnic area near Lover’s Lake for what she dramatically titled a “mental health gathering.”

Translation: snacks, sarcasm, and watching Eddie yell at squirrels.

Steve pulls up in his car, and you’re already there — sitting against one of the wooden tables with your headphones around your neck, sipping from a bottle of cherry cola, ankles crossed, calm as always.

Dustin, Mike, and Lucas are halfway through setting up a game of Uno on a folding table.

Nancy is adjusting the battery in a small portable radio she brought, claiming “someone needs to curate the vibe.” Eddie’s lying in the grass, eyes closed, pretending he doesn’t care.

Robin is mid-sentence when she catches sight of Steve walking up behind you. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she watches the way he doesn’t just walk — he drifts toward you like gravity’s involved.

You tilt your head back, see him coming, and give the tiniest smile. Just a flick of the mouth. But it lingers.

“Hey,” you say, like you were waiting for him.

Steve sits next to you, just a little closer than necessary.

Robin raises a single eyebrow. Nancy notices too — her lips press into a barely-there smirk. She nudges Robin with her elbow.

Dustin, of course, doesn’t notice a thing. He’s too busy triumphantly slamming down a +4 on Lucas.

“You absolute traitor!” Lucas yells.

“You played yourself,” Dustin shrugs.

As the chaos unfolds, Steve leans in slightly, speaking under his breath.

“You always drink that stuff?” he asks, nodding to the cherry cola.

You glance sideways, smirking. “Maybe I like sweet things.”

Steve blinks once.

Then twice.

You take a slow sip and don’t elaborate.

Robin almost chokes on a carrot stick from the snack bowl.

Nancy raises an eyebrow and murmurs to her, “They’re doing the thing again.”

“The what?” Eddie asks, rolling over lazily.

Nancy gestures subtly to you and Steve, who are in your own quiet little orbit at the end of the table, barely touching, barely talking — but fully locked in.

Eddie lifts his head, squints. “Are they—?” His voice drops. “No.”

Robin grins. “Oh yeah.”

Eddie sits up like someone just poured soda on his boots. “When the hell did that happen?”

Dustin looks up. “When did what happen?”

Everyone freezes for a split second.

Steve tries very hard to look like he’s not mentally collapsing.

You, cool as ever, just stretch your legs and say, “Hey, Dust. You ever figure out why your Uno strategy sucks so bad?”

Dustin squints. “Deflecting, are we?”

Eddie snickers.

Robin leans back on her elbows, grinning like she’s watching a live TV reveal.

Dustin’s eyes narrow. He looks at Steve. Then at you. Then back.

You’ve seen this look before — it’s the face he makes when he’s putting together a scientific theory or sniffing out secrets with Erica.

He squints harder. “Wait a damn minute.”

Steve opens his mouth to protest—too late.

Dustin stands up, hands flat on the table. “YOU’RE DATING MY BROTHER?!”

The birds scatter from the trees. Mike nearly drops his cards.

Steve lifts both hands like he’s under arrest. “Dustin—listen—”

“Since WHEN?!” Dustin yells, looking back and forth between you both like he’s witnessing a crime scene.

You sip your soda. “A while.”

Robin’s snorting with laughter now, face buried in Nancy’s shoulder.

Eddie says, “I knew something was weird! The night at my place, when Steve said your name and then immediately forgot what year it was? That makes so much sense now!”

Dustin starts pacing like a lawyer delivering his closing argument.

“Steve Harrington, you told me to brush my teeth last week! That’s like — a big brother thing! You can’t do that and be—you can’t date my actual brother! That’s betrayal on two fronts!”

Steve runs a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to lie—”

“You didn’t tell me because you knew I’d react like this!”

“I mean,” Steve admits, “a little, yeah.”

Dustin glares at you. “And you! You just let him into the house like it was no big deal!”

You lean back lazily. “He already had a key to the house... metaphorically.”

Robin shouts, “OH MY GOD.”

Eddie drops backwards into the grass again, wheezing.

Nancy smiles, folding her arms. “I think it’s sweet.”

Dustin groans like someone just stabbed him in the heart with a +4 card.

“No. Nope. I refuse. Steve is like my divorced dad and my annoying uncle combined! This is gross!”

You tilt your head. “Would it be better if I dumped him and dated Eddie?”

Eddie perks up. “I’m flattered.”

Steve blurts, “Please don’t.”

Robin collapses into laughter.

Dustin dramatically falls into a lawn chair, hands over his face. “God. I have to change schools.”

Lucas pats him on the back. “You don’t even go to school right now.”

“College, then!”

“You’re not in college.”

“I’LL SKIP STRAIGHT TO RETIREMENT.”

Nancy kneels beside him, voice dry. “Dustin. Breathe.”

---

As the sun begins to dip—

The group slowly reassembles. Uno resumes. Robin and Eddie still throw teasing looks at Steve, who can’t seem to stop looking at you.

You’re laid out on the blanket now, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping your soda and watching the clouds change color.

Steve lies down beside you, not quite touching, but close.

Dustin eventually calms down. He throws a single potato chip at Steve’s head in a weak display of dominance. It bounces off harmlessly.

“Don’t break his heart,” Dustin mutters.

You glance sideways at him. “I won’t.”

“You better not,” Dustin grumbles. “Because then I have to pick sides. And you know Mom would make me take the couch.”

Steve smiles faintly at that. Reaches over and gently brushes your knuckles.

You let him.

And the sun melts into the lake, quiet and gold and perfect.

No grand gestures. No declarations.

Just this.

Two people who didn’t plan on anything, finding something that feels like home.

---

Authors note: hii Atlas!, thank you so much for requesting this. I enjoyed writing it so much and I had overall a great time making it ☺️ I'm so glad you enjoy my writing!! And thank you so much again🩷

Credits: my steve border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

[chara-cat5]

lads isekai ch 3

reader is gender neutral, warning: swearing, mdni

chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

adjusting to life here was hard. the technology was way higher tech then you were used to and you were forced to act like you knew what was going on 24/7. like, you had to learn all the futuristic vocabulary for this world. even with the help from your memory of the game, you still had a lot to learn. history, vocab, technology. at least you knew how to add...

but you did adjust with time. within a week you could do everything you needed to on your own. you even cooked a few meals for you and mia. socially, you could fall into easy conversation with mia and tara or do serious reports for jenna. the three women were easy to get along with. mia had this special draw though. a force you could only assume was just pure main character energy. you wanted to be around her. you were starting to wonder if it was you or something else.

training your evol was another problem. you had been putting it off, but there was alway this buzzing of power under your skin and you would have to take care of it or you'd explode. maybe. thats what if felt like anyway. control over plant life. it hadn't done anything like that first night. the growing under your feet or blooming cuffs around you and mia's wrists. you mentioned it to mia that you wanted to do some training and that's how you ended up here.

sweaty, aching, and frustrated.

you glared at mia as she paced around you, holding her sword at her side, looking just as perfect as she did at the start. she frowned at you, her eyebrows pinched together.

"did you eat something bad? usually you are way better then this. you haven't even used your evol."

you let out a groan, shifting your grip on the polearm in your hands. apparently it had been your weapon of choice, but you figured it was just cause it wasn't one of the 'taken' weapons by the love interests. you narrowed your eyes at mia, shifting your stance.

"i'm just having an off day, lay off."

ignoring her sassy response, you closed your eyes, digging into the buzzing under your skin. it wasn't unpleasant necessarily, but it was building a pressure beneath the surface. it grew into a full vibration and as soon as you slammed your spear butt hit the ground, plants forced through the concrete ground. a jagged line of vines and flowers went straight for mia, leaving her to yelp and attempt to dodge. you cried out in panic, blinking and she was gone, a scuffing of shoes to your right drawing your attention instead, drowning you in relief. there a tall blond was just unwrapping his arms from mia, a cold feeling running through you at his glare though...

"jesus! remind me to never piss you off again."

mia jogged over, her hair and expression frazzled. looking back to your 'attack' you saw the uncontrolled growth. geez, were you really that strong?? you felt a wave of exhaustion hit you, quickly realizing, hey no, you just used all your energy on one attack. not over powerful, just uncontrolled.

"how did you even become a hunter?"

your shoulders stiffened at the deeper voice, meeting blue eyes. he had followed mia, his guard clearly raised. mia, the great friend she is, shot him a glare, poking his shoulder.

"how did you become a hunter? don't be rude, xavier."

you glanced at the plants, lifting your spear from the vines.

"... no, he's right. this is pretty bad..."

mia let out a sound of distress, looking back to you. xavier merely kept his gaze on your face, expression unreadable.

"i don't have control over it and that needs to change. i'll focus on solo training, mia. i don't wanna put you in danger again."

you finally met her gaze, a pout already rising to her lips.

"you said it yourself, it's just an off day. i'm fine. you don't have to shut yourself out."

xavier scoffed next to her, narrowing his eyes at you.

"you're fine cause i stepped in. but as for you, training on your own isn't gonna fix this. you need teaching. from the basics."

he stepped back, turning his back to the two of you to leave the room. mia perked up, grabbing his arm before he could get far.

"you should teach them!"

you both stiffened at that, blinking at her like she had grown another head. mia just turned to you, completely unbothered.

"xavier would be a great teacher for you. he helped me with my sword skills and his evol is also really strong. he'd totally be able to help you get back your grove if you won't let me help."

you made a face, but before you could argue, xavier spoke up. great! you wouldn't have to hurt mia's feelings. you really didn't want to deal with her pouting back at the apartment.

"you want me to train them?"

she nodded happily, squeezing his arm with her hand and tugging him closer.

"yeah! it'll be great."

you huffed, shifting on your feet as you waited for his rejection.

"... alright. i can train them."

you snapped your gaze back up, shock filling your expression. what? why? what?-

"wait really? you're gonna train me???"

he looked to you, his expression still unreadable.

"i will. it shouldn't be difficult. i've heard you're decent."

you made a sour face at 'decent' following the budding lovers out the room. mia was already thanking him and chattering on about ideas. he happily listened, that small smile on his lips he reserved for the mc. this was gonna be a thing now, wasn't it?

---------------------------------

it was a thing.

xavier was a cruel trainer, making you run drills over and over again. okay, maybe that was dramatic, but still! you felt exhausted after a few days. he had you fix your fighting stance, teaching you the proper way to use a spear, no evol involved. then, without a directing weapon (aka, your spear) he'd have you focus on the energy of your evol. one plant. he made you grow and focus all your energy on one little daisy. grow more and he made you drain your energy then try again. that wasn't helping with you being exhausted at all.

"slacking off isn't gonna help you get better."

"i'm not slacking off, i'm connecting with my roots."

you were laid on your back on the ground with your eyes closed, limbs sprawled out like a starfish (fuck off with 'sea stars'-) rafayel would be proud of. xavier let out a sigh, standing over you with his arms crossed. with a sigh, he sat next to you, making you peek open one eye.

"then do it properly. sit up and focus."

with a groan, you did as he said, sitting criss cross facing to him and mimicking his pose. you couldn't help but take in his features, noting just how long his lashes were against pale cheeks. despite how short with you he had been thus far, he was being helpful. you were learning better control over your evol and even fighting stuff. power of having mia as your roomie, i guess.

a slight snort brought you out of your thoughts, focusing back on xavier. he wasn't moving, eyes still closed and yet...

"did you fall asleep?"

his lack of response was a dead give away and you furrowed your eyebrows at him. and he had scolded you for slacking off. you reached out and poked his shoulder, causing his eyes to flicker back open.

"hey, wake up. you can go home if you're that tired. you can't just sleep here."

he sighed, rolling his shoulder out.

"why not? i've done it before."

"that doesn't make it alright. what if someone else wants to train? or if someone sneaks up and steals your stuff?"

"i would wake up before anyone got close to me."

you made a face, tilting your head as you gazed at him. he stared back before standing up, pulling out his sword.

"let's get back to training."

.

.

entity [user] encounter entity [xavier]

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affinity level [3]

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taglist: @sleepisfortheweakpooh @plzdonutpercieveme @young-adult-summer @mentaltrouble2201 @noxus123 @asakiyu @leftpoetrymoon @hon3yydew @anemobabygirl

thank you so much for reading!! (seriously, y'all are bringing out so much motivation with each comment!! i read every one!! i'm sorry i don't respond, i just don't know how T-T just know i appreciate it!!)

-chara <3

[writingdevil]

Hiii Devil!!! [emerges from the ground all dirty and half-dead] You know very well how normal I've been over your latest Skeptunist fic, I've been yapping about it nonstop-

Anyways, I will scream and explode if you write a part 2 to that fic where Skeptic apologizes to Oppy for the argument and all the awful things he said to him. I would cry at this scene from Oppy POV, but Skeptic POV will definitely make me scream too skfkskf

Anyways! I go back into the ground now, thank you again for writing my previous request [I have been thinking about it a concerning amount /lh], and thank you for everything you do!! <3

(How did you get in the ground in the first place?!/silly. Anyway, YES- I've been dying to write a conclusion to this because it breaks my heart to break my ship's hearts. So I'm so excited to write this part, and thank you for everything you do as well, because you make me just as feral about Skeptunist. Enjoy!)

Part One

'You're useless when it comes to thinking about anything other than yourself!'

'You're useless-'

Useless. Useless.

That's all Opportunist was.

It was a truth that had been in the back of Opportunist's mind forever, but having it shoved so plainly in his face now, it was hard to deny it any longer.

Opportunist really was a selfish monster.

It felt as if his mind was torturing him, not letting him move on from that incident. He woke up and saw his face, he tried to do something and he heard his voice- Opportunist tried to do literally anything and he was just reminded of that day.

'You're useless when it comes to thinking about anything other than yourself!'

He felt his heart break into tinier pieces. Oh, Skeptic.

It's been two weeks since that day, and the more time that passes, the more time that Opportunist had to reexamine his own actions, and there was a clear conclusion to come to.

Opportunist hadn't changed.

He was still just a heartless, manipulative backstabber, who was more than willing to lie to his own flock.

If Skeptic, the sharpest of them all, the person that claimed to know the real Opportunist, thought that, then how could it not be the truth?

The worst part though, was that Opportunist didn't even know he had been manipulating Skeptic.

Opportunist had been guarded at the start, of course, but it felt like Skeptic had approached him differently, not with caution, but with an open mind, as if he didn't care if Opportunist would betray him or not.

Opportunist actually thought that Skeptic saw something good in him, saw something worth giving his love for, and all those happy moments that they shared afterwards.

Opportunist said that he loved Skeptic.

Too bad it was all a lie.

He should've known that nobody would like what was behind the mask. He should've known that everyone thinks about themselves, even subconsciously.

He should've known that he wasn't worthy of love.

Opportunist has always been afraid- a secret that he will take to his grave. He was always afraid that there was something more powerful, more stronger, more sinister than him, and that they would attack Opportunist when he least expects it, so it was simply better to play both sides until he knew which side was the winning one.

But with their newfound freedom and no cabin to endure, there suddenly wasn't a side to pick- just birds that knew Opportunist would betray them at the drop of a hat.

That put him in a difficult position, one where Opportunist was just terrified all the time, that his efforts of pleasing and playing nice to the others would all be in vain and he would be alone forever.

But then Skeptic came along and changed everything Opportunist thought about himself- or so he thought.

Opportunist thought he was in love with Skeptic, that he cared about him and wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. Turns out, Opportunist just clung to the first and only person that gave him a chance.

Opportunist took advantage of Skeptic's kind and inquisitive nature, and sunk his claws into him, to the point that he made Skeptic fall in love with a mask of himself. He made Skeptic believe that he was loving and funny and caring- but what he really was, was a coward, who couldn't stand to be alone.

So he tricked Skeptic into loving him, and now Skeptic knows the truth.

Opportunist thought he cared about Skeptic's wellbeing. He thought he wanted Skeptic to relax for the good of his health. But it was all so that he wouldn't leave Opportunist, but Opportunist pushed him too far.

He really was fucking useless.

He couldn't even keep a partner from overworking himself, and now Opportunist was more aware than ever that he was so willing to deceive people, that it was practically second nature to him.

So Opportunist decided not to feed into that nature anymore. He holed up in his room, thinking about Skeptic over and over again.

His heart had never been more shattered, and he's never been more afraid of his own mind.

He didn't leave his room. He tried not to talk to others, but Hero and Hunted always checked in on him at least once, to make sure that he ate something. Opportunist would've ignored them, but he knew that they would make a scene about it otherwise, so he pulled together a shoddy mask and accepted the food, only taking a bite or two. He didn't deserve their kindness.

He spent his days curled up in his bed. The first few days, Opportunist cried his heart out, harder than he's ever cried before. Then, his brain went wild with thinking of ways to beg for Skeptic's forgiveness, because Skeptic was always right, and Opportunist wanted to prove that he did still love him, that he wouldn't push Skeptic again.

But now he's just sitting here, withering away. Maybe if he waits long enough, the wickedness within him would die off, and then Skeptic will have a chance to love the real him.

Opportunist wasn't sure how much time had passed- his head was too busy replaying that day and remembering every kiss and embrace they shared up until the fight, questioning if any of it was real or salvageable.

He was useless.

He deceived his partner without even realising it.

Did he even deserve love-

Knock knock!

Opportunist sighed, wishing Hunted wouldn't pester him so much about eating. "Go away, Hunted. I'm busy," he mumbled, turning his back to the door, his fingers fiddling with a familiar feather, a shade of black so dark that it shone almost navy blue in the light, but then he heard another knock.

Opportunist wrapped his wings around himself, hugging himself tightly. "I'm not hungry, Hunted."

Knock!

Opportunist sighed in defeat, forcing himself to sit up, glaring at the door, mustering up all the energy he could for a mask that showed that Opportunist was fine and definitely not heartbroken.

Opportunist wrapped his hand around the doorknob. "Hunted, I promise you, if I'm hungry, I will let you-"

He opened the door, but it wasn't Hunted standing before him.

"-know," was all Opportunist could think to say, as he stared up at the disheveled and grieving face of Skeptic.

Opportunist looked up into those eyes, and he felt his breath being taken away.

Skeptic blinked, before a pained look crossed his face, and he whispered, "Oppy."

"Skeptic," Opportunist whispered back, gripping the doorknob tight.

Opportunist knew how to act around everyone. Everyone except Skeptic, so he had no idea what to do now.

"Can I come in, Oppy?" Skeptic softly asked, and he figured it wouldn't do Opportunist any good to deny him right now, so he silently walked away, letting Skeptic make himself at home.

He heard Skeptic let a sigh of relief out, coming in and closing the door behind him.

Then they stood there, staring at each other with such a heaviness in their eyes, and the memories of a fight that destroyed them.

'You're useless when it comes to thinking about anything other than yourself!'

That was what was between Skeptic and Opportunist now.

Opportunist didn't dare make the first move, not when Skeptic had been so angry at him before. It was safer to let Skeptic lead right now.

Skeptic took a deep breath in, nervously fidgeting with the feathers on his arms, something that Opportunist has never seen him do before.

"Forgive me for not speaking to you sooner, Oppy," Skeptic began. "I wanted to talk to you as soon as I could, but I wanted to give you some space."

Skeptic then lowered his head awkwardly with a cough and added, "It was also hard to get past Hunted. He guarded your door very well."

Despite the anguish in his heart, Opportunist's lips twitched, as if wanting to smile but afraid to.

"But then I heard that nobody's seen you around lately, and I knew I couldn't wait any longer. I knew I needed to make things right with you."

"Make things right?" Opportunist echoed with a weak chuckle, waving a hand carelessly through the air. "My friend, you've done nothing wrong."

Opportunist tried not to focus on how his voice cracked at the word 'friend', but he couldn't ignore the way it stabbed his heart.

Opportunist smiled at him, but he saw the way Skeptic's eyes darkened at him, and it felt like Skeptic was piercing through his mask and into his very soul. But Skeptic had never known the real him, so how could he make Opportunist feel this vulnerable?

"I have, Oppy," Skeptic firmly said, "and I understand why you're doing what you're doing. I don't blame you, because I'd hate me too after what I said to you."

"Hate?" Opportunist said. "I don't hate you. How can I hate you when you were just telling the truth?"

Skeptic's eyes widened, and then there was a heavy pause that lasted a second too long, that made Opportunist feel how suffocating the tension between them was.

Opportunist couldn't take it, so he smiled until his face hurt. "You were just pointing out the facts, just like you always do! What's to hate about the truth?"

Opportunist forced himself to take a step forward, pushing his shaking to the side. He put a hand on his chest and said in a sincere tone, "If anything, I should be apologising to you. I shouldn't of gotten involved with your work."

"You were worried about me."

"I kept annoying you when you tried to focus."

"You wanted me to relax and I wouldn't listen to you."

"I overstepped and I-"

"No, I overstepped and I pushed you away-"

"You were right!"

"No I wasn't!"

"I am selfish!" Opportunist yelled, then was immediately appalled at his outburst, but he kept going, in the hopes of making Skeptic understand. He clutched at his chest feathers as he exclaimed, "You were right- all I do is think about myself! I tried to insert myself into your work and I made you angry! You were right, just like always. All I do is think about my own personal gain and nobody else's, so I am deeply sorry, Skeptic."

Skeptic took a deep breath in, then took a step forward, holding his hands out to Opportunist.

His voice was calm, but with a hint of fear in it, as he said, "Oppy, what happened was completely my fault. You don't have to make excuses for me. I was the one in the wrong, and you were the one that was only trying to help me, and I ended up lashing out at you, which wasn't fair."

"You weren't selfish for worrying about me," Skeptic continued, his voice becoming more weak and desperate as he spoke. "You cared about me and brought me food and checked up on me. How is that selfish? The only person who was selfish was me, because I cared more about my stupid work than what my amazing partner was doing for me."

Opportunist's heart ached at 'amazing partner' but he forced himself to forget it. It wasn't real. Those feelings weren't real. It was all a ploy to keep Skeptic close to him.

He shook his head, pushing back tears as hard as he could. "No, it's okay, Skeptic. Y-You don't have to lie about making me feel better."

"I'm not lying!" Skeptic pleaded. He took a step closer to Opportunist, who hugged himself and looked away, but couldn't block out the sadness and guilt in Skeptic's voice as he pleaded, "Oppy, please! I'm so sorry for how I treated you, but I won't stand here and let you convince yourself that you were in the wrong! I was the one who treated you like shit!"

Skeptic reached out, and gently took his hands into his own, and Opportunist hated how nice it felt to hold those hands again.

This close, Opportunist could see Skeptic's eyes shining with tears, as he whispered, "Oppy, I'm so sorry for hurting you. You didn't deserve any of it, and you definitely don't deserve to be blaming yourself for my mistakes. You're not selfish, Oppy-"

"Yes, I am," he mumbled in protest, but Skeptic just continued talking, "-and you care so much about me and the flock-"

"No I don't-"

"- and I should've appreciated you more and told you how much I loved you-"

That's when Opportunist snapped.

Loved him?

Opportunist can't love anything else, and nothing can love him.

"No!" he yelled, ripping his hands out of Skeptic's grasp, leaving him floundering, and Opportunist couldn't stop the tears from flowing, sobbing his heart out as he yelled, "You said it yourself! I'm useless! All I care about is myself and my own gain and I made you love me! I manipulated you into falling in love with me just to satisfy my own pathetic loneliness!"

Opportunist broke down then, hugging himself and sobbing loudly. His head was so confused, so torn between wanting to throw himself in Skeptic's arms, and keep far away from him so that Opportunist couldn't hurt him anymore.

But one thing he couldn't do was look away from him, so when he opened his eyes, he was shocked to find the other with tears silently streaming down his face. But the surprising thing was the fact that Skeptic had a steely, determined look in his eyes now, and when they made eye contact, Skeptic's voice was low and firm as he asked, "Is that what you believe? Is that what you think happened between us?"

Opportunist nodded.

Skeptic took a sharp breath in, then said, "Wait here," before marching out of the room.

Opportunist just stood there, having no clue what was happening, other than the fact that his heart yearned for Skeptic's presence again.

Thankfully, it wasn't long that he had to wait, as Skeptic quickly marched back inside, head bowed as he held his- his diary?

Skeptic had kept and written in a diary every day since they became their own people, to help understand his thoughts and the situation around them.

"Skeptic, what are you-" Opportunist tried to speak, but then he gasped as Skeptic fell to his knees, opening his diary up to a certain page and read aloud, "Day forty- Opportunist invited himself to come on a walk with me. Not sure why, but I didn't mind. Talks a lot, but somehow still manages to say absolutely nothing- why is that? Clearly likes talking but isn't saying anything meaningful. Does he just like his own voice? Requires further investigation."

Opportunist had no idea what was going on, and he just stared as Skeptic flipped a few pages over and continued, "Day Fifty- We've all tried to come to terms with this new arrangement and settle within ourselves, but Opportunist is the most interesting case. He keeps complimenting people, offering himself up to be useful, but the others don't trust him. I see the sadness and the fear in his eyes when he thinks no one's looking. Everyone else says he's a good for nothing backstabber, but I don't think so. Will try to get closer to him."

"Skeptic, what is this?" Opportunist quietly asked, but Skeptic's focus was solely on the diary, his voice getting louder and more passionate as he spoke.

"Day Ninety- Opportunist claimed to know a place for peace and quiet, but we quickly got lost in the woods. Opportunist told me that he had everything under control, but this was clearly a lie. He seems to present himself as a very capable person, as if terrified of not being useful."

Skeptic paused to take a deep breath, and his voice wavered as he continued, "But as we kept walking, I kept asking questions, and I realised that Oppy was not who I thought he was at all. He lies because he's scared, but when he's not, he can be-really pleasant to be around. He approaches things differently to me, and I actually quite enjoyed our discussions. I hope to talk to him again soon."

"W-What are you doing?" Opportunist asked. "What are you trying to prove?"

Skeptic wiped a cheek with his palm as he kept reading. "Day one hundred and fifty- I'm not sure what this nervousness in my chest is about, but it only shows up whenever Oppy is around. Oppy is my friend, and the more I learn about him, the more I'm fascinated with him. His ideas, his actions, his smile- there's just something about Oppy that pulls me in and never wants to leave his side. I know he's a scared individual, I know that's why he betrays people. He thinks he's so confident, that he needs to be evil to survive- but I've never met someone with a warmer soul. I-I know what this feeling is now."

Opportunist weeped, shaking his head. "No-No, this isn't true-"

"Day four hundred," Skeptic said, his voice devoid of warmth and passion, sounding empty now. "I've made the greatest mistake of my life."

That was when Opportunist realised what day Skeptic was referring to- the day of the fight.

"I thought if I figured everything out, knew about anything that could hurt him, he'd be safe. But the only thing that ended up hurting him was me."

That was why Skeptic had been working so hard? He had been that worried about something happening to Opportunist?

Looking back on it now, it did seem like Skeptic was looking into all possible threats that could happen to them. At the time, Opportunist thought he was just digging too deep, falling back into bad habits- but Skeptic kept talking about keeping the flock safe, which would include Opportunist as well.

"Why did I say that to him?" Skeptic continued, his bottom lip trembling as he read. "I love him so much. Why would I push him away like that? I should've listened to him, should've spent time with him- it would've been so lovely. But instead I hurt him, and I fear I can't undo the damage I've caused. I only hope I can make sure that he still finds happiness after me."

Finally, Skeptic looked up at Opportunist, and then he broke down crying.

"Oppy, I'm so sorry!" he cried, clutching his diary to his chest, and Opportunist felt himself weep with Skeptic, his whole body shaking with grief.

"Oppy, I'm so sorry for saying that to you! You're not useless! You're not selfish! You're the most caring and kindest person I know! You were always there to try and help me, when leaving me alone would've been so much better for you! You wouldn't stop caring about me!"

Skeptic lowered his head in shame, and then dared to inch closer to Opportunist, and all he wanted was to never let Skeptic go.

"Oppy, my love, you are not a monster. You did not trick me into falling in love with you. I knew who you were from the start, the real you, and that's who I fell in love with."

Opportunist cried, and he saw how much it hurt Skeptic to see him in pain. "How do I know?" Opportunist whispered. "How can I be sure-"

"Take this," Skeptic said, and then thrust his diary towards Opportunist. "You can keep it."

"What? Skeptic, I can't." Skeptic never let anybody touch his diary, and he was just giving it to Opportunist?

"Take it," Skeptic said, pushing the diary into his hands. "All of my thoughts are yours to read. I want you to see how I fell for you, how I still see the real you. If I can't have you as my love again, then I at least want you to not think such horrible things about yourself, not when I deserve them."

Numbly, Opportunist lifted the diary up, unsure of how to feel about all of this, but he found himself cautiously opening the diary to a random page, and he gasped at how many times he caught the words 'Oppy' and 'love' in the same sentences.

Opportunist fell to his knees in front of Skeptic, as the realisation hit him.

Opportunist hadn't deceived Skeptic.

Skeptic knew what he was from the very beginning.

He took a deep breath in, and lifted his head to look at Skeptic, and it felt as if the clouds in his mind were finally starting to evaporate.

He gently put the diary down, and whispered, "I need to do one thing to be sure of something."

"Anything," Skeptic whispered back, so Opportunist gently cupped his face, and pressed a soft kiss against his lips.

Immediately, Skeptic sighed into the kiss, but didn't dare touch Opportunist without permission yet, but Opportunist didn't care. All he could focus on was the way his heart was pounding, at how right this felt.

He loved Skeptic. He genuinely fell in love with Skeptic, and Opportunist could never trick his own heart like that.

He pulled back, and looked Skeptic in his regretful, beautiful eyes, and whispered, "I forgive you."

It was as if all the weight escaped from Skeptic then as he sighed in relief, putting his hands on Opportunist's hips. "You do? You really forgive me?"

"I do, love," Opportunist said, tracing his fingers along Skeptic's jawline. "But-But you still hurt me, so you have to earn me back."

"I will," Skeptic said earnest, while nodding his head adorably. "I'll win you back all over again. Everytime."

"I know you will," Opportunist murmured with a smile, then leaned in for another kiss.

They were going to be okay.

[sacharowan]

race standings (post-Chinese Grand Prix 2025 [with penalties])

- LANDO >> 26 + 18 = 44

- MAX >> 24 + 12 = 36

- GEORGE >> 20 + 15 = 35

↑ OSCAR >> 9 + 25 = 34

↓ KIMI >> 14 + 8 = 22

↓ ALEX >> 10 + 6 = 16

↑ ESTEBAN >> 0 + 10 = 10

- LANCE >> 8 + 2 = 10

↓ LEWIS >> 9 + 0 = 9

↓ CHARLES >> 8 + 0 = 8

↓ NICO >> 6 + 0 = 6

↑ OLLIE >> 0 + 4 = 4

↓ YUKI >> 3 + 0 = 3

↑ CARLOS >> 0 + 1 = 1

↑ ISACK >> 0 + 0 = 0

↓ PIERRE >> 0 + 0 = 0

↓ LIAM >> 0 + 0 = 0

↑ JACK >> 0 + 0 = 0

↓ GABRIEL >> 0 + 0 = 0

↓ FERNANDO >> 0 + 0 = 0

[keeps-ache]

there are a couple changes i would make to the keyboard if i could:

wiggly exclamation mark

bleeding heart emoji

varying snake emojis (more poses would be fun)

question mark with a little heart for the dot bc, well,

more explosions

and that is all thank you

[ageless-aislynn]

Friends, my time has come.

I mean, it's a shame there's no option for "you sold me a computer infested with demons and basically your idea of tech support is 'Wow, sucks to be you'" but I made do with what I had. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[whatsagirltoblogabout]

I'm at the conspiracy theory stage of my White Collar hyperfixation.

In the Season 3 premiere (3.01 On Guard), Neal's tie is sliced during a fencing match and he's forced to put on a new one at the WC office. He puts the new tie around his neck, but then takes a file out of the rack on his desk and moves it to a different part of the rack before starting to tie his tie. Does he have a mirror or something hidden in his file rack??? Was this established or hinted at somewhere else, either in the series or in behind the scenes content? And if there isn't a mirror, then WHY DID HE DO THAT???

[talkorsomething]

I really need to ask my brother if [redacted] will take me back or if he can get me an in somewhere else, but ...

[akeaaan]

Changed

Jinu X fem. reader

part2

a/n: I'm obsessed with writing for this man, I swear to god it's not funny anymore, also just a small idea that popped into my mind.

Synopsis:

╰┈➤You were once a feared demon of the underworld—until you turned your back on that life. Branded a traitor, you escaped to the human world and lived quietly in the shadows, blending in among mortals for years. Peace became your new normal. Routine. Safe.

That is, until fate stepped in.

A single encounter with Jinu—the sharp-eyed, silver-tongued leader of the rising idol group Saja Boys—shattered your calm existence.

〃✦ ┆You had everything others could only dream of—fame, wealth, influence. On stage, you were untouchable. Off stage, you were a legend wrapped in mystery. But even with everything, there was one thing you could never truly claim:

Humanity.

Because you weren’t human. Not even close. You were a demon—and not just any demon.

You were Gwi Ma’s daughter, the feared and merciless Demon King who ruled the underworld with blood and shadow.

Since your childhood, you served as his spy—sent through the cracks of the Honmoon, infiltrating the human world to gather intelligence and prepare for invasion. It was meant to be temporary, just another mission. But the longer you stayed, the more you saw.

Humanity was nothing like the wastelands of the demon realm. Where your world thrived on pain, theirs held warmth. Where demons tore each other apart, humans sang, cried, danced, and dreamed.

For the first time, you felt something—curiosity, wonder… guilt.

So you turned your back on the underworld.

You became a traitor.

Quietly, carefully, you aided the hunters from the shadows—feeding them information, sabotaging your father's forces. And when the day came, you were there among them, cloaked and unseen, helping to seal the Honmoon and trap your kind behind it.

No one knew.

No one ever could.

You fled. You ran from your father’s wrath, scouring every shady shaman’s store in the country, collecting protection charms, sealing talismans—anything that could shield you. And somehow, through luck or fate, you survived.

Five lives. Five hundred years. Each life, quieter than the last—until this one.

Now, you were Y/N—a rising soloist, known for her fierce performances and a haunting stage presence that no one could explain. People whispered that you were descended from a 90s screen legend—not knowing that legend was just one of your old lives.

And for once, you were at peace.

You watched from a distance as the Huntrix, the newest generation of demon hunters, proudly took up the mantle. They didn’t need your help. The Honmoon stayed sealed. The world was safe. You were safe.

Or so you thought…

Until he showed up.

Until that damned boy walked into your life with a smirk, a wink, and smile that somehow defied the laws of shame.

Jinu.

Of all the people… it had to be Jinu of the Saja Boys.

You knew something was off from the beginning. The moment their debut track “Soda Pop” exploded online, your gut screamed that it wasn’t just another rookie group rising through the ranks.

That stupid, sugar-coated song had the internet wrapped around its finger in hours. Every scroll through social media was torture—fan edits, dance challenges, streaming parties. Their bubblegum anthem was everywhere.

“Motherfuckers had it easy,” you muttered under your breath, eye twitching as you sat in your penthouse suite, high above the city. Your jaw clenched tighter with every swipe of your phone. That cursed chorus echoed over and over like a broken record.

With a sharp snap, the screen cracked beneath your grip—your superhuman strength getting the best of you again. You let out a heavy sigh and pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose, trying to calm your fraying nerves.

It only got worse.

You had the misfortune of crossing paths with them at the “Play Games With Us” variety show. You were just backstage, minding your business, your manager trailing behind you and raving about the episode’s record-breaking views.

“Your segment went viral, again! The fans are loving it—especially that part when you snapped the controller in half!” your manager beamed, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you.

And then—you saw them.

The Saja Boys. Walking straight in your direction, faces glowing under the stage lights, laughter echoing like they didn’t have a care in the world. You stood taller, lifting your chin with unshakable pride, refusing to let them rattle you.

But just as you passed their leader, Jinu, something happened.

Your fingers brushed for a split second—barely a touch.

And your blood turned to ice.

A sharp sting burned up your arm as your demon mark responded instantly, crawling from your skin like it had been awoken. You froze mid-step.

So did Jinu.

His body stiffened. His eyes widened. There was no mistaking it. He felt it too.

Your mark flared beneath your sleeve before dulling to a low pulse, as if unsure whether to attack or retreat. Panic surged in your chest, but you kept your face blank, eyes forward, breaths shallow.

“No…” you whispered, so quiet it was almost soundless.

You didn’t dare turn around.

You knew—without question—Jinu was staring at your back with the same haunted look you wore now.

Your manager kept walking, still rambling. But your heartbeat was loud enough to drown everything else out. The mark faded… but the damage was done.

Something ancient had just awakened.

And you knew, deep down— This wasn’t over.

You let out a weary sigh as you sat perched on the edge of a quiet rooftop in the outskirts of the city, where the old hanok-style houses still stood. The moon hung high, casting a cold silver light over the curved roofs and narrow alleys. It was deep into the night—no footsteps, no noise. Just silence. Peace.

Peace… at least for now.

Far from the crowded districts, away from the suffocating presence of human souls—the very essence your demon self constantly hungered for—you could finally breathe without temptation gnawing at your will.

“A demon playing idol in the human world… how poetic,” a voice murmured behind you, smooth and laced with dry amusement. You heard the soft thud of footsteps land gently on the tiled roof behind you.

You didn’t bother to turn around. “Says the one doing the same thing,” you replied, your tone flat.

The voice chuckled lowly. “True. But unlike you, I haven’t stayed this long.”

You stiffened. Just those words were enough to hint at his purpose.

So... it was finally time.

You clenched your fists, jaw tightening. “If he sent you to bring me back to that hellhole,” you muttered, “tell Gwi Ma I'd rather die on this rooftop than crawl back to him.”

Your eyes flicked to the side, and there he was—Jinu. Standing there with his hands tucked into the pockets of a black and gray hoodie, his expression unreadable. One eyebrow raised, clearly thrown off by your sudden declaration.

You exhaled through your nose, pushing yourself up to stand, brushing dust from your pants. “Don’t play dumb,” you said, facing him properly now. “You’re here on Gwi Ma’s orders, aren’t you? To take more souls for his pathetic little collection.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “That old fart just doesn’t know when to quit.”

Jinu blinked, visibly stunned—not just by what you said, but by the fact you said it so openly. No fear. No hesitation. As if speaking about the demon king was no different than mocking some washed-up manager.

“You—” he started, then hesitated, eyes narrowing. “You really aren’t scared of him anymore.”

You looked him dead in the eye. “I stopped fearing him the day I tasted freedom.”

You turned slightly, eyes locked on the distant city lights glittering below the rooftop. The cold wind brushed against your face, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness in your voice.

"He's been trying that for years," you muttered. "And look where it got him—still trapped in that rotting world. What makes him think this time will be any different?"

Jinu shifted behind you, about to speak. You didn’t even turn.

"Don't even think for one damn second that I'll help you," you cut in coldly.

Jinu closed his mouth, jaw tightening. Silence hung between you before he finally asked in a quiet voice, "H-How... how have you lived this long?"

You let out a sharp laugh, the sound laced with exhaustion and mockery.

"Like hell I’d tell you."

Then, in a blink, your scythe was unsheathed—its blackened blade gleaming in the moonlight, already hovering near Jinu’s throat. Your eyes narrowed as you stepped closer, weapon steady.

"I should kill you right now," you said lowly. "Save the hunters the trouble."

Jinu's lips twitched into a bitter grin. "A demon... siding with hunters? That’s new."

You pressed the blade closer, enough for him to feel the chill of death breathing down his neck.

"I don’t side with anyone," you said, voice sharp as steel. "I work for myself."

Another step forward. You loomed over him now, gaze burning with centuries of fury and grief.

"I've watched this world rise and fall for hundreds of years. You think I'll let you tear it all down just so my corpse of a father can claw his way out and devour everything that still breathes?"

You shook your head, disgust flickering across your face.

"What did he promise you, huh? Power? Freedom?" Your voice dropped, dangerous now. "You really think he’ll give you what you want?"

You tilted your head slowly, voice venomous with finality.

"You're nothing but a pawn, Jinu. And if you keep playing his game... you'll die like one."

"Your father… is Gwi Ma," he said, voice low—almost afraid to say it aloud.

Your heart skipped. Eyes widened. You stiffened in place, cursing yourself internally for letting the truth slip. But it didn’t matter now. The damage was done. The truth was out.

Jinu's gaze dropped to his trembling hands. As your weapon shimmered and faded into the shadows, his fingers began to glow with a familiar, ominous hue—those same violet markings you had seen too many times before.

"He said... he’d take them away," Jinu whispered, eyes fixated on the marks. "The memories."

You let out a long, tired breath, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose.

"And you believed him?" you muttered, the weight of exhaustion and disappointment heavy in your tone.

A silence hung between you, thick with unspoken things. Then, with reluctance weighing every step, you moved closer to him.

Jinu’s brows furrowed in confusion. His body tensed instinctively, unsure of your intentions.

You raised your hands halfway to his face, then paused.

"Can I?" you asked softly, voice quieter now—gentler.

He hesitated, gaze searching yours for a moment before he gave a small nod.

You took it as permission.

Your palms cupped his face. Slowly, you leaned forward until your forehead rested against his. You closed your eyes. A familiar tingling crept into your hands as your power activated—dark purple mist curling from your skin, winding its way into Jinu's.

He inhaled sharply, but didn’t pull away.

You exhaled shakily, then drew back, turning away from him as the mist dissipated.

"There," you said, voice low. "He won’t bother you—for a few hours, at least."

A beat passed. Then:

"Did you just... seal him?" Jinu asked, stunned.

You didn’t turn around.

“Temporarily,” you said, your voice dropping lower, the word hanging in the air like a reluctant farewell.

There was a pause. A beat of silence filled with things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. When you finally spoke again, it was softer—strained, like it hurt to admit.

“…It’s the best I can do right now.”

You didn’t look back.

Your figure melted into the shadows, leaving behind only the echo of your presence and the cold wind brushing across the rooftop.

Jinu stood there, unmoving. His brows furrowed, heart pounding, mind reeling.

a/n: I really need more of him pleaseeeeee

part2

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Show a Character Who Believes They’re the Villain in Everyone Else’s Story

╰ Behavioral Red Flags

They assume the worst intentions in themselves, even when they act out of love. They brought you coffee? Probably just guilt. They helped you move? Must be manipulating you so you "owe" them later. (They just care. But they can't believe that's true.)

They over-apologize for existing. You bump into them and somehow they’re the ones apologizing, looking like they've personally inconvenienced your entire bloodline.

They self-monitor everything. Every joke they make. Every word they say. Every look they give. Constant little glances at people's faces, desperate for signs that they’ve messed up again.

They let people treat them badly because they think they deserve it. Rudeness? Sure. Being overlooked? Of course. Public humiliation? Absolutely par for the course. Standing up for themselves feels wrong, like a thief demanding a refund.

They preemptively distance themselves when things get good. Got a close friendship brewing? Time to pull away before they find out I'm terrible. New romance? Better end it now before they hate me.

They assume jokes about "bad people" are secretly about them. "You know those selfish jerks who never change?" someone says. Their inner monologue: That’s me. They mean me.

They play up their flaws. Self-deprecating humor, but not cute self-roasting, deep, almost aggressive, like they’re trying to hand you the knife before you even think about stabbing.

They struggle to accept forgiveness. Apologizing feels natural. Being forgiven feels alien. Like wearing shoes on the wrong feet.

╰ Thought Patterns That Wreck Them

"Even when I try to do the right thing, I mess it up." Trying doesn't absolve them. Trying just delays the inevitable hurt they’ll cause someone else."People are nice to me because they don't know who I really am." Kindness isn't acceptance to them — it's a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode when the "truth" comes out.

"If someone is angry at me, they must be right." They don't even question it. Anger directed at them must be justified. They deserve it.

"If I succeed, it's by accident. If I fail, it's because I suck." Zero credit for wins. Full credit for losses. The math of their self-esteem is so rigged it should be illegal.

"If I ask for help, I'm manipulating people." Needing something feels like emotional blackmail in their mind. Better to suffer in silence than risk "forcing" someone to care.

╰ The Tiny Physical Tells

Laughing after their own serious statements, as if to soften the blow of speaking honestly.

Keeping their hands visible when talking (subconscious "I'm not a threat" behavior).

Flinching when someone raises their voice, even if it’s not directed at them.

Making themselves physically smaller—shoulders hunched, arms crossed, shrinking into themselves like they can disappear if they just try hard enough.

Dropping eye contact when complimented.

Holding their breath without realizing it when waiting for someone's reaction.

╰The Relationships They Gravitate Toward (And Why):

Fixer-Upper Friendships: They think they have to earn affection by being useful, by helping, by being "the strong one."

Unbalanced Dynamics: They let people use them because "at least I'm being helpful, even if they don't actually care about me."

Romantic Partners Who Validate Their Worst Fears: They often fall for people who treat them like they’re a burden—because it matches the script in their head.

Or... Relationships That Terrify Them: Because if someone genuinely loves them, they’re always waiting for the moment that person "wakes up" and sees the "monster" they believe themselves to be.

╰ How They Might Heal (If They’re Lucky)

(And if the author isn’t an emotional sadist. 👀)

A relationship where mistakes are allowed, not punished.

Someone calling them out, not for being bad, but for being unkind to themselves.

Tiny acts of trust that stick over time, slowly poisoning the idea that they’re inherently toxic.

Learning that being flawed and being villainous are not the same damn thing.

Being told, over and over, "You don't have to earn love by being perfect."

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤA DATE WITH MY BOYFRIEND'S GAY BROTHER * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where at the Charlotte, NC show of the Sturniolo Triplets Surprise Party Tour, the surprise revealed by Nick is a date with Y/N, Matt's girlfriend.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader || Nick Sturniolo x best friend!reader　　　　　　　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The big screen flicked for a millisecond before showing the banner with 'SURPRISE' written in big white letters, making the entire venue buzz.

On stage, the two orange couches sat like home, like that warm familiarity everyone already associated with the boys after three shows in a row.

Matt and Chris sat side by side on the right couch, Matt with his legs crossed and hands holding a mug, while Chris leaned comfortably against two cushions.

Y/N, whose eyes shined with pride and excitement, sat in her usual front-row center spot, the seat she’d occupied every night since the first show - a spot that the fandom named as her own little throne.

She wore her usual smile, the one that was soft and private when she was thinking about Matt, but also smug and knowing tonight, because this surprise... she knew exactly what it was.

The screen above the boys flickered again to show a countdown before finally transmitting them dressed up in suits, taking a collective inhale from the audience.

And then it finally stopped, fading into a crisp video of Nick standing in front of a camera, looking directly into it while adjusting his tie. The second he gave a crooked little smile, the entire theater erupted in cheers.

"I’m terrified." Nick's voice came from the mic in a singsong tone, scrunching his nose. "This is my first one."

Chris and Matt smiled widely, watching Nick's excitement as he explained the dynamics of the live broadcast channel and the hint he was going to show to the public.

As the crowd cheered louder, Matt and Chris got up from their current spots, changing to where Nick was seconds before while Nick himself made his way to one of the prop shelves on stage, reaching inside it.

His hand came back holding a single rose. Deep red, long stem, elegant as hell.

"A... rose?"

Chris tilted his head, already squinting like he was trying to read Nick’s mind. Matt just blinked at the rose, deeply frowning. Mutual laugh echoed from everyone as Nick made a show of putting the stem between his pink lips.

"Matt." Nick voice sounded muffle before taking the rose off of between his lips. "For you."

Matt cackled, taking it, then turned to the camera and pointed.

"It’s giving Bachelor a little bit. But I don't know."

Chris leaned in, taking it out of Matt’s hand when the middle triplet tilted it in his direction, resting his arm above his popped up knee.

"I’m guessing you went on a date or something."

Nick raised his eyebrows and gave a slow, knowing smirk.

Y/N could barely contain her own. Her right leg was bouncing slightly now, hands gripping each other above her jeans covered thighs like she was physically holding in the excitement.

"Alright, let’s have one person in the crowd to take a guess." Nick turned to the crowd.

Cheers. Screams. Hands flying into the air.

"One of the crew’s out there with a mic, they’ll pick someone. Choose wisely, we’re trusting you."

The spotlight scanned the crowd for a moment before it settled three rows behind Y/N. A mic was handed to a girl with long dark and a white shirt, trembling hands holding her phone and the mic.

"Hello! What’s your name?" Nick asked, the mic still in his hand, voice soft and sweet.

"Harlow." She said, a little breathlessly.

"Nice to meet you." Nick said, stretching his body above the cushions. "What do you think I did completely by myself, without Matt and Chris?"

She paused. A deep breath.

"You got a boyfriend?"

The crowd exploded in cheers, Matt and Chris laughing while holding up the rose. They knew that it wasn't that. I mean, they would know if it was. Right?

Y/N was laughing behind her hand, affectionately rolling her eyes with how Matt turned in his seat to look at her, silently mouthing 'WHAT IF IT’S TRUE?', and she just smiled, shaking her head.

Just you wait.

Nick turned back to the camera, now walking toward the empty couch again. He plopped down onto it, casually crossing one leg over the other.

"I hope you are all entertained." He started again. "And unfortunately, there’s a lack of a man in this surprise..." He paused, eyes gleaming. "BUT, let’s get into it and see what I actually did."

The big screen turned black for a second. A heartbeat passed.

Y/N inhaled, smile stretching wider.

The screen lit up with a soft, white light. The camera was steady on one very familiar hallway: the upstairs floor by Nick’s bedroom, right outside of it. There, standing right in front of the plain white wall, back straight, and plastic bottle of water in hand, was Nick.

Except, something about him looked... off. Not off in a bad way. Just... different.

And Matt, who had been watching the screen in full chill-mode, arms folded loosely, mic resting in his lap, squinted.

Because Nick looked exactly like him.

The jeans were wide-leg, same wash, same stitching, same fit Matt had been wearing during their trip to Milan a few months back - the pair that always sat too low on his hips unless he wore the belt that squeaked when you pulled it tight. He had on a black leather jacket zipped up halfway to the neck, and even though it covered most of the shirt underneath, Matt could already tell from the slightly bunched collar that it was one of his whites. The expensive kind. The kind he only let hang-dry. And the shoes?

Nick's body shifted ever so slightly, and Matt's confirmation was right there.

On Nick’s feet were Matt's black Prada loafers. The ones he was gifted by Prada itself.

Matt narrowed his eyes, eyebrows pulling slightly together as he leaned toward his mic, raised it to his lips, and with voice low but sharp enough to carry through the speakers, he asked.

"Is that my clothes?"

But Video-Nick’s voice just kept going, twisting the cap off the water bottle in his hand and taking a long sip before exhaling.

"I am so nervous." He said, eyes darting to the side for a second before returning to the lens. "Actually, that’s not true. I feel confident. I feel happy. And excited."

Chris snorted under his breath beside Matt, but Matt didn’t even look at him, didn’t move his eyes away from the screen. Brow furrowed, head tilted just slightly to the right with his mic still half-raised, resting lazily against his lower lip, but he didn’t say anything else. Yet.

"For this tour surprise." Nick kept going, stepping forward slightly so the camera picked up the shine on the leather of his - Matt's - jacket. "I decided I’m gonna do something that I have never done before."

Another pause.

"You’re probably asking yourself, 'Nick, what have you never done before?'" Nick continued, gesturing to the lens with the bottle. "And don’t worry. I’m about to tell you."

Chris's brows rose ever so slightly.

"Today, I'm going on a date."

The moment that word left his mouth, the theater shifted. Screams bounced around the walls, and every pair of shoulders jolted forward at the exact same time.

And then Nick's voice echoed again.

"But not with a man." He added, a twinkle in his eye. "I’ve never been on a date with a woman in my life, and it's happening today." He said, water bottle swinging from one hand. "Which, for me, is kinda crazy. Especially when you think about how me, Matt and Chris are literally the most emotionally avoidant men on YouTube. We don’t talk about this stuff. We don’t share this stuff."

Matt nodded sideways. Half truth.

"And yes, I am clearly a gay person." He went on. "So, this isn’t the beginning of some tragic reality where I go into conversion therapy. Absolutely not."

The audience snorted. Chris laughed out loud and dropped his head onto the back of the couch dramatically.

"But as a self-proclaimed gay best friend to many women." He said. "It occurred to me that if I’m gonna be giving them relationship advice, and dragging the men they date through the mud - which I will continue to do - then I need to know what I’m talking about. To have the certainty that I would, in fact, be a better boyfriend and man than whatever nonsense they’re dealing with."

And that’s when Matt’s brows twitched up again, this time with something behind his eyes.

Because Nick was smiling now.

Smiling that smile. The proud one. The one that only meant he was about to do something that absolutely no one ever thought that he would do.

"And as much as I may not like dating women." He said, shoulders rising with his grin. "I found the perfect ideal woman to share my first date with."

A long pause.

"And her name is Y/N L/N."

The theater cracked open with noise, a full screaming chaos.

Matt’s mouth dropped open.

His hand slowly went up to the mic, almost in slow motion.

"WHAT?"

The audience laughed harder.

Chris had thrown his head back, laughing so loud it echoed.

"Oh my God."

Matt blinked a few times, still watching the screen even though he wasn’t paying attention to anything Nick kept saying, then turned his head toward the audience.

"There’s no way. There’s no way."

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees, soft blue eyes meeting Y/N’s.

"Nick thinks he’s gonna take my girl on a date and be a better man than me?" He asked, feigning dramatic disbelief.

Loud laughs echoed from the crowd while Y/N only watched her boyfriend with the widest smile, crossing her arms in front of her stomach, lazily shrugging.

Matt shook his head with the most dramatic eye-roll and leaned back in his seat.

"That’s my Prada jacket." He muttered into the mic, aggressively pointing at the screen. "And she's now apparently his date."

The video cut for a millisecond before Nick appeared again. In his hands, he held a bouquet of pink lilies - huge, fresh, wrapped in parchment-like paper, and tied with a silky pale ribbon that fluttered a bit when he moved.

"First step and it's already something that makes me a better boyfriend than all the boyfriends in the market, is that I'm showing up with flowers."

The flowers were beautiful. Soft pink petals curling outward like open arms, green stems still dewy.

"Obviously, pink lilies. She’s obsessed. And I don't know this just ‘cause I've heard her talking about it many times before, but because Matt literally never shuts the fuck up about how she likes this color, that flower, how she hates yellow roses and loves lilies ‘cause of the smell, the texture, the aesthetic... I could write a thesis on this girl’s floral preferences."

A gentle ripple of laughter ran through the theater. A few girls leaned into each other smiling, and a couple of people tilted their heads with soft little "aww"s.

On the orange chair, Matt blinked slowly, and then tilted his head back with a grin that couldn’t quite decide if it was amused or if he was just realizing how often he talked about Y/N without even noticing. Chris gave him a light nudge with his elbow, watching Matt shaking his head, laughing quietly, resting his cheek against his fist.

Then, in a single flicker of an edit, the video jumped forward.

"Okay, I'm going down now." Nick’s voice echoed in a hushed whisper, the camera following him from his right hand as he came down the winding staircase, kneeling down at the middle landing, right where the stairs turned, and left the bouquet there.

The video cut again, smooth and still steady, now framing the living room. Y/N was sitting on the cream-colored couch, legs crossed, her dress flowing around her knees in gentle waves. She had her phone in her hand, and she was scrolling with one finger, nails painted the exact color of dried roses.

"He-ey." Nick entered the shot again, adjusting the camera quickly as he placed it above the coffee table, tilting it just enough to frame both of them.

Y/N looked up, and her whole face lit up like the sun. Her smile came fast and wide, eyes sparkling even more than the subtle shimmer dusted across her cheekbones.

"Oh my God, hi!" She beamed at the camera. "Hi, people!"

Matt smiled quietly at her reaction, fingertips meeting the golden commitment ring decorating his left hand.

Nick turned to Y/N onscreen and grinned.

"Got something for you. Don’t move." He said, pointing at her with mock-seriousness.

She pressed her lips together, nodding like she was holding in a laugh.

"Okay, okay. I’ll be good."

As soon as he turned away toward the stairs, she glanced at the camera again, her eyes wide with playful disbelief. She leaned in just slightly, bringing her hand to the side of her mouth as if whispering to the camera.

"He's such a gentleman, right?"

A few girls in the audience audibly awww’d under their breath followed by a scoffed "yeah, right" coming from Matt.

Back on screen, Nick returned with the bouquet in hand, a gentle smile still on his face, holding it out to her like it was something fragile. Y/N’s mouth fell open, and then she gasped, eyebrows raising as she reached for it.

"Are you serious?" She said, her voice that high-pitched kind of delighted. "Oh my God- Nick!"

He handed it to her, and she buried her face in it for a second, eyes fluttering closed with the sweet smell of lillies. When she looked up at him again, there was a soft, wonderstruck little smile on her lips.

"How did you know pink lilies were my favorite?"

Nick tilted his head a bit, giving her a look that was fond and offended in the softest way.

"You really asking me that?"

Y/N laughed, the sound bubbling out of her. She shook her head as she leaned toward him, wrapping her arms around his middle in a hug. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he smiled while squeezing her back, resting his cheek on top of her head for a beat before taking a step back.

Matt let out a slow breath through his nose, blinking.

"Oh wow." He raised his eyebrows to the crowd, voice echoing from his mic.

"Kid really took your girl from you." Chris giggled a little, slapping a hand over Matt's thighs.

Matt shook his head like he couldn’t even process it.

"Yeah. You’re telling me he wore my shirt, my jacket, my loafers, brought my girl pink lilies, and hugged her like that?"

He laughed to himself, dramatically leaning back in his seat and covering his mouth with his fist for a moment before looking at Chris, defeated.

"Nah, I can’t compete with that, bro." He said into the mic, totally deadpan. "He’s literally the better man. I give up. The man brought her lilies. I barely even water the lilies I give her."

Everyone cracked up.

Video-Y/N then turned and started walking toward the kitchen table on the opposite end of the room.

"I’m gonna leave these over here and promise I’ll put them in a vase when we’re back, okay?" Her shoes clicked softly on the floor, and as she passed the camera still recording them from the coffee table, she glanced at it with the gentlest smile.

"Don’t forget." Nick called out, followed by her voice, 'Never!'.

Once she reached the kitchen table, she carefully set the bouquet down in the center before turning back around, her arms now free, and looked over at Nick with this childlike little grin on her face.

"So... what are the plans for our date?" She asked, tilting her head, the corner of her mouth tugging up even higher.

Nick let out a short laugh, rolling his eyes.

"I’m taking you to lunch. It’s a surprise, though... Well, not that much of a surprise since you’re gonna have to drive because someone." He said, pointing to himself dramatically. "Doesn’t have a license. But I’m putting the address on the GPS, so like... You don't see the restaurant's name."

Y/N blinked. And then snorted. Loudly.

"Wow. Romantic and chauffeur duties. I’m spoiled." She said with this exaggerated eye-roll as she walked over to the couch again, grabbing her purse and then her car keys from the small coffee table, right next to where the camera was still perched.

"I cannot believe you just told me that I'm a terrible date." He gasped, hand to his chest like she’d just stabbed him in the heart, reaching over and picking up the camera with one hand, rearranging it on his hands so it could keep filming her as she slung her purse over her shoulder.

Y/N raised both brows as she walked toward the front door.

"I didn't, but if the shoe fits..." She mumbled under her breath with a smirk, not even turning around.

The screen cut abruptly with a soft pop. When it came back on, they were already in Y/N’s car. The camera was above the dashboard, framing both of them perfectly from the passenger and driver’s seat.

Nelly Furtado’s "Say It Right" played in the background, just loud enough to be heard over the gentle hum of traffic through the closed windows. Y/N had her hands on the wheel, sunglasses on, her mouth mouthing part of the chorus.

Nick leaned back against the seat after making sure that the camera was recording.

"Okay, so we’re on our way." He said, voice smooth. "Probably almost there, and Y/N hasn't complained about not knowing where we're going not even once."

"Do I have an option?" She cut in, raising one brow without taking her eyes off the road.

Nick grinned, shaking his head.

"No."

Y/N turned her head just slightly toward the camera, her lips curling up with this sly glint in her eye.

"So that's how it feels like to be Matt." She teased, lifting her hand from the steering wheel to move it around, indicating the driver's seat and the camera.

Nick cracked up instantly, his laugh loud and sudden.

"Yeah, but he's usually quieter."

"Hey!" Matt shook his head with a half-smile, hiding it behind his mic. "That was rude, Nick."

"Oh, shut up."

The video kept rolling.

Nick glanced toward Y/N, the sound of the turn signal clicking as she slowed near a red stop sign.

"So, am I doing good? Like, for a first date? How’s this holding up against all your past ones?"

Y/N slowed the car and gave him the most incredulous look.

"Nick. Literally... Matt was my only first date ever."

Nick blinked like his brain had short-circuited for a second.

"Oh my god. I forgot that you guys are, like... literal high school sweethearts." He said, squinting at her. "Like, you’ve been together since you were fifteen. That’s wild."

Y/N nodded.

"And you’re still winning the first date contest." She said with a small shrug, tossing him a look that was half playful, half sincere.

Nick smiled smugly.

"I knew it. I knew I was the man. I am the man."

"Okay, straight man." She said with a snort, rolling her eyes again, but grinning wide as the light turned green and she stepped on the gas. "Sounding just like Taylor Swift right now."

Nick leaned forward toward the camera.

"Someone put that on a t-shirt. 'I Am the Straight Man'."

Y/N was still giggling.

"You should create merch with that." She said through a breath. "But like, my first date with Matt was cute too, okay? He planned this whole picnic thing at our neighborhood park, and he brought that one book I was obsessed with and read it out loud to me while we sat under the big tree near the swings. And he made Mary Lou help him cook pasta salad in a mason jar. I still have the jar back in Boston."

Nick melted visibly, slouching against the seat with a hand over his heart.

"You guys are disgustingly adorable."

"They are, aren't they?" Chris chuckled from the couch, shaking his head while pressing the mic against his bottom lip, turning his head to Matt just to see him looking down at Y/N, who blew a kiss to him, causing his ears to turn into a pinkish hue.

The screen cut for a second again, and now they were at the restaurant.

The camera was slightly tilted, clearly propped up on the table against something - maybe a water glass or the pepper shaker - because the angle was a little off-center, catching more of Y/N than Nick.

The lighting was warm and golden due to the afternoon hour. Behind them, there were plants hanging from the ceiling, twinkle lights twisted around exposed wooden beams, and the soft murmur of background chatter and clinking forks.

The plates in front of them were full of pasta. Y/N’s was some creamy, tomatoey mix with melted cheese bubbling on top, while Nick's was a simple Mac n' Cheese.

The camera cut in right as Y/N was mid-bite, talking around her fork.

"... but I told him, like, if you say one more word about this shit in front of me while I’m reading-"

Nick was already laughing as Y/N pointed her fork at him dramatically.

"I’m serious! He ruined the book ending three chapters early." She said, shaking her head, but there was a grin tugging at her mouth. "He was like, 'well obviously the main character isn’t gonna die', and I was just sitting there, waiting for my next class, like... wow. Thanks for nothing."

Nick put his hand up.

"In his defense, the man was clearly not gonna die. He had 80 pages left and a dog to save. You told me this before."

"But that’s the whole point! The tension!" She said, laughing as she stabbed her pasta dramatically and took another bite. "Ugh, straight men are dumb."

Nick snorted.

"That’s homophobic."

Y/N almost choked on her bite, laughing into her napkin as she wiped the corner of her mouth.

"Okay, fine, not all straight men. Just ninety percent of them."

The camera then caught Nick leaning slightly into the frame, his fork twirling through his pasta as he pointed it at her.

"Okay, but be honest. Out of all the pasta in LA... this one’s still the best? Because I need to know that I choose right."

Y/N didn’t even hesitate. She chewed one last bite, swallowed, and placed her fork down.

"The best." She said, eyes wide as if to make a point. "If I was ever on death row- which, like, I hope I’m not, but if I was, this is my last meal. No question."

Nick nodded solemnly.

"Noted. Putting it in your file."

"Thank you, you do that."

He smiled, resting his chin in his hand for a second like he was just watching her.

"You’ve brought Matt here before, right?"

"Duh." She said, gesturing vaguely with her hand. "He actually found this place on TikTok like, two years ago, and he knows how obsessed I am with pasta, so it was easy to love here."

Nick grinned.

"Pasta is the best meal ever."

"I know, right?" She said with a smile so soft it was barely there, but her eyes crinkled at the corners. "We’ve been coming here for date night's and stuff ever since. One time the waiter gave us free tiramisu because Matt told him it was our engagement dinner."

Nick blinked.

"Wait. You’re not even-"

Y/N burst out laughing.

"No, of course not! That’s the thing! We were like nineteen! He just wanted the free dessert."

"Oh my god. Matt having criminal behavior, who would've thought? I love that." Nick said, covering his mouth like he was shocked.

Chris, still curled up on the couch with a throw pillow now half-over his lap, glanced toward Matt, whose lips were slightly parted in that soft half-smile. His arms were crossed, head tilted slightly before moving his mic to his lips.

"The dessert was worth the lie, guys."

Screen-Y/N pointed a fork at Nick with mock seriousness.

"If you add me eating on the video and I get messages about how messy I eat pasta, I’m blaming you." She said, laughing as she twirled another bite.

Nick rolled his eyes.

"I only capture the truth, Ratatouille."

"Ratatouille." Chris’s voice came from his mic, cutting in half with laughter that seemed to bounce in the walls. His body dramatically moved to a sitting position on the couch, looking at Nick with the widest smile. "That was such a good one, Nick."

Nick just affectionately rolled his eyes at his brother. Chris really thought that he was the funniest person in the world.

"Way to treat a woman on the first date, Nick." Matt snorted.

The video cut again.

Now they were outside, the soft sound of wind rustling through trees and birds chirping layered under the video. The camera was balanced on Y/N's purse, and slightly tilted but perfectly catching the scene.

They were sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket in the middle of a park. A soft purple print spread under them, surrounded by open gel pens, markers, and two thick coloring books - big, chunky Bobbie Goods ones with rounded pages and pastel covers.

"Shut up- no way you guys got Bobbie Goods!" Matt's voice sounded high-pitched, his eyes running directly to Y/N's. "We were planning on buying those to color it together."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it." Y/N yelled from the first row so they could hear her from the stage, shrugging. "It was for a date, you know?"

Matt scoffed, looking at Nick, who simply ignored him, keeping his eyes on the screen.

Video-Nick reached toward the camera, adjusting it a little to make sure they were both still in frame, and gave a casual smile to the lens before speaking low and relaxed.

"Okay, so we stopped by this tiny bookstore a couple blocks from the restaurant, and they finally had these Bobbie Goods books that Y/N’s been, like, dying to get her hands on for weeks." He said, gesturing lazily with the blue pen in his hand. "She’s been checking online every day like an obsessed."

Y/N, still focused on the page in front of her, didn’t even look up.

"Lies. I checked every other day."

Nick laughed.

"Same thing."

He held up the coloring book to the camera for a second, the page half-filled with a very dramatic-looking bear wearing green sunglasses.

"So, naturally, we bought two of ‘em. And also... like. Sixty pens." He turned to look at the rainbow explosion of pens inside the small black bag.

"No exaggeration at all." Chris muttered inside the mic, giggling.

"You know that the bag comes with sixty, right?" Matt looked at him with raised brows, scoffing with how Chris just waved him off.

"Oh, and we also got ice cream." Video-Nick added, turning the camera a little more to show their cups. "Y/N got this vanilla-strawberry flavor with rainbow sprinkles, because she’s a little kid-"

"Excuse you." Y/N interrupted, finally glancing up. "It's called taste."

"And I got chocolate oreo. Obviously superior."

In the theater, Chris chuckled, arms folded.

"Okay, but like, he’s not wrong. Chocolate oreo hits every time."

"I will have to agree with it." Matt smiled, purposefully ignoring Y/N's devastating look at him.

Before Nick could say anything else, Y/N leaned a little to the side, catching a glimpse of his page.

"Why is your bear wearing green sunglasses?"

Nick blinked.

"Because he’s a cool bear." He said without missing a beat, eyes flicking back to the coloring book like it was obvious.

Y/N giggled.

"That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen."

"Excuse me, he has style." Nick shot back, finally glancing at her with wide eyes.

Y/N flipped a page in her own coloring book, revealing a page full of tiny mushrooms with smiley faces.

"Mine is objectively better."

"This one's going to our fridge. 'You still have it?" Matt turned so he could look at Y/N, gently smiling with the way her head moved up and down with excitement.

Video-Nick leaned over slightly to peek, squinting like he was analyzing it.

"Okay, it looks cute. I’ll give you that."

A pause, the sound of Nick's pen brushing over paper echoing.

Then Y/N made a soft noise and peeked into Nick’s ice cream cup.

"Can I try yours?"

Nick didn’t hesitate, just picked it up and handed it over without even looking.

"Knock yourself out."

Y/N took his spoon full of oreo ice cream and took a bite, the softest little noise of approval immediately escaping her throat, head tilting back slightly.

"Okay, that’s good."

Nick just smirked like he knew it would be.

"You want mine?" She asked, already passing her cup over.

"Sure." He said, trading cups without even a blink. Nick took a bite of hers and immediately nodded. "Yours tastes like my childhood."

Y/N blinked.

"What, trauma?"

"No way you just said that, kid." Chris's voiced echoed mixed with a loud giggle, looking down to Y/N with an exasperated gaze.

"Well, she wasn't wrong." Nick shrugged.

Video-Nick nearly choked laughing, ice cream in one hand, and marker in the other.

"Okay, rude. I was gonna say like birthday parties and move nights."

"Oh." She grinned. "Same thing."

They both laughed again, heads a little closer now, their bodies leaning in just slightly.

Y/N scooped another bite from Nick’s ice cream, observing him changing his pen color. A sudden breeze rushed from the trees around them, causing a shudder to run from Y/N's spine to her legs, her hand feeling extra cold with the freezing cup.

"Ugh. I’m cold now..."

Nick didn’t pause his coloring, taking another bite of ice cream.

"You want my jacket?"

"Last romantic man on Earth, I know." Nick muttered against his mic, smiling.

Y/N’s eyes snapped up, her face lighting up immediately.

"Yes please."

Nick sat up, his now free hands meeting the top of his - not actually his - leather jacket, unzipping it and handing it over. Y/N smiled gratefully and pulled it around herself without even thinking, snuggling into it like it was the coziest thing on Earth, inhaling Matt's and Nick's mixed perfumes. She tucked the sleeves over her hands and tilted her head with a grin.

"Thanks." She said, then glanced at the camera with a glint in her eyes. "This is Matt’s jacket, by the way. His perfume is still here. I don't think he washed it since Milan."

In the theater, everyone cracked up, some "ew's" echoing with the last part.

Matt blinked.

"That’s not true, I washed all of our clothes from that trip as soon as we got back and you know it." He pointed at Y/N with raised eyebrows before squinting his blue eyes, watching her playfully pretending to ignore him.

The video cut again and this time, the lighting was low and warm, the sun had fully dipped, and the only light came from the soft overhead bulbs inside Y/N’s car.

The camera was wedged on the dashboard, the lens slightly angled toward the two of them inside her car. You could hear the faint beep... beep... beep of the car backing into their garage, followed by the slow whir of the gate closing.

Y/N was mid-sentence, hands loosely on the steering wheel.

"... so you would have a different shirt for every single show, you know? Like, just plain shirts with something different written on each one." She said, eyes flicking between the mirror and Nick. "Could be something funny, something iconic from the city, something random..."

Nick blinked, then broke into a slow grin.

"Wait... that’s actually a really good idea."

Y/N smiled proudly, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

"Right?!"

Nick gave a single, very approving nod.

"I’m doing it. You just became my tour stylist."

"She is amazing, huh?" In the theater, Matt softly mumbled, earning a quiet chuckle from Chris beside him.

"Amazing and demanding." Nick complement. "I had to do two of each shirt so she could match with me."

Video-Nick reached over, picked up the camera, and flipped it to face him.

"Okay, so we’re back home now." He said, the light from the dashboard casting a soft glow across his face. "And before this perfect date ends, I have one more surprise for Y/N."

Y/N turned to him, eyes wide, a hand already on the key, the car now parked.

"There’s more?"

Nick nodded.

"Just one last thing. You ready?"

She turned the key, the engine turned off, and the whole car dimmed into quiet.

"Let’s go." She smiled, already cracking her door open.

They got out at the same time, Y/N bouncing on her feet as she waited for Nick to catch up before she pressed the car remote to lock it with a little beep-beep.

The camera cut to Nick holding it up now, slightly shaky from his movements as he trailed behind Y/N up the stairs from the garage to the main floor of the house.

"Oh my God!" Y/N visibly flinched and let out a little squeak of surprise when she stepped into the living room and saw Matt and Chris already home, lounging on the couch, faces lit up by their phones and the TV playing a random show.

Matt looked up at the sound and smiled so genuinely, like his whole day just got 10x better in one second. His hands immediately tossed his phone beside him on the cushion and sat up, grey hoodie rumpled and his hair a little messy, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times that day.

"Hey, baby." He said softly, voice a little scratchy. "You’re back."

Y/N blinked, laughing from the scare, then lit up.

"You scared me, I thought no one was home yet!"

Chris looked up too, his expression confused for a split second before raising a brow.

"Nick, what the fuck are you doing with the camera?"

Nick, as quickly as possible, turned the camera toward himself and backed up toward the stairs.

"It’s for the next vlog, like, a mini segment- weeks ahead, you know?" He walked as normal as possible to the stairs leading to his bedroom.

But before he disappeared to the stairs, the lens briefly caught Matt patting the space beside him and looking at Y/N with that lazy smile, his arms open.

Y/N dropped her purse by the kitchen table without even acknowledging Nick anymore, beelining for the couch and flopping down next to Matt like it was instinct. She curled up against him immediately, fitting right under his arm like that was her designated spot. He kissed the side of her head like he’d been waiting to do that all day.

"How was your day?" The middle triplet asked, voice low and warm.

Nick's background turned to white as soon as he got to the stairs, the camera lens now pointed toward his own horrified face.

"They weren’t supposed to be back yet, what the hell-"

Up in the theater, everyone was smiling with the real couple's scene. The fans loved when the triplets exposed a bit of Matt's and Y/N's relationship.

Nick was almost at the top of the stairs, still whispering urgently to the camera.

"I swear I thought they’d be home later." He paused. "Also. Pretty sure Chris saw me using Matt's clothes but I’m just gonna pretend he didn’t."

Then, from downstairs, off-screen, Matt's voice echoed loudly.

"Also..." His tone sounded casual. "Why were there flowers on the table when we got back?"

The camera immediately cut to black.

In the theater, everyone cracked up.

Screams. Laughter. Clapping. A few dramatic gasps from fans in the front rows who clearly hadn’t expected this as a surprise for tour.

The second the screams started to fade just enough, Nick leaned forward, gluing his mic to his bottom lip.

"Okay, so before we even say anything about that." He said, waving his free hand around like he needed everyone to pause. "I just feel like... we’re missing someone?"

The crowd was already catching on, shouts of 'Y/N!' were echoing around the arena in random waves.

"I mean, we can’t talk about the date without the actual date." Nick finished, raising his brows at his brothers. "Right?!"

And the screams just went off again.

Chris leaned forward, laughing into his mic.

"Y’all are crazy."

Matt was already smiling so big, shaking his head before meeting one of the security guards eyes stationed by the stairs, giving him a subtle nod, which the man was quick to understand, stepping toward the front row.

Still in her seat, hand half covering her mouth in that shy expression from all the attention, was Y/N, looking at the stage with a gaze that screamed 'you guys are NOT doing this', but she was already standing.

People were cheering, standing halfway up from their chairs, some of them even waving as she passed by with the security as if she was their best friend.

Chris cupped his mic dramatically.

"Be honest... do you guys love Y/N more than us, or-?"

The crowd didn’t even hesitate, they roared.

He winced playfully.

"Wow. I walked right into that."

Matt nodded, completely straight-faced as he spoke into his mic.

"Do you doubt it?"

Another explosion of laughter.

And then Y/N finally climbed the few small steps to the stage with the bodyguard guiding her halfway. She paused right at the top and glanced out at the crowd, her expression cracking into this huge, huge smile, and she lifted both hands and waved at every direction of the theater, her rings shining below the yellow lights.

"HI!!" She shouted into the air like she belonged to the stage.

The crowd? Lost it. Like, genuinely went feral.

Someone screamed "WE LOVE YOU Y/N", and without missing a beat, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted back an "I LOVE YOU TOO!!".

Matt’s head dropped slightly with a laugh, watching her with a proud, full of love, look.

Y/N then finally turned to the boys, walking over to the couch setup, and Chris moved to give her space on the right corner of the couch beside Matt’s chair.

"Alright, sit here." Chris told her, gesturing to the spot.

Y/N dropped onto the couch with a little bounce, immediately tucking one leg under the other, but before she could even settle in fully, Matt reached over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders like it was second nature, pulling her into him so that her upper body was kind of half-laying against his side.

He laced his fingers around her arm, holding her close, and then raised the mic to his mouth.

"So like... how’d you manage to hide a whole date from me that well?"

Y/N burst into giggles, leaning her head back just enough to look up at him.

"I’m just really good at secrets."

Chris was already shaking his head, bringing his own mic up.

"I’m not gonna lie, I’m still dizzy from that whole video."

Nick was laughing too, adjusting in his seat.

"Okay, yeah, what are your takeaways?"

Matt was about to answer, but Y/N was quick to grab his hand holding the mic, her soft skin meeting the cool metal of his commitment ring as she wrapped her own hand around his and dragged the mic toward her lips.

"This was definitely one of the best first dates I’ve ever had." She said into it, smiling like a menace.

Chris let out this little cackle into his mic, the sound mixing with the crowd's yells.

"Kid, you’ve had like, one first date besides this."

She shrugged.

"Still counts."

Nick brought his mic up again, leaning forward dramatically.

"Probably one of the best dates I've been on in my entire life, and it was with a woman."

Y/N beamed at him, visibly proud.

"The best date, thank you very much."

Matt smiled, resting his chin lightly against the top of her head.

"I feel like what’s so funny about this." He said into the mic. "Is that like, we never talk about stuff like this in our videos. Ever. Like, dating or anything romantic... that’s always been off limits for the most part. And you showing a full date to the world was crazy."

Nick held up his hands.

"Honestly, no regrets. It turned out perfect."

Chris nodded, agreeing with him before turning his head to the side, smirking a little while looking between Matt and Y/N.

"Matt, do you, like, feel jealous? At all? That Nick took Y/N out?"

The crowd ooooh’d as if this was some kind of high-school gossip.

But Matt didn’t even hesitate, shaking head.

"Nah. Of course not." He turned slightly, speaking into the mic. "I mean, Nick’s my brother. He’s gay. Y/N’s his best friend. And I’ve watched them do everything together since basically the beginning of time... shopping trips, movie nights out, car trips just to find a diner that serves something they want past midnight. This just felt like... another version of that. Just with... flowers? I guess."

Y/N laughed, her head falling back a little against Matt’s shoulder, bumping his cap slightly before bringing the mic back to her lips.

"It really was so fun. I feel like me and Nick already have our 'besties routine', like, we’re so used to doing stuff together, just the two of us. But this felt... different? In the best way. It actually felt like a date."

Matt looked down at her, that soft glow in his expression like he hadn’t stopped smiling since she walked on stage.

"I’m glad you had fun."

Chris was still laughing, shaking his head.

"I still can’t believe we’re all talking about Nick going on a date with a woman like it’s a press panel."

Nick grinned, turning to the crowd and raising his free hand in the air.

"Welcome to the first ever official 'Sturniolo Triplets Love On Tour'."

Matt snorted.

"Coming to all streaming platforms."

Y/N leaned into the mic one more time.

"Spoiler alert: I’m dating this one." She started, pointing her thumb at Matt. "But I’ll third-wheel Nick anytime."

Nick placed his hand on his chest like he was touched.

"An honor."

The crowd cheered again, louder this time, as the lights dimmed slightly to start the goodbye session, Nick fully turning to the audience and thanking everyone for their presence tonight.

Matt didn’t let go of Y/N’s hand, and she didn’t move from her spot curled against his side, attentively listening to Nick as Chris leaned back in his seat, smiling.

© vanteguccir

[cobaltperun]

Hi, i saw your post about taking requests. Can you write a natasha x fem reader were the reader is taller than her and after a difficult mission nat is just very clingy and doesn't want to let her gf qo so reader just picks her up and wak around like that? Just some cute, adorable natasha feeling bad about what happened at the mission and the reader being there for her, maybe talking about it? But overall fluff

Thanks, feel free to add whatever things you want

I'm right here

Natasha Romanoff x female Reader (Request)

Summary: Following a dangerous mission all Natasha needs right now is to be close to you, and you're more than happy to tend to her needs.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Set between The Avengers and CA: TWS

Static buzzing of your ruined comms forced you to open your eyes as you pulled the damn earpiece out. The stench of burning plastic and burnt skin and blood and suffocating smoke made you groan as you tried to roll onto your back and sit up. Your head felt like it was going to explode and the warm blood slowly trickling from your forehead down the side of your face wasn’t a good sign. Oh, Natasha was going to be so damn pissed off when she sees you. Assuming she even gets to see you again in the first place. “I got this,” you mockingly repeated as you sat up and leaned against the wall and looked around you. The lab was in ruins, computers blown up, equipment destroyed, enemy soldiers dead, some shot, some killed by the explosion.

You glanced at the USB stick, at least you accomplished what you were after. The data Fury wanted was safely in your hands and all things considered you were sure you bought enough time for Natasha and Clint to get the hostages out. All that was left to do was to get out alive.

Footsteps caught your attention, too many to be Nat and Clint, and the three of you didn’t bring any backup. “I need a vacation,” you sighed. Was there any chance you could convince your workaholic of a girlfriend to take more than three days off?

Probably not.

You tucked the USB stick away and checked your gun, you still had plenty of ammo left.

~X~

Years spent working for S.H.I.E.L.D. changed her, she dared to think she was trying to do something good, to make up for at least a tiny bit of suffering she caused. She grew to care for people, for Clint, his family… for you, and with that care she came to dread the sound of static coming through the comms more than nearly any sound.

Hearing you were in trouble would have been easier. At least then Natasha wouldn’t feel any uncertainty, she’d know where you were and that she needed to get to you. She’d know how much time she had.

Natasha Romanoff despised uncertainty.

She despised not knowing what happened.

She despised knowing the last thing she heard from your side was an explosion.

The worry etched on her face was easily noticeable, especially to Clint. “She’ll be fine,” he assured her, firing off another arrow and taking out a guard with a sniper rifle ready. As much as Natasha wanted to rush toward you, she still had hostages to lead to safety, and as much as she hated to admit it, the wound on her side was bothering her.  

“It should have been me,” and that was the initial plan. She was the best equipped to go in, retrieve the data and blow the whole place up before anyone even realized she was there. Natasha could have done it, she should have done it, and you should have been here with Clint, leading two hostages out. Instead, she got wounded and now you were the one in danger.

Clint took aim, noticing another guard a fraction of a second faster than she could. She really was worried, and it was affecting her more than she ever thought possible.

All Natasha could do was hope her worries and the bad feeling she had was just paranoia, and not her intuition telling her to drop everything and go back to get you. If she lost you here, she would never forgive herself.

~X~

You took several deep breaths as you looked around the room, it was over, you killed every single one of the criminals that came after you and you tossed aside and empty gun. It wasn’t even your own, you ran out of bullets about halfway into the fight, so you grabbed a gun one of the criminals had and just kept firing until there was no one else left to fire at.

The rush of adrenaline slowly passed, and your legs trembled, but you were alive. You held the side of your head, dizzy from the loss of blood and what was probably a concussion. Soon enough this mission would be over and you could rest. You just had to-

A gunshot echoed and a bullet missed your head by less than an inch, causing you to as quickly as possible take cover behind a table that was turned over. “Fuck,” you cursed under your breath. There was a gun close to you, you just had to take a bit of a risk and get it. And also get lucky and find a bullet in the gun.

All a part of the job, you figured.

A bullet went through the criminal’s head before you could even consider making a lunge for the gun and you saw Natasha rushing in, gun drawn and ready to fire. “Nat,” despite knowing you were still in a dangerous place you visibly relaxed.

“Couldn’t leave things to chance,” Clint’s voice echoed as through the room as he walked through the same hall Natasha did.

Natasha was tense, looking for any sign of an enemy, and in your current state all you could do was admire her. “Let’s get you out of here,” you knew her, she couldn’t truly relax until you were both out of here.

“Yes, Ma’am,” you smiled, hoping it would reassure her, even if only a tiny bit. “I’m right here, Nat, you got me,” and despite Natasha being on edge her eyes softened when she looked at you.

~X~

Natasha despised sitting in the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hospital hall, waiting for you to get patched up. She was relieved that you were fine and basically just needed some bandages, but she was restless, constantly replaying the moments from the mission in her mind, specifically the sight of a man aiming his gun toward you and moving to close the distance so he wouldn’t miss this time. She moved purely on an instinct, firing before she could even consciously make that decision and blowing a hole through the side of the man’s head. Years of trying to wipe red off her ledger and still she took a life with ease, not even considering it, not even for a moment regretting it.

Now though, now she just needed to see you, just to be completely sure you were fine. Nothing else mattered. The doors opened and she jumped to her feet, seeing you walking out on your own, a bit bandaged up but otherwise fine. The bright look in your eyes made the restlessness go away and Natasha met you halfway.

“Saved me again,” you smiled at her as she looked up into your eyes. How many times has she saved you by now? You both lost count. She didn’t lose count of how many times you saved her, eleven times thus far, though she was certain you never counted them. She did, though. And she found relief in knowing that you were willing to go out of your way to save her, even when she herself used to think she wasn’t worth saving.

Instead of saying anything Natasha just threw her arms around you, clinging desperately to you. She wanted to kiss you, right here, right now, but it was too risky. Too many eyes around you, even if the hall itself was empty. Walls had eyes and ears, and she’d rather keep people guessing if these hugs were between friends or lovers. A keen eye might spot the difference, might see the way she wouldn’t let go, the way she’d lower her guard and try to close as much of the distance between you as possible, or the way you’d bury your face in her hair, taking comfort in her presence, especially after missions that end up being too close for comfort.

“What did the doctor say?” she asked as her fingers traced the bandages around your head.

“A concussion and a few wounds, nothing a bit of rest won’t fix,” you answered, prompting her to nod. She checked your injuries as Clint flew toward the hospital, and your answer matched her assessment, but she still appreciated hearing what the professional said. You’d be perfectly fine, you just needed a bit of rest.

Considering you were about as human as her and Clint were, and not a super soldier, or a billionaire with a suit of armor, and especially not near indestructible beings, Natasha considered herself lucky that you survived this many close calls with little more than rest needed to recover.

“Thanks,” it still should have been her, she should have been in danger, but she wouldn’t tell you that.

“We’re the same, I don’t want to lose you either,” not that she needed to tell you, you knew what was on her mind, you understood how much Natasha wanted you out of danger, in part because you wanted her out of danger just as much. So, you compromised, going together on missions hoping you would keep one another as safe as possible.

~X~

What restraint Natasha had while you were out in public vanished the moment you were back in your shared room as she straddled your lap and hugged you on the sofa, and you couldn’t help but smile at how clingy she was. For a deadly assassin she sometimes acted more like a koala, clinging onto you and not letting go.

Like an assassin not letting their target out of their sight for a single moment, only cuddly and soft, and very warm.

And you loved every second of it. “Nat,” you chuckled before she decided your mouth had more important tasks to do than let out sounds and kissed you, preventing chuckling or any form of light teasing that might have come out of your mouth. You’d never complain about that. You ran your fingers through her hair, she hasn’t cut it in a while now and Natasha hummed softly into the kiss, relaxing and just driving you insane with her touch. All you could feel was Natasha, her slightly swollen lips because of course she chewed on her lower lip while you were being patched up, her hands, so used to handling guns, gently holding you, pulling you closer to her, the sound of her soft, barely audible moans between kisses, the scent of the soap she used, and something uniquely her own, the weight of her body on top of your own… And when you separated for a brief moment, and you opened your eyes all you could see was Natasha. Everything else faded into the background and you were lost in her eyes. She looked like she was searching for something, a reassurance, or just another proof that you were just fine. “I’m right here,” you kept repeating those words to her, through dangerous missions and battles, through nights filled with nightmares, most importantly through all the moments when she’d get stuck in her head, thinking she’s not worthy of the redemption she was so desperately chasing. Just a simple reminder that you were with her, no matter what.

Natasha opened her mouth, only to change her mind and just close it before saying anything. Instead she just hugged you tightly, hiding her face in the crook of your neck and letting out a sigh of relief.

“That tickles,” you chuckled, prompting Natasha to huff and then purposely blow air against your neck. “Nat,” you would never complain, you could never. You cherished every single moment like this, when she would just drop every mask and be herself with you. Oh, she could be assertive, and tease, and confidently mess with anyone, but these playful moments free from caution were rare.

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, and you would have stayed like that a lot longer if you could stand being hungry. In your defense you came back home somewhat hungry, and that was hours ago. “Food. Now,” you would starve if this hunger prolonged any longer. Yet Natasha didn’t budge. “Nat?”

“I just got comfortable,” yeah, two hours ago. You rolled your eyes, even if you were smiling and got up with Natasha still clinging to you.

“You’re so lucky you’re cute,” you kissed her cheek and went to the kitchen, not even daring to consider letting Natasha go.

This time it was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes. “Bitch, I’m adorable,” she was right, of course.

You grabbed some toast and some cream cheese, since that was the first thing you managed to grab with Natasha between you and the fridge. “Pickles or no pickles?” you asked before deciding it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Make me one as well,” Natasha blindly reached back into the fridge to grab peanut butter, and you were still amazed that she could just do it. No hesitation, no second thoughts, just reached into the fridge and pulled what she wanted out.

“Sure,” you made the sandwiches and went back to the sofa, eager to finally eat something. Natasha wasn’t as excited about eating, and while you absolutely slaughtered your sandwich like a woman starving for weeks would, she occasionally took a bit and instead just kept close to you. Your eyes softened and you once again began rubbing circles into Natasha’s back.

It wasn’t the first time she got like this. When you started dating it didn’t really happen, she showed you how much she cared, sure, but it was never like this, never this desperate to feel your heart beating. And then New York happened, and you both had some very close calls, and she spent the night just like this, not moving away from you unless it was absolutely necessary.

She needed to know this was real, to feel it was real. With everything she went through, how much she suffered through, she needed time. She needed you to be with her, so the thoughts of losing you would quiet down.

And you’d give it to her every single time. This and anything else she needed.

“I’m right here,” you whispered into her ear, soft and gentle as she closed her eyes.

“You’re with me,” she replied, slowly falling asleep in your arms, at peace and comfortable.

A/N: Thank you for the request! I really had fun writing it, and I'm sorry it took so long for me to write it 😁💙

[sh4nksslvt]

maybe i need a whole fic with luffy x reader married now... i'm not charging you, maybe i'm just in love with your writing

a/n: thank u <3 hope u like this~

Wait… Luffy’s WHAT?!

Luffy reunites with his childhood sweetheart, who also happens to be his secret spouse. The crew thought he was joking… until they weren’t laughing anymore.

LUFFY X GN!READER | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, ooc, marriage, reader is opposite of luffy

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 1.3k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Thousand Sunny drifted through the final tunnel, water glistening against its protective bubble as Fishman Island came into view.

“WOAAAH!” Luffy yelled from the deck, eyes wide. “It’s so shiny!”

“I can’t believe it’s real!” Chopper spun around.

Robin smiled behind a hand. “The architecture here is said to be older than the Grand Line itself.”

“I heard the royal family is pretty generous,” Nami added. “If we play this smart, we could stock up for weeks.”

But Luffy? His mind was somewhere else entirely. Or rather, on someone.

He leaned against the rail, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I wonder if they’re here…”

“LUFFY, GET BACK HERE, YOU CAN’T JUST–!”

“NAMI!, I SMELL MEEAAT!”

He was already gone. Sprinting like a man possessed through the bustling bubble streets of Fishman Island, eyes wide, tongue out, arms flailing in glee.

“Captain,” Robin said with a small smile, “seems excited.”

“He's always excited,” Zoro muttered, arms crossed. “But this time he’s extra stupid.”

Brook hummed thoughtfully. “Yohohoho, I wonder if the meat will marry him too.”

“Wait, did you say marry?” Usopp blinked. “Oh yeah! Didn’t Luffy say he was married once?”

“…Didn’t we all think he was joking?” Franky asked, brows raised.

“Yeah,” Chopper added with a little snort. “He said something like ‘I already got a wife, and they’re way stronger than all of you!’ and we just laughed.”

The crew exchanged glances.

“…You think he was serious?”

MEANWHILE.

Luffy skidded around the corner, bonking a coral lamp post with his forehead. “Ow–!”

“Still no sense of direction?”

He froze.

That voice.

He knew that voice like the back of his hand — or the taste of meat. Slowly, his wide eyes turned toward the source.

There, standing with arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, was you.

Stoic, calm, one eyebrow raised, and totally unamused as always.

“Y/N!!” Luffy beamed, bolting toward you. “Y/N Y/N Y/N! YOU'RE HERE!!”

Before you could scold him, he’d wrapped you in a tight hug that nearly knocked you back.

“Still a hugger as usual, huh?” you mumbled, eyes softening just a bit.

“Missed you! SHISHISHI,” he grinned into your shoulder.

“You saw me six months ago,” you said, deadpan.

“Yeah!, but that’s like…so long!!”

You sighed, though your hand was already resting on his back, grounding the chaotic ball of sunshine that had stolen your heart all those years ago.

“…You never change.”

FLASHBACK - Windmill Village

“You’re so noisy.”

“C’mon Y/N, let’s go punch that tree again!”

Putting your book down, you sat with your arms folded, watching as young Luffy jumped up and down with excitement, a stick in his hand like it was the strongest sword in the world.

“We’ll get stronger together! Then we’ll go on adventures and eat meat every day!”

You blinked. “That’s your dream?”

“Yup! What’s yours?”

You shrugged. “I don’t have one.”

“Then make one with me!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Make a dream with you?”

He nodded seriously. “We can share. Like best friends. Or… like married people!”

“…That’s not how marriage works.”

“Then I’ll change the rules!”

You stared at him.

“…Fine.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

“What now.”

“If we ever get married, can I still eat meat at the wedding?”

You looked up from your book. “Obviously. I won’t marry someone who doesn’t love meat.”

He blinked, surprised. “So you will marry me?”

You went back to reading. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

His heart exploded like fireworks.

BACK TO PRESENT

“Wait,” Sanji whispered from the side of the plaza, crouched with the rest of the crew behind some candy-colored seaweed. “Is that them?! MELLORINEE~~”

“THEM?!” Usopp whispered. “You know them?!”

“I’ve heard rumors,” Sanji sighed dreamily. “That’s Y/N — calm as the sea before a storm. Feared in the Grand Line and cold-hearted~"

“Yeah, but they’re…” Chopper tilted his head. “Letting Luffy carry them like a backpack right now.”

“Are they… cuddling?” Zoro’s eye twitched. “In public?”

“I’m SUPER! emotionally confused,” Franky muttered.

“Yohohoho,” Brook said softly. “So our captain is… married.”

“And he was serious,” Robin added, intrigued.

Luffy still hadn’t let go. You were currently being dragged around the island as he loudly pointed at every fish-person, street food stall, and bubble coral with endless excitement.

“Look, Y/N, look!! That octopus is playing drums!!”

You nodded. “Mm.”

“And that shark guy has THREE swords!”

You blinked. “Impressive.”

“Oh! That candy shop sells meat-lollipops!! Want one?”

“…Fine.”

He gasped, eyes shining. “You said yes! You never say yes to candy!”

“It’s for you, dumbass.”

He beamed so hard it could’ve powered the Sunny.

LATER, WITH THE CREW

“LUFFY!!”

He turned mid-bite of his meat-lollipop. “Huh?”

“WHAT. IS. GOING. ON?!” Nami shrieked.

You were sitting beside him, sipping seaweed tea calmly. “Can I help you?”

“YEAH, YOU CAN EXPLAIN HOW YOU’RE—MARRIED TO LUFFY?!”

He tilted his head. “I told you guys already.”

“YEAH BUT YOU SAID IT WHILE EATING A SEA KING LEG!!”

Franky pointed dramatically. “That’s not the time for SUPER confessions, bro!”

You raised a hand. “We’ve been married for years. It’s just not something we flaunt.”

“…You married Luffy. As in legal.”

“Technically yes. I still have the officiation snail photo. Luffy drew a mustache on it.”

“HE LOOKED SO FUNNY!! SHISHISHI” Luffy grinned, remembering it fondly.

“WHAT ABOUT YOUR PERSONALITY?! YOU’RE THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE!” Usopp flailed.

You stared at him. “What about it?”

“I dunno!! It’s just… Luffy’s sunshine! You’re like… moonlight. That can kill people.”

Zoro finally snapped. “Okay, no offense, but how do you even deal with him?”

You sighed, placing a hand over Luffy’s head as he practically melted beside you.

“…I’ve dealt with worse than a meat-goblin with a hero complex and zero sense of personal space.”

“That’s me!!” Luffy said proudly.

Robin giggled. “You really are opposites.”

“They’re so cool,” Sanji whispered, nose bleeding. “They’re scary. But like, in a hot way~”

“Are you crushing on our captain’s spouse?!” the crew hissed.

“Can’t help it~”

LATER THAT NIGHT ON THE SUNNY

You sat at the edge of the deck, legs dangling above the water, watching the glowing sea beneath.

Luffy flopped beside you, resting his head in your lap like he always did when the sky was quiet.

“You’re really okay with all this attention?” you asked, fingers brushing his hair.

“Mmhmm. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You never cared about showing people.”

“I didn’t think I had to. You're mine. That’s already the best thing ever.”

Your hand paused. Then resumed slowly.

“You’re still dumb.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I’m your dumb.”

“…Yeah. You are.”

He yawned, curling closer. “Remember the promise we made?”

“Which one? You made a lot.”

“The one about sharing dreams.”

You looked up at the stars. “Yeah. I remember.”

“I still wanna do that. Even if it’s dumb. Even if I die trying.”

You tapped his forehead.

“You won’t die. I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

NEXT MORNING — FISHMAN ISLAND MARKET

“I WANT TO BUY THAT ONE!”

“Luffy, that’s a pearl the size of a cannonball.”

“I WANT IT!!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Luffy, if I have to carry another crate of your ‘souvenirs’ I will drown you.”

He gasped. “Y/N!! That’s mean!”

“…You like that.”

“I DO!”

“Ew, please stop flirting where I can hear you,” Nami groaned as she walked by.

Zoro muttered, “Every time I think they’ll kill each other, they end up flirting again.”

“Do you think they’ll ever kiss in front of us?” Chopper asked innocently.

Sanji's eye turned into fire. “NO WAY! I'LL KICK YOU! YOU DAMN MONKEY!!!"

“Luffy, stop licking the pearl.”

“You know,” Robin said later that evening, watching you drag Luffy back from trying to arm-wrestle a sea king, “they’re oddly perfect together.”

“Opposites attract,” Franky nodded.

“They’re like fire and ice,” Brook added.

“More like hyper gremlin and emotionless murderbot,” Nami muttered.

“…Still somehow works,” Zoro said.

Sanji sobbed. “WHEN WILL MY TURN COME?!"

.

.

— A FEW DAYS LATER

“Hey, Robin,” Usopp whispered as the ship cruised along the current.

“Yes?”

“…Do you think we should throw them a wedding party?”

She sipped her tea. “I think if you try, you’ll die.”

“Right.”

“Besides,” she added, glancing at the couple watching the sunset at the bow of the ship, Luffy wrapped around you like a sleepy octopus, “I think they already had the only wedding they needed.”

[dyingswanpavlova]

Treasure

Pairing: Hwang In-ho/The Frontman × Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Smut, Age Gap (Reader is 25, In-ho is 54), Usage of Daddy, Mentions of Emotional Abuse in the Past, Low Self-Esteem, Sex as a Business Deal, Edging, Spanking, Overstimulation, Face Slapping, Oral Sex (Both receiving), Gagging, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Minors do not interact!

Author's note: It's mostly bad experiences and smut. Anyone who knows me, knows I can't do wholesome...But, you guys, I'm trying!

It has been quite a while since his wife died and he hasn't gotten over it. But now he found someone who brings out a softer side of him...or makes him feel anything at all. Even if it's just the fact that he doesn't have to dine and sleep alone.

The day of her death was always the worst.

Of course he was always cold. One might even muster up the courage to call it cruel.

He was a complicated man in any sense of the word. While he was as cunning as he was handsome, he was also cool and composed. He didn’t ever lose that tight composure, until he allowed himself to. There were only few situations that allowed him to let loose and unleash the beast that lived within him.

It was rather obvious that there was more to him. The way he carried himself made it seem like he was no more than the stoic business man, but sometimes, sometimes you caught a soft glimpse of whatever was underneath. The way his eyes shone in a certain light.

 His brother was enough.

His wife, of course.

 But you were clever. And your sense of self-preservation forbade you to pry. All you had to do was do your job. And what was your job?

You found yourself applying a drop of perfume to your neck and your wrists, staring at your form in the mirror. The black lace covered most of your intimate parts, but it was just enough to leave him yearning for more. He liked that especially – when he had to use his imagination.

But sometimes, on rare occasions like that night, he needed more. He needed a little, naughty dream, to distract him from the turmoil that raged within him.

He was never cruel to you. He was just cold.

It wasn’t like you minded. So far, you had heard all kinds of things from a few friends of yours. Men could be vile creatures, who performed the most heinous crimes, whenever they felt like it. You were sure you could call yourself lucky, when it came to that.

He was older, that was out of question. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not for you anyway.

You couldn’t tell when that started or what the exact reason was.

Your father had been a fairly good man. He never abused you and never hurt you out of the ordinary. The occasional session of spanking was something that stopped once you got older. Of course a child that steps out of line will get punished. It’s not that dramatic and you were sure, you took no damage after that.

He had been a kind man. Good-hearted. He loved you, your sister and your mother very much.

Until he got drunk.

Of course, he loved you then as well. And he never hit you then, either. Not you.

Your mother, sure. The poor, sweet woman she was. Her broken spirit cracked through the light in which her soul was covered, because she was strong like that. Gentle, but strong.

He wasn’t gentle when he drank. No, all you had to do was say the wrong thing at the wrong time and suddenly he’d explode. The way he yelled out of nowhere was the worst thing. The way he gritted his teeth like a wild animal.

You had flinched more than once during the course of your life, simply because he got so angry.

But after a while, he always calmed down, didn’t he? He came down from his demonic horror trip and suddenly, he was good again.

Of course he was proud. Too proud for anyone’s good. His pride often kept him from apologizing. In most cases, he’d just try and act like nothing changed, like nothing happened, like he didn’t just made the walls crumble with his anger.

But sometimes, when he went really overboard, he managed to swallow his pride and then he would apologize. A hug, a kiss, and everything was back to normal.

You forgave him. Why wouldn’t you? He was your father. He loved you.

But daddy issues? No. He was there, after all. He didn’t abuse you. Didn’t hit you.

You had no issues. Why would you?

Right?

You finished applying the perfume and decided to put on some lip balm. It held the faintest hint of rose-color. He didn’t like too much make-up. He didn’t like anything that felt like you were playing dress-up. The silk on your body, it only made sense if it highlighted your character in a way. Not change it.

The gloss on your lips, the blush on your cheeks. No eyeshadow allowed, unless it were natural colors. Mascara was alright, but no fake lashes.

Blush was okay, contour was not.

Lace was okay, leather was not.

J’adore was okay, Chanel Number 5 was not.

You released a slow breath and took a moment longer to check your appearance.

You were pretty, you knew that. Probably not in the way that made you get voted prom queen. More in the way that made weird men ogle you.

That was a talent of yours you had figured out at some point. Your eyes were expressive. And people loved to eye-fuck you.

Sometimes, you’d indulge. It depended on the man and the situation. It depended on the way his eyes on you made you feel.

Not any man would do. Some were perverts, some were disgusting, some desperate. You didn’t look back, when a man walked beside his oblivious wife and looked at you like he was ready to devour you. You also didn’t look back, when a man stared at you with wide eyes and licked his lip in a way that was too lecherous at once.

A subtle glance.

Not even a smile.

Just a look.

You’d look away and after a while, you’d check again. The feeling that spread in your chest was often the same. One of recognition, of attention. It made you feel pretty and desired. Someone wanted you. They were subtle about it, but not subtle enough to refrain themselves from staring.

In most cases, it didn’t lead to anything.

Sure, you had that messed-up phase, after you turned nineteen. Looking back, you really wished your father had been stricter with you. You were always allowed to do whatever you wanted. Meet who you want, do what you want, unless, of course, it got dark outside. No walking alone in the dark.

But he never checked who you were with, if you were truly where you said you were. Your parents trusted you. Back in the day, when you told them you had already finished your homework, they trusted you. Your bad grades weren’t their fault. They had trusted you to do better.

Back when you were nineteen, when you told them you were at the cinema with a few friends, they trusted you. They didn’t check, if maybe you were getting pounded away by some forty-seven year old man, who came on your face and left you feeling used and humiliated.

Never during. Always after.

You had no idea why you felt like you needed this so badly. Attention of men. Approval of men.

Men.

They were never good to you. They used you in most cases and then they’d just up and leave.

First, you were naïve. You pictured all kinds of things. Your mother’s Italian friend, who’d take you to Rome and buy you gelato. You’d walk some coast and he’d show you the lovely way Italians lived. He’d love you, you were sure.

It didn’t matter than he had a daughter your age or maybe even a few years older.

He’d love you.

But of course, he didn’t. Silly you, you really believed that, didn’t you? And he didn’t even say he would. You just made up that version of him in your head.

Some sweet guy from Oregon, who sang Arctic Monkeys song for you with his guitar. You only spoke online, but why care? You’d go and live the American dream with him. Of course you would. He had those soft, brown eyes and the voice of an angel.

You’d give him as many babies as he wanted.

So, of course you agreed, when he asked you to take your top off. Suck on your fingers, look up at the camera with doe eyes, while you did. You slipped two fingers inside yourself, moaning and gasping. Of course you were pretending. Who got off on this? Not you. All he did was stare at you. You didn’t see his face, while he pulled his pants down. It was either his face or the rest of him. But you were looking at him, while you touched yourself for him. It didn’t take him long to cum. But that was alright. You’d get married, after all. In some cases, long distance worked. This was one of them of course.

Blocked.

You spent months trying to find him again. But no way. He was gone, deleted, lost in the depths of the internet. A lost memory. A shameful one.

Sometimes you asked yourself, why your sister turned out normal. She had a job, a family, a husband who loved her. Or did he?

He did get angry, at times. And those few times when he called her a slut, when they argued. It wasn’t that bad, right?

That one time he left her standing at the sidewalk in the middle of the night, in a foreign city. It wasn’t that bad, right? She had angered him after all.

You felt nauseous, just thinking about it. Your sister was the epitome of life and liveliness. She was so spirited, that sometimes her anger scared you. Her confidence did for sure. She was your father’s daughter after all.

But the bastard she married broke that spirit.

And she didn’t even realize it. She just let it happen. You didn’t understand it.

But what you did understand was that she wasn’t as perfect as you always thought. Things were a little more complicated than you initially thought. But you were still far behind her.

You tried to push the thoughts of your messed-up existence and upbringing aside and focus on the task at hand.

Him.

Mr. Important.

You knew his real name and he knew yours, but names didn’t really matter. All you normally called him was daddy.

But luckily, you weren’t babygirl or little girl. That felt odd, even to you. It wasn’t that he was after that – someone who was remarkably younger than him. You just happened to be.

He was fifty-four, going fifty-five. You were twenty-five, going twenty-six.

Thirty years more or less, who cared about that?

And he didn’t really look his age. You found, he looked a good forty-six, maybe.

But aside from that, he was different. The were two kind of men in the world.

The real ones and the made up ones.

The ones who ogled you, while they were walking beside their wives and the ones who never got over their wife’s death and were looking for a way to distract themselves.

You had seen a picture of her. He didn’t make a secret of it. No, he was proud to having loved her. The thought filled you with something bittersweet. A part of you was jealous. Jealous, that someone got loved so intensely, that she’d never be forgotten, ever.

After all, she died young and pregnant. It made you nauseous.

And another part of you, the far bigger part, the less selfish part, it admired him.

He loved her. He loved her so dearly, that she took a great part of his soul with him, when she left.

God, you wished to be loved like that. To be loved at all.

You remembered the way you first met him. The subtle eye-contact. No smile.

But you didn’t feel like you normally did. Something about him was different. He wasn’t lecherous. He was calm. Almost like he was…lonely.

And he understood your loneliness.

The arrangement came quick and without any fuss. He did pay you, but not with money per say. He paid for your studies, he bought you gifts, sometimes he took you out to places you had never been before.

The theatre. The ballet. The opera, even.

That was what you loved the most. He didn’t just use you and left you feeling empty. He didn’t even fuck you every time you saw him. Sometimes you’d just go out. Have dinner. Talk.

You talked a lot and about everything. Sometimes you felt like you were an old soul, sometimes you felt like you knew nothing at all. He knew things. He looked at you. He listened to you.

Sometimes he could be really funny. On other nights he was rather quiet.

You didn’t care if he absentmindedly played with your hand or hair or if he stared straight ahead. Whatever he did, it always made your heart race.

You understood that you were treading on very thin ice.

Feelings were not a part of the arrangement.

He would never love you. You would never be more to him than treasure.

But when you lay there, your head on his chest and still breathless after you just spent hours doing the most wicked things to each other, you couldn’t help yourself. You craved his warmth. His arms around you and how protected he made you feel.

You couldn’t make a mistake. Nothing you did ever made him yell at you.

And that was rather dangerous.

Because you could picture it so easily. Being his wife. His everything. Having his children. Cooking his dinner. Doing all the things loving people did.

All the things loved people did.

You pushed the thought aside with intense fervor, when you heard his raspy voice call out for you.

“Treasure? Are you alright?”

You nearly gasped when you realized how long you had been in there. With a soft shake of your head and a slow exhale, you pushed down the door handle and stepped out of the bathroom. He stood in front of the fireplace and stared down at the flames, lost in thought. When he heard the door open, he looked up and met your gaze. Something in him stiffened for a moment and his gaze ran down your body slowly. You swallowed thickly and tried to push your nervousness aside.

You wanted to be perfect for him. But you were so far from perfect. Each and every time you feared he would look at you, scoff and shake his head.

“I don’t remember that much skin.”

“You looked younger last time.”

“Where’d that wrinkle come from?”

But of course he never said anything like that. Simply your insecurities, giving you a hard time.

He hummed softly and shifted so that he was fully facing you.

“You look beautiful.” He murmured. “Come here.”

You approached him with slow steps, the sound of your tiptoes the only sound beside the crackling of the fireplace.

You came to a halt before him and he tipped your chin up in a gentle way, slowly tilting your head up and making you look at him. He brushed his lips over yours in the softest way, making you shiver in response.

His hand slowly ran down the side of your neck, until his fingers brushed over the lace that covered your collarbone. His eyes followed the movement and he released a soft sigh.

“You get more and more beautiful every day.”

How did he expect you not to fall in love with him, when he was being like this?

“Thank you.” You whispered in return and swallowed a bit of your nervousness.

His eyes crinkled in a smile that hardly reached his eyes and his hands slowly came down to grip your hips.

“You know what day today is?”

You nodded.

“Good.” He whispered and dropped his hands to his sides. “Then be a good girl for daddy and distract him.”

You licked your lips and slowly pushed him back. He was letting you. Until you reached the armchair and he slowly sat down on it. You stood before him and tipped his chin up, making him look up at you now. The look in his eyes was nothing short of admiration. His breath against your skin sent a pleasant tingle down your spine.

You slowly straddled his lap and rested your knees on the armrests, pressing yourself against him and feeling the hardness in his pants press into you already. But not yet, you thought. Why not tease him a little?

You leaned in as if to kiss him, but the second before your lips met, you slowly pulled your head back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

A low growl grumbled in his chest. “Stop being a brat.” He murmured.

You bit your lip and leaned back with a grin. “Me? A brat?”

“You’re just asking to be punished.”

That made you chuckle. “Well…”

“Oh, I see.” He tangled a hand in your hair and tugged on it, tilting your head back and making you look up at him. “That’s how you want to play?” He murmured and his hot breath fanned over your lips and neck. “Alright, then. I invented this game, little dove.”

He released his grip on your hair and grabbed you by the hips, standing up and holding you against him. He picked you up like you weighed nothing and strode off to the bed, practically throwing you down onto it. The sudden intensity left you breathless and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He reached for his tie and slowly undid it.

“I thought you were daddy’s good girl. Looks like I was wrong.”

He sounded as calm as ever, not a hint of anger as usual. He was just being himself.

“I am your good girl.”

“I’d prefer you to be bad right now. Because I feel like punishing you.”

You swallowed thickly and bit your lip, like you did every so often when he got you cornered like this.

“How?” You whispered.

He smirked in that delicious way, which lit his whole face up without even trying. Then he slowly pulled the tie off and ran his fingers along the soft material.

“Turn around.”

Within seconds, you were on your knees and facing away from him. His hands were gentle as he reached for your wrists and brought them behind your back to tie them together. You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, while your body surrendered. It wasn’t hard for you. You trusted him. He knew your boundaries.

For whatever reason, with him you had boundaries.

Never in your life before had you ever told anyone to stop or not do something. Was it fear of being rejected? Simply fear? Something else? Whatever it was, it kept you from setting healthy rules to keep your body and mind safe. You were free to use. Anyone just did whatever they wanted.

Sometimes you did protest, but they wouldn’t stop and eventually you gave in.

But not so him.

He had asked not once, not twice, but countless times. Until eventually you had been forced to be honest and tell him what it was that threw you off. And to your surprise, he didn’t get angry, didn’t even move a muscle. He just nodded and accepted it.

There were a few freaky things you were into and you were obviously allowing him to do. But if there was something that you didn’t want, he didn’t do it. Just like that.

How hard it was not to fall for him. Impossible even.

He tied your wrists together fairly tight and made a point of pulling on the tie to make sure it was good enough. You felt his gaze roam along your back silently. He then ran his fingertips up your back, over your shoulder blades and eventually the back of your neck.

“You’re my little brat, aren’t you?” He purred.

When you didn’t respond at first, he made a point of gently tugging on your hair.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And you’ve been bad, haven’t you?”

When you nodded, he tugged again, slightly harder this time. You gasped and immediately added: “Yes. Yes, I’ve been bad.”

“So, you deserve to be punished. How should I punish you?”

There was only one right answer to that.

“However you wish.”

You heard the way he smirked. “Good girl. You’re learning.”

He hummed and slowly circled you like a predator. Of course you felt rather exposed, kneeling on the bed like that, wearing nothing but that thin piece of lace and nothing to cover the dampness between your legs.

“Look at you.” He murmured. “So open and ready for me. Let’s see how ready, shall we?”

He didn’t hesitate to slide his hand between your legs and run a finger over your wetness. You couldn’t help but inhale sharply. Your body was aching for his touch.

Surprisingly, he knew how to make you cum. Pretty good even. No other man had ever accomplished that. You’d normally count only on yourself for that, but Mr. Important? Fuck, he was skilled.

He circled your clit in the same skilled way, causing you to squirm and gasp under his touch. He began to work his fingers on you more and more quickly, keeping his gaze firmly on your face. Your brows furrowed in a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, but you didn’t care. You were so close. So close. So-

You whimpered when he sharply withdrew his hand, leaving you aching.

“Please-“ You whined.

“Not yet.” He said calmly. “Open your mouth.”

You obeyed wordlessly, allowing him to slide his slick fingers into your mouth and making you taste yourself on him. The bulge in his pants became more and more obvious and it did things to you. The way he looked at you, while he made you suck on his fingers was enough to make you go dripping wet. After a beat, he slowly pulled his fingers back and dried them against his shirt. You let out a shuddering gasp.

“You still ought to be punished, if I recall correctly.”

“Wasn’t this punishment enough?” You whispered.

He smirked. “Not even close.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently draped you over his lap, stomach down and your rear up in the air. Your cheek was pressed against the sheets and you closed your eyes.

“Ten. You know the rules.” He murmured and you nodded.

His flat hand cracked against your skin, sending a sharp pain through your body. He wasn’t gentle about that. Not at all.

You cried out in pain and tried not to squirm too much. “One. Thank you, daddy.” You gasped out.

He hummed approvingly, before his hand came down a second time, causing you to wince and cry out again. Somehow, every strike seemed to get more and more rough. Your skin felt raw and sensitive, more and more with every hit, but you forced yourself to stay still and count, like a good girl. By the time you reached the seventh hit, the pain was nearly unbearable. But you knew better than to beg and plead. It only turned him on more and he was ready and eager to start anew.

“Nine. Thank you, daddy.”

“One more. Just one more, treasure. You’re almost done.”

He deliberately waited for a few seconds, causing you to go rigid and tense in his grip. The uncertainty of when the next hit would follow was nearly killing you. Just when you expected it and you winced forcefully, he instead ran his palm along your red skin gently. You took a deep breath.

And then it came.

The most painful of them all and you immediately felt tears sting your eyes. Your voice cracked as you cried out: “T-ten. Ten. Thank you. Thank you, daddy.”

He made a soft sound, filled with approval and a hint of pride. “That’s my good girl. You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

His words made you feel warm and fuzzy and suddenly you felt like crying even more. Your feelings for him were more complicated than you thought.

“Thank you.” You whispered, still trying to catch your breath.

“I think you deserve a reward.” He murmured.

You tried to swallow, with your mouth dry and whispered: “I do?”

He ran a gentle hand over your hair and hummed again.

“You do. Let’s see what we can do for you.” He shifted you gently so you lay on the mattress instead, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He ran his knuckles over your cheek and smiled slowly.

“Was it too much?”

You shook your head.

He took a slow breath and nodded. “Good.” He shifted so he was on top of you now and pressed a leg between your own. His knee slowly pressed against your core and you felt your eyes fall shut. You didn’t try to hide your pathetic whimper.

He smirked against your ear and gently nipped at it. “Look at that. Have you been this wet all the time?”

Your face flushed painfully and you swallowed your embarrassment. “Yes.”

He hummed approvingly and ran his lips along your cheek, before they finally met your own. You had no time to understand what was going on, when his tongue already parted your lips and delved into your mouth. He wasn’t sweet about it, instead your tongues met in a messy battle, ready to prod at and devour each other.

“What are you?” He groaned against your lips.

“Your cumslut.” You whispered back.

He groaned again and bit down on your lower lip. “Fuck, yes, my dirty little cumslut. You want daddy’s cum, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.” You moaned out.

“Where do you want it, treasure? Dripping down your chin or deep inside you?”

Your eyes nearly rolled back. “Wherever you want.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss your neck. His kisses made you squirm and shudder, but it only ever got more and more intense. You felt so exposed and helpless, but also cared for.

He slowly moved his lips along your collarbone, before they brushed over the material that covered your breasts. He bit down on it and tore at until you felt the cold air hit your now exposed chest. He growled in response and didn’t hesitate to kiss and suck at the skin of your breast. Your hips involuntarily arched against his knee, which was still working on your core. You gasped breathlessly and rubbed yourself against him, desperate for more friction.

“Please-“

“Patience.”

He licked a wet path down your stomach, causing you to writhe and moan.

He wasn’t one for half things. When his lips reached your core, he wasn’t gentle or careful. No, his mouth enveloped your most sensitive spot and he began to work his tongue on you almost furiously. He sucked and licked, slid his tongue inside you and over your wet folds with an intensity that made you cry out. He then sucked on your clit in a way that was almost too much, but just right to make you cum so good that you felt like everything around you faded into nothingness. You felt warm and good, better than you had ever before. He took his time and made the moment last, riding out your release so intensely that you nearly had to pull away from him when it became to much. He smirked up at you and slowly came back up to face you. He was fighting for air, as were you.

“Oh God, that was-“

He pushed his tongue back inside your mouth, nearly fucking it. At the same time he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them torturously and pumping them against you in a way that brought you close yet again.

“P-Please, I- Ah!” Your release rolled over you again, hard and soft at the same time, with an intensity that was near painful. Your hips arched off the bed and you nearly screamed by the way you couldn’t find it in you to shut your mouth.

You gasped for air and expected him to finally pull back, but he didn’t. He kept curling his fingers against your sweet spot and the feeling quickly became too much. Your body was so sensitive and every new touch he added felt almost painful.

“Stop- Please- St-“ You cried out and pressed your hips against his hand involuntarily. Your release came crashing yet again, this time it was a feeling between heaven and hell. It still felt good, but it felt far too much.

“Please.” You gasped, before the feeling even was gone. “Please. I can’t take any more…”

He smirked against your lips and gently bit down on the lower one, before he slowly withdrew his hand.

“Good girl.”

You were still panting and gasping for air, when he gave your cheek a light slap. “Time for you to get to work.”

You moaned, and with some effort, fought your way to get up. Your hands were still tied, so you carefully slid down to your knees, kneeling in between his legs. He was still in his pants, so you looked up at him with innocent eyes and whispered: “Can you help me?”

He smirked again and gently cupped your cheek in his hand. “So obedient.”

He freed himself from his remaining clothes and you found yourself staring at him. Despite his age, he was so well-built and you were always desperate for every glimpse, every touch and every taste.

“Can I?” You breathed out.

He hummed and nodded. “Get to it.”

Your gaze wandered down, but he quickly caught your chin. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Your insides tingled with newfound desire. You forced yourself to keep looking at him, while your tongue slowly slid down his stomach. You saw the shift in demeanor. He was still dominant and calm, but his breathing sped up and something changed in his eyes.

“No teasing today.” He all but growled. “Let me feel that pretty mouth.”

You didn’t hesitate to obey. You parted your lips and ran your tongue over his tip. His head fell and back and he groaned. He then tangled his hand in your hair and guided your movements. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath, he just pushed you down and forced you to take him in. You were caught off-guard for a moment and felt yourself gag. He loosened his grip the tiniest bit and you began to move in the rhythm and pace that he set for you. He quickly went from calm and collected to a beast which rammed his thick cock into you and began to use your throat to his pleasure.

You felt yourself grow wet yet again as you moaned against his skin. Whenever he seemed to hit the back of your throat, he couldn’t control the low moans and groans that left his lips. Your movements became more and more frantic, determined to make him feel just as good as he had you.

Of course you wanted him to fuck you and he probably would in an hour or two. And again and again and again…But right then, you wanted nothing more than for him to shoot his hot load into your mouth and down your throat.

You sucked and flicked your tongue against him in a way that made his grip tighten more and more until he-

He went still, except for his cock, which was throbbing furiously inside you. He came with a low growl and he filled your mouth with his seed. He held your head in place, until he rode out his release. When he finally caught his breath back, he released a soft sigh and his grip on your hair became gentle again.

“Oh God, that was…” He sighed again. “Fuck.”

You slowly swallowed every drop of his cum, all the while never taking your eyes off him. His eyes instantly darkened again and he ran his thumb over your tongue.

“My good girl. My treasure.” He breathed out. “I’m so proud of you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. It became increasingly gentle and he slowly cupped your cheek in his hand.

“That was incredible.” He murmured. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He reached behind you and carefully freed your from his tie. Then he slowly rubbed his thumbs over your sore wrists.

“Does it hurt?” He murmured. You shook your head.

He pulled you up onto the bed again and gently laid you down beside him. He stared down at you for a long moment, before he finally rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a full-course meal right now.”

You chuckled and wrapped your arms around him, slowly running your hands down his back. “Isn’t that what you just gave me?”

He smirked and slowly opened his eyes. “You and that wicked mouth of yours.” He murmured.

Your smile softened when he pressed a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“Can I stay for the night?”

He would most likely let you. He never sent you away feeling used or unsatisfied or, God forbid, unwanted. But there was a part of you that needed to be reassured so badly. And he seemed to know.

He raised a brow and his own expression softened.

“Did you expect anything else?”

His coldness melted away whenever you were like this, entangled and breathless.

No matter how many times he said that it didn’t mean anything.

His eyes told a different story.

“No.” You whispered softly and rested your head on his chest. “No, of course not.”

[heliosunny]

Hihi....I'm really in love with your Yandere Phainon fanfics, so I wanted more....I don't really care whatever it is as long as it's in high school au🙏🙏

CTRL U

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The school tech lab was always quiet during lunch break. While others filled the courtyard and cafeteria with chatter and energy, you found solace in the rhythmic clack of your keyboard and the soft humming of a monitor. You had taken over the corner desk near the window, your own little bubble away from the chaotic social jungle of high school.

Your fingers flew over the keys, eyes darting across lines of code. The pixelated spaceship on your screen moved up, paused, then exploded with a dramatic “BOOM!” animation. You smiled a little, it was just a simple 2D space shooter, but you were proud of it. Debugging the collision algorithm had taken two days.

Outside the lab, you heard distant voices echoing down the hall.

“Dude, Phainon! You coming to the court or what?” “Later, maybe! I need to drop by the lab first.”

Phainon. Popular, charming, and surrounded by friends like gravity pulling planets. You’d only ever interacted with him during that one disastrous group project in sophomore year. You didn’t speak much. He did all the talking.

The door creaked open. Your screen still glowed with the tiny spaceship hovering in space.

“Yo, is someone in?”

You whipped your head up and saw him. He had one headphone in, his school tie loosened, hair a little messy.

He looked around, then spotted you.

“Hey, didn’t think anyone would be in here.”

“...Hi.”

He tilted his head toward your screen. “Wait, is that a game?”

You quickly moved the mouse to close the window, but not fast enough.

“Whoa, don’t shut it down!”

“It’s still buggy.” you mumbled, minimizing the program and locking your screen.

He leaned in, eyes lighting up.

“Wait, you made that? That’s sick.” He turned to look at you. “You’re seriously talented.”

You avoided his gaze, focusing instead on unplugging your USB drive.

“It’s just a hobby…”

Phainon chuckled. “‘Just a hobby’? You’ve got a whole game running. That’s way cooler than anything I’ve done today.”

This wasn’t how your quiet lunch break was supposed to go.

You stood up quickly, slinging your backpack over your shoulder, trying to gather your things.

“I need to go.”

“Oh. Wait, did I say something wrong?”

“No!” you said too fast, stepping back toward the door. “I just... have other stuff.”

He watched you retreat, a confused expression softening his features. Then he smiled again, tilting his head slightly.

“Hey, what’s your game called?” he called out as you reached the door.

“…It doesn’t have a name yet.”

He grinned.

“Let me know when it does.”

You tried to return to normal after that day in the lab.

No more coding during lunch breaks.

No more late stays in the tech room.

But Phainon didn’t understand and keep showing up everywhere you go.

“Hey! Game Dev!” he called out from across the school courtyard one afternoon, jogging to catch up with you.

You pretended not to hear him and quickened your pace.

He caught up anyway, effortlessly matching your stride. “You never told me more about the game.”

“I’m busy.”

“That’s cool. I can wait.”

You stopped in front of your classroom. “Don’t you have a fan club or a game to get back to?”

Phainon just gave you that stupid, easy grin. “Maybe. But I kinda want to see what happens next in your game.”

You didn’t respond. Just walked in, ignoring the snickers from a nearby group of girls.

It wasn’t just one or two people talking. You’d heard whispers in the hallways.

“Why’s he talking to them?” “They probably faked the whole ‘coding’ thing just to get attention.” “Didn’t they get rejected by Phainon or something?” “Creepy how they’re always alone, right?”

At first, it didn’t bother you. You were used to being left out.

But that changed when you stayed late one afternoon to grab your notebook and accidentally overheard something.

“Okay, but what if we just hire some expert to.. idk, download a virus on their computer or something?” “Ooh, or leak their browsing history or whatever. Even if it’s fake, no one’ll care.” “Right? Who’s gonna believe someone like that anyway?”

You backed away slowly.

You’d had enough.

That night, you didn’t sleep. Instead, you slipped on your headphones, pulled up a few proxies, and found the backdoor in their school Wi-Fi habits.

In two hours, you’d broken into their cloud storage and group chat backups. In four, you’d carefully rearranged screenshots, spliced audio files, and created just enough drama to make it seem like they were all talking behind each other’s backs.

You didn’t even upload them yourself. Just scheduled a timed drop via a burner account.

By Monday, the group was in ruins.

And you, finally, had silence.

Until Phainon found you again. This time, at the bike racks after school.

“Hey.”

You glanced up. “What.”

He held up a hand in surrender. “Not here to bug you about the game.”

You turned away. “Then leave.”

He didn’t.

“They deserved it, huh?”

He took a step closer. “You’re good. Real good. That’s not amateur stuff.”

You looked at him sharply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t deserve what they were doing. But...” He hesitated. “Just... don’t lose yourself in it, alright?”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

“Next time someone comes after you… maybe let me know first.”

He turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, not looking back.

You never felt safe after the drop. Sure, no one came at you again, not publicly. But silence didn’t mean safety. Silence could be a trap.

And Phainon, despite everything, made you uneasy.

Why? Why was he so calm? Why did he know what you’d done?

That night, your fingers hovered over the keys. Your curiosity itched too loud to ignore.

You slipped past a few weak firewalls and into his cloud activity.

“...wait.”

The path you followed suddenly folded in on itself.

And you’d taken it.

You burned the scripts, cleaned the logs, wiped the trace tools—anything that might be tied to you. Anything he could use against you.

And when it was over, you sat in the dark for a long time. Cold sweat down your back.

The next day, he said nothing.

You watched him across the quad, laughing with his friends, sleeves rolled up, the same lopsided smile like he hadn’t laid a trap for you.

Maybe you were overthinking it.

So you did something stupid.

You pulled an old CD-R out of your drawer, labeled it in your tight, scratchy handwriting: [ TEST BUILD v2.6 — SPACEWAR ]

And the next morning, you caught him by the lockers.

“…Here,” you muttered, holding it out. “The game. Just a standalone version. I just thought you might want to test it.”

“You’re giving me the first build?”

“It’s just a test. You don’t—”

“I’m gonna play it tonight” he said. “I’m finishing it. No way I’m sleeping until I beat it.”

“It’s literally half-coded and full of bugs.”

“So am I,” he smirked. “Perfect match.”

You didn’t expect him to go that far.

Next morning, he walked into class with dark shadows under his eyes, hair messier than usual, hoodie half-zipped over his uniform.

“Hey,” he grinned. “I beat it. Twice.”

“Wait... You stayed up?”

“You said test it. I tested the hell out of it.” He nudged your arm. “Seriously, it’s awesome.”

You stared at him. Then laughed. You couldn’t help it. “You idiot. You could’ve just given me a bug report.”

“Nah. That’d be boring.”

You shook your head and turned away to hide your smile.

Later that night, at home, you sat down at your desk. Curiosity beat out caution.

You slid the same disc into your computer. It whirred softly.

[ SPACEWAR ] — Test Build v2.6

You clicked Start Game.

The opening sequence played—then flickered.

The background glitched. The pixels warped, briefly forming words in a distorted typeface:

"Hello, Player One."

Then the game resumed normally.

You yanked the disc out. Looked at the underside.

A low beep from your laptop made you jump.

You flipped the screen—the camera light was on.

For half a second. Then it shut off.

You stared at the reflection of yourself in the screen. And realized:

He gave you his disk.

You didn’t sleep that night.

The glowing reflection of “Hello, Player One” burned behind your eyelids every time you blinked. You’d covered the webcam, shut the laptop, and unplugged everything. But it wasn’t just paranoia this time—Phainon had done something, and you needed to find out why.

So the next morning, you waited outside the gym, watching him laugh with his usual crowd. He noticed you immediately, his smile slipped, and he walked over.

“You okay?”

“We need to talk. Alone.”

Phainon blinked. But he nodded.

You sat in the empty room, across from him at a table where morning light filtered through the blinds.

He leaned forward slightly. “So...?”

You looked him dead in the eye. “Why did you do it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

You pulled the disc from your bag and placed it on the table. “Why?”

Phainon leaned back, quiet for a moment. Then:

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

You frowned. “What?”

“Two years ago. National Coding Competition. You made that AI that learned player patterns in real time. I was in the same bracket—you crushed everyone.”

“You were there?”

He nodded. “You were the best person in the room. I admired you. Then you disappeared. I always wondered why.” He paused. “When I saw you here, I thought—maybe I could get to know you.”

“So you thought breaking into my computer was your idea of caring?”

He flinched slightly, guilt flickering behind his eyes.

“You invaded my privacy. You used something I made against me.” Your voice shook. “Don’t twist this into something noble.”

He sighed. “I just wanted to understand you. You’re brilliant, but you shut everyone out. I thought maybe if I got closer—”

“—by spying on me?”

There was a long silence.

“Didn’t you do the same? To those girls?”

You were speechless.

“I’m not saying they didn’t deserve it. But you didn’t talk to anyone. You handled it alone.”

That stung.

Your hands clenched under the table. “So now you’re saying we’re the same?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m saying we both did things we regret. Doesn’t mean I’m proud of it.” He looked at you. “I’m sorry. For crossing the line.”

“Stay out of my stuff.”

And you walked out.

The rest of the day, you ignored him. He didn’t try to talk to you. Not even once.

But the silence wasn't peace. It was pressure, thick and heavy. You couldn’t focus.

By lunch, you'd pulled up three transfer applications on your phone, but none of them felt like the right move. Running didn’t solve the problem, it just meant you’d keep running.

So instead, you started thinking differently.

If Phainon wanted to get close to you? Fine.

You’d make him hate it.

You listed ridiculous stuff maybe you could use against him:

Step 1: Code like a cryptid. Talk only in binary. Step 2: Constantly mention obscure operating systems and laugh when he doesn’t get it. Step 3: Bring spreadsheets of cat behavior patterns and pretend they’re “emotional simulations.” Step 4: Add him to a fake group project and send 3am emails titled “urgent patch notes.”

Your plan was almost working.

The constant 3 a.m. “patch note” emails. The random references to deprecated programming languages.

It should’ve been enough.

But he always came back.

You were exhausted.

So you went back to Plan Move Away. You re-opened the school transfer forms, actually filled out your personal statement, and left the tab open just in case.

And then, out of nowhere, Kaito happened.

You met him during a school lab module. He wore round glasses, always had cat-hair on his hoodie, and genuinely laughed at your dry jokes. Even better? He knew how to debug. You both ended up fixing an old RPGMaker horror build for fun and spent lunch breaks balancing variables and laughing over cursed enemy sprites.

He wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t hack your life. He was just... easy.

Which was why Phainon noticed right away.

He cornered you by the vending machines after school.

“So... That new guy.”

“His name is Kaito.”

“Cool... But I thought we were working on your game.”

You crossed your arms. “We were. Then you installed spyware on my hard drive.”

“I apologized for that.”

You didn’t budge.

“So you replaced me?”

“I didn’t replace anyone. Kaito’s just someone I can work with without needing to run background checks.”

He scowled. “So you don’t trust me.”

“Can you blame me?”

Phainon looked at you, searching for something. Then he took a step closer.

“Okay. Fine. Maybe I messed up. Maybe I made it weird. But I thought we were building something—together. I didn’t realize you’d hand the controller to some new guy and bench me.”

“Everyone deserves to code.”

That struck a nerve.

“Right.” His voice dropped. “But not everyone gets you.”

This was personal.

Which made it more complicated when, the next day, you came home, turned on your PC and noticed a new folder on your desktop.

“GAME_PATCHED_FINAL_no_KAITO”

And a note:

“If you're gonna replace me, you better fix the recursion loop. Or let me help.”

You stared at the screen, heat crawling up your neck.

You didn’t know if you were furious or impressed.

You had your code. You had your own project. You had Kaito now.

You went on without him.

You stripped your old game build clean, rewrote the framework, even changed the name. Burned all the folders that had anything labeled “v2.6” or “player_one.” You started fresh.

And Phainon? He kept his distance. At least physically.

Then came the mailbox.

It was a regular Thursday when you got home. You were stepping out of your shoes when your mom called from the kitchen:

“There’s something in the mailbox for you.”

You blinked. “Mail? As in—physical?”

“Yeah. Like the old days.” She chuckled. “Looks like a CD.”

You grabbed it, peeling back the envelope carefully.

Plain. No return address. Just one thing written in black marker on the CD’s surface:

“BOOT ME :)”

You rolled your eyes. “Really?”

Of course it was from him. The handwriting was unmistakably chaotic.

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t going to test this thing on your personal machine. Not after last time.

So you waited.

The next day during free lab hour, you sat down at one of the school’s clunky public PCs. You slipped on the headphones just in case it played audio.

The CD slid in.

[ Loading... Welcome Back, Player One ]

A single line of code glowing on a black screen:

function whyYouLeft { return “?”; }

Then the screen glitched again—and a video window opened.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just a shaky webcam video of Phainon in his messy room, sitting on the floor cross-legged.

“Okay. So, if you’re watching this… then I guess I broke like, ten privacy boundaries again. But I swear—this time, no access to your camera. Just... this.”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

“I don’t know why you pulled away. But I want to understand.” He looked at the disc. “I know I messed up. And maybe that scares you. Maybe you think people only get close to you because of your talent. Maybe you hate how I made it all messy.”

He looked up at the camera, eyes sincere.

“But it wasn’t about your code. Or the game. I wanted to know you. The person behind all that.”

He paused, then added quietly: “I miss being your Player Two.”

The screen turned black again.

You stared at the screen. The headphones still buzzed faintly in your ears with the silence that followed.

You didn’t eject the CD.

You just… sat there.

----

The hallway echoed with the soft shuffle of bags and the clatter of desks being dragged back into place. Students were peeling off one by one, some still laughing, some too tired to care. The bell had rung fifteen minutes ago, school was out, but you stayed.

Until it was just two people left in the room: You and Phainon.

He was halfway through zipping up his bag when he noticed you approaching.

He blinked, clearly surprised. “…Hey.”

“I watched the CD.”

Phainon straightened, instantly alert. “Yeah?”

“It was unnecessary.” you said dryly. Then paused. “But… I get it.”

He opened his mouth, maybe to defend himself, maybe to apologize again, but you raised a hand before he could.

“I’m not starting over with you. I’m continuing, with conditions.”

“You can join the project again,” you said firmly, “if you promise to stop doing stuff behind my back. Everything stays aboveboard.”

You added “Also, if we’re working together, you have to be civil with Kaito.”

“Kaito?” he repeated.

You nodded. “He’s part of this now. Whether you like it or not. I’m not removing him just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

“You want me to team up with someone who’s clearly trying to be me?”

“He’s not trying to be you.”

Phainon didn’t say anything for a moment. His fingers curled slightly around the strap of his bag.

“So that’s the deal?” he asked quietly. “Let you keep your new friend, and I get supervised access to your game like it’s a daycare pass?”

You shrugged. “If it bothers you that much, you don’t have to join.”

There was a tense silence between you.

“Fine,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “If that’s what it takes.”

You both left the room.

But the minute he walked into the golden hour light outside the school building, Phainon’s smile twisted into something else.

He had no intention of sharing.

Kaito was an obstacle. And Phainon knew exactly how to handle obstacles.

He didn’t need to hack anyone this time. Not when he had reputation.

He was a magnet in the school ecosystem - student rep, the guy everyone knew, the guy everyone liked. Popularity was a language, and Phainon was fluent.

He spoke to people in Kaito’s other classes. Casually dropped things like:

“You know that Kaito guy? Little… intense, right?”

Or:

“Hey, just a heads-up. He’s been engaging with some guys out of school these days. Kinda weird, don’t you think?”

Rumors ran faster than servers during a DDOS attack.

You didn’t notice it right away.

But the others started acting cold toward him. Like he was radioactive.

“Hey… did I do something? People’ve been acting weird.”

You frowned. “Weird how?”

Kaito hesitated. “I dunno. Just… off. Like they know something I don’t.”

Phainon acted perfectly normal the next day.

He brought snacks. He complimented your new UI layout. He laughed at your deadpan jokes.

Phainon never played fair.

It started with a casual invite. One that looked harmless on the surface.

Phainon leaned over your desk during your group’s usual project hour. “Hey,” he said. “There’s a match this weekend—finals. I’m playing.” Then he added, “You and Kaito should come. Y’know. Team bonding. Off-screen chemistry.”

Kaito, surprisingly, looked excited. “I’ve never been to one of your matches. Might be fun.”

For once, Phainon was asking.

So you said yes.

But plans changed.

Your part-time shift at the local computer shop ran long, someone brought in a corrupted hard drive and left in tears, and by the time you were done running diagnostics and fixing their system, the sun had already dipped behind the horizon.

You texted Kai.

[Sorry. Can’t make it. Tell me how it goes later.]

No reply.

You didn’t hear from him until the next morning.

Your phone buzzed with a single message:

From unknown number: “Your friend’s at City Medical. You should come.”

You nearly dropped your phone.

Kaito lay in the bed, right arm in a sling, a thin cut on his brow, bruises trailing the side of his cheek. His glasses sat on the tray next to him, bent out of shape. He was asleep when you walked in.

Phainon was sitting beside the bed.

He glanced up when you entered.

“Hey.” He stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. “Didn’t expect you so early.”

“What happened?”

“It was an accident. During the second half, he tripped—took a bad fall.”

You stared at him. “He doesn’t even run. Why was he even on the field?”

“He got a little too excited. Honestly, I tried to wave him back.” He looked at the bed again. “Poor guy. Probably got caught up in the moment.”

But… the whispers had already started at school. You heard them in the hallways, snippets like:

“I heard that nerd wasn’t watching the game rules.” “Why was he even on the field?” “Guess he wanted attention.”

It was already being spun. And no one could prove it otherwise.

You sat quietly in the chair by Kaito’s side once Phainon left. Your eyes didn’t leave the steady rise and fall of his chest.

With Kaito out of the picture, it was just you and Phainon again. He was standing behind your chair, one hand resting on the backrest while he leaned over to comment on your code.

He would speak low near your ear like the two of you shared something secret. Sometimes his hand would linger on your shoulder, a little longer than it should.

And you just kept coding.

You didn’t want to say it out loud, but ever since the hospital visit, your guard hadn’t dropped once.

Every time Phainon brought snacks, or coffee, or even just his charming laugh, there was something clawing at the back of your head.

The others in school weren’t subtle either. You noticed the sideways glances. The hushed tones in the hallway. Students whispering by the lockers, pretending not to look your way.

Some even snickered outright when you walked into the lab with Phainon beside you, your laptops under your arms like a pair of matching uniforms.

“Guess if you can’t compete, just date the star instead.”

Phainon noticed. Of course he did.

He smirked as he leaned in and whispered: “Let them talk. We’re the ones doing something real.”

You didn’t reply. You just sat down and turned on your machine.

And when you got focused, really focused, you forgot everything else. You skipped lunch. You skipped breaks.

That’s when Phainon would step in again.

You hadn’t even noticed him peel open a rice ball wrapper until he tapped your chin gently with it.

“Eat.” he said simply.

“What?”

“You haven’t touched a single thing since third period. Just chew.”

He held it closer to your lips—half a challenge, half a joke.

You frowned slightly, but opened your mouth. He fed it to you.

---

"Why are they always together now? It’s getting annoying."

"Seriously. Ever since that freak started hanging out with Phainon, he’s been acting weird. Ignoring us."

"They practically live in the lab. It’s pathetic. Clingy."

"Didn’t Kai or whatever his name is end up in the hospital too? You think it’s a coincidence?"

"Well… maybe we should remind them where their place is."

Your bag was heavy on your shoulder. You were heading to the lab as usual, maybe Phainon would be there already, or maybe not. You didn’t text him today.

You were halfway down the stairs when it happened.

A slight nudge.

There was a moment—a single heartbeat—when your brain recognized the danger.

Then everything went black.

[Hospital Room – Present]

You woke to pain pressing behind your eyes and an icy pressure on your wrist.

“Hey.. hey. You’re awake?”

You blinked through the blurriness. Phainon’s face came into view, shadowed by worry and sleeplessness.

“Don’t move too fast. You hit your head—really hard.”

Your throat felt dry. You tried to speak but failed. He immediately reached for the straw in a plastic cup and held it to your lips.

You let the water coat your throat. Your mom entered then, her voice choked with relief as she kissed your forehead and muttered prayers under her breath. Behind her, your sibling waved awkwardly with puffy eyes.

Your body still ached. But in your stillness, your mind drifted.

[Seven Years Ago]

You stood outside the regional coding challenge arena, holding your little cardboard certificate for First Prize in your hand. The others from your school were celebrating inside, but you stepped out for air.

That’s when you heard it.

Sniffling. The sound of someone trying really hard not to cry.

You followed the noise and found him, curled behind the bushes next to the school’s HVAC system, arms wrapped around his knees. He was kicking at a tangle of wires and muttering under his breath.

His screen had crashed halfway through the demo. His mom, who was in the audience, had made that face. Not angry—disappointed.

“Leave me alone” he snapped when he noticed you.

You stood there silently and pulled out a juice box from your bag. Pushed it toward him.

He glared at it, then you. “I lost.”

You shrugged. “Your code was complex, though. That’s impressive for our age.”

He finally took the juice box. Sipped it quietly.

You sat beside him, ignoring the grass stains and bugs. “I could help. If you want. You’ll get better.”

He stared at you, like trying to see through your intentions.

“…Why?”

“Because you were good. And no one helped me when I started either. So I guess I just want to promise it won’t always suck.”

You smiled. “Wanna be friends?”

He nodded.

You forgot that moment. Years passed. But Phainon never did.

Because in that moment, you were the first person who saw value in him.

And he kept that memory like a loaded save file.

Waiting to be opened again.

[Hospital Room – Present]

You stirred awake.

Night had fallen.

Phainon hadn’t left. His hand was still holding yours, as if letting go would make you disappear.

You stared at the ceiling. “Did you know?”

He looked up.

“About the stairwell?” you clarified.

His jaw tensed. “…Yes.”

You didn’t respond.

He continued: “I told them to back off. I thought that was enough.”

You turned to face him.

“I was too late. And I’m sorry.”

You didn’t want his apology.

You wanted to go back and undo all of it. All the memories with him.

[One Month Later]

It was as if you had never existed.

Even your home, he passed by once, late at night, still in his hoodie and uniform, was locked up, the windows sealed, the gate chained. A "FOR RENT" sign swayed faintly in the wind.

You had moved.

Without goodbye.

“…Didn’t they get, like, pushed or something?”

“Maybe their parents freaked out.”

“Phainon’s been acting insane ever since. You think he—”

The boy they were whispering about passed them without a glance.

He just sat in the old lab sometimes—your chair cold and silent across from him—staring at the unfinished game you both used to work on. His fingers would hover over the keyboard, only to fall away.

He didn’t talk to Kaito anymore. He didn’t talk to anyone, really.

One week later, Phainon stared at the wall of post-its he'd started building.

A map of digital footprints.

The last IP address you logged in with.

An email you once mentioned.

A string of code only you would write—he knew because he still had a CD of your logic framework.

An old blog post under a different name, dated three years ago.

He had learned from you. Studied you. Watched you work, memorized the way you built firewalls, nested loops, hid access points like digital breadcrumbs only someone obsessed would find.

And he was obsessed.

At school, Phainon finally started speaking again.

To the computer science teacher.

To the club advisor.

To anyone who might know where the school sent your records. What your “transfer” details included.

But they all said the same thing.

"We don’t know." "It was a private transfer." "We were told not to disclose further."

He sat by his screen again. The glow cast his face in cold blues.

On it was a pixelated image—the game you had coded.

Only this time, it had been modified.

There was a new character. One that looked an awful lot like you. Standing at the end of a path surrounded by glitchy trees.

He pressed enter.

And the character vanished.

Phainon leaned back in his chair.

Where did you go? He didn’t get an answer.

Not yet.

But he would.

----

The screen glowed in the pitch-black room.

Phainon hadn’t slept. Not properly.

There it was.

Phainon’s lips parted. His eyes lit up like a mad scientist finding the last missing variable.

“…Got you.”

----

You sat in the back of the new lab, a new place, everything is new to you, headphones in, hoodie up. You'd been making slow friends here.

Safe. Or so you thought.

Until you saw a notification blink on your laptop.

“System Resource Conflict – Unknown Peripheral Access Attempted.”

You immediately yanked the USB port out.

"Dammit."

----

[Night – Back in Your Apartment]

You watched the camera LED on your laptop blink once, then stop.

You covered it. Disconnected from all networks.

And still, you found phantom code—commands embedded in weird spots.

He was inside.

“What do you want, Phainon?”

The screen lit up again.

Just a simple text file opened itself.

I want what’s mine.

[Elsewhere – Phainon’s POV]

He sat in a cheap hotel near your neighborhood, his laptop surrounded by energy drink cans and open notebooks filled with your old quotes, half-written function names, sketches of you in the margins.

This wasn’t about revenge.

This was about fixing the error that happened the day you left.

[The Next Day – At Your School]

You felt someone watching.

Students still walked the hall like normal. But your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

And when you reached your locker, you found a CD. Labeled in black marker:

“Final Build – OUR Game.”

You dropped it immediately. You didn’t pick it up.

But someone else did. Your cousin.

“…Hey, isn’t this yours?”

“No. Leave it.”

That night, when you checked online, your cousin’s PC pinged offline.

“Ugh.. I warned him already.”

Then his phone. Then his socials.

Gone.

You wanted to end this. So you did what you must.

“Don’t worry. I’m here now.”

“We’re going to finish what we started.”

“Together.”

The lights in your room dimmed.

You agreed to meet him.

“Let’s end this.”

Rooftop. 5:00 PM.

You knew this was dangerous.

But you were exhausted.

Of hiding. Of losing friends.

You needed closure—even if it meant facing him again.

----

Phainon stood at the edge of the roof, back to you.

He hadn’t changed much.

You approached slowly.

Phainon turned.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, stepping forward. “I just… wanted to be with you. Always.”

“You hacked my laptop.”

“You left first.”

“You stalked me. Threatened people. My cousin.”

“He shouldn’t have touched our game.”

“It wasn’t ‘our’ anything!” you snapped. “It stopped being ours the moment you tried to control me.”

“...I see”

That was it. You said what you had to say. You turned toward the door.

You should’ve kept your guard up.

CRACK

Blinding white. Then black.

-----

You stirred.

Phainon sat nearby, typing.

“Hey,” he said softly, as if he hadn’t just abducted you. “You were out for a while. I was worried.”

“Let me go.”

He tilted his head. “But I just got you back.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“I can. And I will. We have work to finish.”

“…You're insane.”

“No,” he said with unnerving calm. “I'm in love.”

He stood, walking toward you, crouching beside your chair.

“Look, I added your old AI logic into the game. It talks like you now.”

You stared at him in horror.

“Phainon… you can't replace me with code.”

He smiled.

“Then stay.”

Then, like he was explaining code to a beginner:

“If I lose you again… I’ll transfer you.”

“What?”

“If your body dies… I can keep you. Upload your consciousness into the framework. You’re brilliant, after all. Your patterns, your memory depth... already trained into the AI from our game.” He reached up and gently touched your temple. “You won’t even notice the difference.”

You went completely still.

He was serious. Fully convinced. He would do it.

“…Phainon” you said quietly, doing everything you could to keep your voice steady. “That’s… sweet. But I’m not ready for that.”

“I just think,” you continued, “maybe I can help improve the code more if I’m still—” you laughed nervously—“you know, in this form.”

Then… he sighed. “You’re so logical,” he murmured. “So calm.... That’s why I love you.”

He leaned his forehead against yours.

“I knew you’d understand eventually.”

[txttletale]

Probably a stupid question, but I've been on masculinizing hrt for five years and had top surgery, but I'm probably gonna start living as a woman again soon because I feel like it - I'd rather explode than be called "detrans", I know the proper term is just "cis" when I'm just describing my gender but if I'm describing the *process* that got me here does "retransitioning" or something work? Kind of caught between not wanting to seem like I'm doing some ~afab transfem~ bullshit, feeling like my situation is more complicated than "cis woman full stop", and not wanting to be associated with the detrans movement.

i think 'retransitioning' is a fine word -- like, the thing about 'detransition' is that it implies 'transition' as like, a binary, one-way process, right, that you are 'naturally', prediscursively, Something and that change is a Transition that must be Reversed. you're not moving backwards, you're moving forward with a new understanding of yourself. and yknow i think it is fine to draw parallels and understanding of your own situation through comparisons to trans women, right, especially because i'm sure that someone who has been on masculinizing HRT and is known to the people in their life as 'a man' goign from that to presenting 'as a woman' is going to be subject to transmisogyny

like just frankly you will probably end up having a lot of experiences that are similar to those of a trans woman, and find that point of comparison useful. the reason the 'afab transfems' or whatever on here are so noxious are because they are either 1. using transfem to mean 'like a woman, but Not' or 2. doing an elaborate identity-politics-darvo routine to yell at trans women and wage a campaign of epistemic violence against them right? i think if you try to talk to transfems about those commonalities and frame them as that, as commonalitiesi and shared experiences of navigating the world, many of them will be amenable and willing to build that kind of solidarity

& at the same time your 'transition' in this regard will be much easier than that of a trans woman, even though you might very well run up against transmisogynistic resistance, bc transphobic institutions will in fact be champing at the bit to help you 'stop being trans'. and i think the best thing you can do in this situation is to reject this framing of transness as Aberration and casab as Natural, Unquestioned Truth. and you seem to be doing this already! so idk you seem to have a good head on your shoulders and i think if you just like talk to the trans people and women in your life with this kind of attitude you will be fine and find way sto communicate your experiences that are helfpul