#short stack editions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aerialmirrorss · 7 months ago

Text

𝐬 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐦 𝐨 𝐭 𝐢 𝐨 𝐧 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ zach maclaren

playing: 𝟏𝟖 by one direction 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! every winter break, you and your childhood best friend zach’s families plan the annual trip to your family’s cabin in the mountains. but when an accident happens, a guilt-ridden zach is willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel better.

paring: zach maclaren x fem!reader

warnings: childhood friends to lovers , zach accidentally hurts reader , mentions of bruising , angst , lots of fluff (zach is so hopelessly in love with you it hurts) , sexual content + unprotected sex! , fingering , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 8.2k

notes: today’s post is a long one but bear w me pls i had to edit so much of it :(

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

“can you grab the spare?” zach calls from the back of the range rover, tugging the luggage out of the trunk.

stepping out of the car, the icy air hits your face like a slap, the sudden chill turning your nose pink and making your cheeks tingle.

“fuck, it’s freezing,” you mutter under your breath, hurrying over to the pile of rocks near the cabin door. your fingers, already stiff and trembling from the cold, fumble as you dig through the stones, searching for the fake rock with the hidden spare key.

finally, you find it and unlock the door. you and zach waste no time rushing inside, flipping on the furnace and switching on the electric fireplace. warm air begins to spill into the room, cutting through the biting chill.

“jesus, it’s brutal out there,” zach says with a laugh, dropping the suitcases by the front door.

“i know,” you reply, rubbing your hands together for warmth. “i don’t get how our parents do it when they get here first.”

your gaze sweeps over the cabin, familiar and cozy even in its current state of disarray. a small smile creeps onto your face as memories flood back. by the time your family usually arrives, the maclarens have already set everything up—lights twinkling, garlands hung, the whole place transformed for the holidays.

but not this year. this year, you and zach got here first. being in college has made it easier for the two of you to make the trip, especially since it’s only a short drive from campus. with your parents tied up at work, they won’t arrive for another two days, leaving you and zach to settle in and prepare the cabin yourselves

zach seems to read your mind as he heads toward the storage closet under the staircase. “the moms mentioned something about the decorations being in here,” he says, pulling open the door.

he starts rummaging through the piles, expecting to find boxes labeled xmas. instead, his hand lands on a stack labeled snowboarding gear. a small smile tugs at his lips.

“guess the decorations can wait,” he says, pulling out the boxes. turning to you, he raises an eyebrow, and you meet his look with a knowing nod. “get dressed.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

you glide across the flat, powdery snow after hopping off the ski lift. the cold air nips at your cheeks, leaving them rosy and warm beneath your baby pink goggles. when you finally stop at the edge of the slope, you tug the goggles up onto your helmet, panting softly as mist forms in the cold air.

zach approaches behind you, stopping at your side. you look up at him, your eyes bright with excitement. “hi,” you say, your breath still catching from the climb.

“hey,” he replies, chuckling softly, his voice warm and steady. he feels something tighten in his chest—your voice, your smile, the way you look at him. if only you knew how effortlessly you could bring him to his knees.

but he would never say it. not to you. not when it could risk the friendship you’ve built over years.

you’ve been inseparable since second grade, when zach worked up the courage to ask for your help mastering the monkey bars. you were the only one who could make it all the way across without falling, and he’d admired you ever since. now, here you are—still together, still tangled in a friendship that means everything, even if it sometimes feels like it could be so much more.

zach isn’t sure when his feelings for you started to shift, turning into something he couldn’t quite name but couldn’t ignore either. maybe it was that afternoon when he was twelve, bedridden with a nasty cold, and you showed up unannounced with a thermos of homemade chicken soup. the soup had been borderline inedible—too salty, with mushy noodles—but the gesture had warmed him in a way he’d never forget. of course, he’d eaten every last bite and told you it was perfect.

or maybe it was on his fifteenth birthday. he’d always treated his birthday like any other day, never one to make a big deal of it, but you didn’t see it that way. while he was out, you snuck into his room and filled it with many presents and blue and black balloons—his favorite colors. he’d walked in, startled by the effort you’d put in just to make him smile, and something about it stuck with him.

or maybe it was the night he ended things with his first long-term girlfriend at seventeen. her problem had been you—the closeness you and zach shared, the bond she couldn’t understand. she’d wanted him to choose, and it wasn’t even a question. when you found out, you didn’t say “i told you so” or press him for details. instead, you showed up with a bag of junk food and a stack of movies. you stayed the whole weekend, laughing, crying over sappy scenes, and talking until the early hours of the morning about your dreams and futures.

in every timeline, in every version of his life, zach knows he’d choose you. over a girlfriend, over a best friend, over anyone.

a soft click pulls zach from his thoughts. glancing down, he sees you already strapped to your snowboard, your goggles perched perfectly on your face. you reach up, offering your hand for help. with barely any effort, zach pulls you to your feet, earning a giggle that tugs at his chest more than he cares to admit.

“i don’t think i’ll ever get tired of this view,” you say softly, taking in the snow-draped mountains and the endless horizon of white and blue.

zach crouches down, fumbling slightly as he straps himself into his board. his fingers falter when he glances up at you. the way your smile glows as you take in the scenery—it’s more breathtaking to him than the view itself.

“yeah,” he murmurs, his voice quiet. “me either.”

you turn to him with a playful glint in your eye. “race you down?”

zach chuckles, shaking his head as he secures his last buckle. “no.”

you blink at him, brows furrowing. “why not?”

“because,” he says, standing and stretching, a smug grin tugging at his lips, “i’ll smoke you so fast it’ll almost be sad.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes at the playful jab, but the spark of competition ignites instantly. zach knows you well enough to see it too. before he can say another word, you tug your goggles down, lean forward, and launch yourself down the slope, your speed kicking up a flurry of snow in your wake.

“cheater!” zach yells after you, his voice echoing through the mountain air.

your laughter rings out, light and carefree, as you pull your face cover up to shield yourself from the biting cold. with a determined grin, zach pulls down his goggles and takes off after you, the race already on.

the descent starts smoothly, the rush of cold air whipping past your face as you carve through the snow, the thrill of the slope igniting your competitive streak. you glance over your shoulder, spotting zach gaining on you. he’s fast—faster than you expected—and his determined grin sends a surge of adrenaline through you.

you try to pick up speed, leaning into the next turn, but your edge catches an icy patch. it happens so quickly—a sharp jolt, your balance slipping, and suddenly, you’re tumbling. the world tilts, snow sprays into the air, and before you can even react, you collide with something solid.

or rather, someone.

zach.

the two of you go down in a tangled heap, his snowboard slicing awkwardly into the snow as he tries (and fails) to stop in time. his arms instinctively wrap around you as you both slide a few more feet before finally coming to a stop in a soft bank of powder.

for a moment, everything is still.

you blink up at him, stunned and breathless, your goggles slightly askew. zach’s face hovers inches above yours, his cheeks flushed—not just from the cold.

“you good?” he asks, his voice laced with concern, though his lips twitch into a small smile.

you can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the moment catching up to you. “yeah… i think so. you?”

he nods, chuckling now too. “well, i wasn’t planning on eating snow, but at least i cushioned your fall.”

you roll your eyes, shoving at his chest lightly as he helps you sit up. “cushioned my fall? you practically tackled me.”

“only because you fell first,” he counters, his grin widening.

despite the snow seeping into your clothes and the ache of your tumble, you find yourself laughing again. zach stands, brushing snow off himself before offering you his hand. as he pulls you up, you notice his gaze lingering just a little longer than usual, his smile softer now.

just as the rush of laughter and adrenaline starts to fade, a sharp, sudden pain slices through your side, stealing the breath from your lungs. you gasp, instinctively clutching your side. “ouch.”

zach’s smile vanishes, his brows knitting together in concern. “what? what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know, i—” another sharp pang makes you wince, doubling over slightly as you shuffle off to the side of the slope, out of the way of other snowboarders. your hands fumble to tug off your gloves, urgency overriding the cold.

you shove the gloves into zach’s hands without a word and begin unzipping your snow jacket, pulling up your thermal layer to investigate. you crane your neck to look, but the angle makes it impossible to see what’s wrong. the pain is sharp and unrelenting, leaving you wincing as you try to figure it out.

“can you see anything?” you ask, your voice tight.

but zach’s expression answers before he says a word. his eyes widen, his face draining of color as he steps closer, urgency in every movement.

“oh shit,” he mutters, already crouching down to get a better look.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

“intercostal muscle strain,” the doctor says, her tone calm but firm as you sit up with a wince. “you’re very lucky—it could’ve been a fractured or broken rib, and that would’ve been far more painful than what you’re feeling now.”

you nod slowly, wincing again as you pull your clothes back down over your bare torso.

“it’s nothing serious, thankfully,” she continues, scribbling something onto a notepad. “but you’ll need to take it easy—no snowboarding for at least a week.”

you groan dramatically, throwing your arm over your eyes in exasperation, only to regret it instantly as the ache in your side flares. you hiss through your teeth, lowering your arm gingerly.

the doctor hides a small smile at your frustration. “get plenty of rest, and take two 500mg Tylenol every 4–6 hours to help with the pain,” she advises. “for the bruising, you can pick up some arnica gel or aloe vera at a pharmacy—it’ll help with the inflammation.”

zach, who’s been quietly standing at your side the whole time, finally speaks up. “so no snowboarding at all?”

“none,” the doctor confirms, looking at you pointedly.

zach lets out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful nothing was broken, though the guilt still gnaws at him. that tumble had cost you a week of your vacation, and the thought that he played a part in it made his chest ache.

his hand rests idly on the edge of your pillow, his mind clouded with regret, when he suddenly feels your fingers brush against his. his gaze shifts to yours, and he knows immediately that you’ve read him like a book.

the doctor steps out, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. she’s seen the unspoken bond between the two of you—something that everyone else seems to notice, even if you and zach haven’t admitted it to yourselves.

“i’m so sorry—” zach starts, his voice heavy with remorse, but you cut him off with a gentle shake of your head.

“it wasn’t your fault, zach,” you say firmly, your voice soft yet steady. your fingers trace small patterns on the back of his hand, grounding him. “there was no way to stop that fall from happening, or for you to avoid crashing into me. it was just… one of those things.”

zach looks down at your intertwined fingers, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

you smile, swinging your legs carefully over the edge of the bed to stand. “though i do wish you hadn’t elbowed me so hard in the process.”

your playful jab makes him groan, dropping his head into his hand. “you’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“not a chance,” you tease, grinning as you test your balance on your feet.

his guilty expression softens into something lighter, his lips quirking into a small smile as he watches you. “fair enough,” he murmurs, his tone filled with a mix of relief and something deeper he doesn’t quite let himself say.

as per the doctor’s advice, you and zach stopped at a nearby pharmacy on the way back to the cabin, picking up some arnica gel for the swelling and a bottle of tylenol. zach had insisted on carrying everything, even as you rolled your eyes and tried to insist you were fine.

back at the cabin, he’d gone into full caretaker mode. now, you were nestled on the couch in your favorite pajamas, surrounded by fluffed pillows, a warm blanket, and fuzzy socks. zach had even turned on your favorite comfort show, leaving no detail overlooked.

in the kitchen, you could hear him speaking quietly with your parents on the phone. the tone of his voice was calm and reassuring, though you caught a few words here and there about “keeping an eye on her” and “following doctor’s orders.”

“yeah, I will. alright—yeah, sounds good, I’ll let her know. oh- okay. bye.”

zach ended the call, setting his phone down on the kitchen island before heading over to you with a water bottle, a couple of tylenol pills, and a snack bowl balanced in his hands. he plopped onto the couch next to you, a small laugh escaping as he handed you the items.

“let me guess,” you started, mockingly, “make sure she’s actually taking the pain meds and don’t let her go snowboarding no matter how much she begs.”

zach laughed, shaking his head. “pretty much. they’re just worried about you. it took a lot of convincing to stop them from dropping everything at work and driving straight to the hospital.”

you took the water bottle and pills, rolling your eyes as you scanned the label. “this is bullshit. i feel fine. it doesn’t even hurt that much anymore.”

zach raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “don’t lie. i can hear you cursing under your breath every time you move too fast.”

he twisted open the water bottle and popped open the tylenol, handing them back to you with an air of exaggerated patience.

“i can open my own stuff, you know,” you grumbled, though you took both from him.

“sure, you can,” he said, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. “but this way, i get to feel useful. so, humor me.”

you roll your eyes but oblige, popping the pills into your mouth and washing them down with a gulp of water. for the rest of the afternoon, you and zach fully embraced the art of laziness. you binged several episodes of your comfort show, made your way through the entire snack bowl, and eventually ordered pizza, which arrived just as the last crumbs of chips were devoured—all within four hours.

the warmth of the blanket, the soft hum of the TV, and the exhaustion from the day caught up with you. before you knew it, your eyes drifted shut, the drowsiness overpowering. when you woke, it was to the gentle sensation of zach’s fingers absentmindedly scratching your scalp, the rhythm soothing and familiar.

blinking groggily, you realized your head was resting on his chest. you froze for a split second, then relaxed as the memory of shifting there for comfort came back to you. his chest was sturdy, warm, and—well—perfectly positioned to avoid putting pressure on your sore side. at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“hi,” you croaked, voice raspy with sleep.

“hey,” zach replied softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. his hand paused in your hair briefly before he added, “you need to put the arnica gel on your bruise.”

you groaned in protest, burying your face further into his chest like a stubborn child. the vibration of his laugh rumbled beneath you, warm and familiar.

“c’mon,” he coaxed, leaning forward carefully so you weren’t jostled, reaching for the small container of arnica on the coffee table. his other arm stayed around you, steadying you as he sat back.

with a reluctant sigh, you pushed yourself off him, grumbling as you lifted your pajama shirt just enough to expose the bruised area. even with the pain dulled from the meds, the stretch made you wince, and you let the shirt drop again with a frustrated groan.

“can you help me put it on?” you asked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

zach hesitated for a beat, the question catching him off guard. you didn’t notice, but his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, the proximity and intimacy of the request making his pulse quicken.

“yeah, of course,” he said, his voice steady despite the way his heart raced. he unscrewed the lid, squeezing a small amount of the gel onto his fingers before looking at you. when you nodded, he shifted closer, his movements gentle and deliberate as he applied the gel to your side.

his touch was careful, almost hesitant, as if afraid of hurting you. “let me know if it stings,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.

“it’s fine,” you replied softly, your eyes closing again as the soothing coolness of the gel and his careful touch eased the ache.

zach’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he worked the now-warmed gel into your skin. the rhythmic motion of his fingers was steady, but inside, his composure was unraveling. there was something undeniably intimate about this moment—your quiet, fluttering reactions every time his fingers brushed a new spot, the way your breath hitched when he applied just the right amount of pressure.

his fingers moved instinctively, lifting your shirt a little higher to cover the edges of the bruise, and that’s when he saw it. the small, delicate tattoo just below the curve of your breast.

divine feminine.

the words seemed to stare back at him, burning into his mind as his breath hitched. he swallowed hard, his hand pausing briefly before continuing, slower this time. zach could feel his body reacting in ways he knew it shouldn’t. his chest tightened, and he bit down on his bottom lip, trying to keep himself grounded as warmth pooled low in his stomach.

then you let out a soft, unintentional moan—a mix of pain and relief as his fingers brushed over a particularly tender spot. the sound, quiet and fleeting, sent a chill through him. he froze, inhaling sharply, his hands momentarily still against your side.

your eyes fluttered open, hazy with the remnants of drowsiness. “i’m sorry,” zach murmured, his voice tight.

concern crosses your features as you began to sit up. “zach, it’s fine,” you said, misinterpreting his sudden apology. “it didn’t hurt. i promise.”

but that wasn’t it. not at all.

no, zach wasn’t thinking about the gel, the bruise, or even the fact that he might’ve applied too much pressure. his thoughts had plunged into dangerous territory, spiraling with images he couldn’t suppress.

he was imagining you making that sound again—but for entirely different reasons. how your breathless moans might sound against his ear as you writhed beneath him, your body arching into his as you begged for him to let you cum.

how you might look with your face pressed into the pillows, gripping the sheets, gasping his name in broken cries as he pounded relentlessly inside you from behind, squeezing tightly around him, his hands gripping your hips firmly but gently, guiding you to him.

zach blinked, forcing himself back to the present, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. he dragged a hand through his hair, quickly standing up and mumbling something about needing a drink of water, leaving you puzzled and slightly concerned as he practically fled to the kitchen.

you stood up, muttering a low curse under your breath as the ache in your side flared. despite the pain, you followed him into the kitchen, determined to figure out what was wrong.

“zach,” you called softly, your voice breaking the quiet. he didn’t turn, his back to you, shoulders tense as he stared down at the empty glass in his hands.

stepping closer, you positioned yourself in front of him, standing just beneath his gaze. even then, he refused to look at you, his jaw clenched tightly.

“zach,” you repeated, your fingers gently brushing against his cheek, cupping it to force his eyes to meet yours. the warmth of your touch was almost unbearable for him.

“don’t—” he mumbled, voice low and strained, his gaze flickering to the side as if avoiding yours could somehow mask the turmoil written all over his face.

but you saw it anyway—guilt. raw and unfiltered, pooling in his dark eyes and spilling over in the form of unshed tears.

“zach, what is it?” you asked, your voice soft, barely above a whisper in the still air.

he blinked hard, his breathing uneven as he struggled to hold himself together. the weight of his thoughts pressed heavily on his chest. you trusted him, leaned on him when you were in pain, and here he was, betraying that trust in the worst way—fantasizing about you.

the images haunted him. he couldn’t stop the shameful loop of memories from late nights in his dorm, where he would close his eyes and imagine you in ways he couldn’t admit aloud. he would picture you on top of him, trying to adjust to his size, your brows furrowed and lips parted in quiet gasps. how you might bite your lip to stifle your moans, only to collapse onto his chest when you came undone, breathless and trembling.

but those were just fantasies, fleeting and far removed from reality. they weren’t supposed to bleed into a moment like this—when you were hurt, vulnerable, and looking at him with those wide, concerned eyes.

he squeezed his eyes shut, his voice barely audible. “you were hurt because of me, and i—i can’t stop thinking about…” he trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to physically dispel the thoughts. “it’s not right. i’m not right.”

you frowned, your thumb brushing against his cheek in a soothing gesture. “zach, talk to me. what’s going on?”

he hesitated, his chest rising and falling as he wrestled with himself, unsure if he could say the words that would change everything.

“hey.” your voice was firm yet gentle, cutting through the silence. zach’s eyes opened, hesitantly meeting yours.

“it’s me,” you said, your tone softening. “you can tell me anything, zach. you know that.”

he chewed the inside of his cheek, his jaw tightening as he tried to muster the courage to speak. “i’m so sorry, y/n,” he began, voice heavy with guilt. “i feel awful about what happened today—about you getting hurt. and then you’re here, trusting me to help you, and i’m…” he trailed off, sighing deeply as he covered his eyes with his hand. “i’m trying so hard to control myself, and it’s not okay.”

your brows furrowed as you processed his words, trying to piece together what he meant. the hesitation in his voice, the way he avoided your gaze—it all felt so unlike him.

then, as your eyes flickered downward, you noticed it. the unmistakable bulge in the fabric of his sweats. your breath hitched in realization, a soft gasp escaping your lips before you could stop it.

zach’s hand remained firmly over his eyes, his posture rigid as if bracing himself for your reaction. the room felt impossibly still, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavy in the air.

you reached up, your fingers wrapping gently around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. zach resisted for a moment, but when he finally let you guide him, his eyes met yours—hesitant, filled with embarrassment.

you offered him a small, reassuring smile, one that melted the tension in his features ever so slightly. without a word, you leaned in, your lips brushing softly against his in a kiss that was both hesitant and deliberate.

his brows furrowed, his body frozen for a split second, caught off guard by your sudden boldness. but then, as if a switch flipped, he responded, his hands instinctively finding your face. his touch was firm yet gentle, cradling you as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

it was tender and charged all at once, a silent confession spilling between you both without the need for words. the kitchen, the guilt, the tension—it all faded into the background, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in the moment you hadn’t realized both been waiting for.

your small hands gripped the sides of his sweater near his waist, anchoring yourself to him as his tongue slipped into your mouth without warning. the sensation sent a shiver down your spine, a soft gasp escaping your lips. every movement—every stroke of his tongue against yours, every firm tug of your hair—set your senses on fire, unraveling emotions you’d worked so hard to bury.

of course you liked zach.

you always had.

the realization hit you like a flood, overwhelming and undeniable. you had tucked those feelings deep into the corners of your heart, afraid of what would happen if zach ever found out. you couldn’t bear the thought of ruining what you had. but the truth was simple: your heart had always been his.

you loved him.

zach pulled back suddenly, breaking the kiss as both of you panted for air. his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and ragged. “wait, wait—” he murmured, his voice low and unsteady.

you whimpered softly, a needy sound you didn’t mean to let out and his cock twitched at it. “zach, please,” you whispered, desperate to feel his lips on yours again, the taste of him still lingering.

he smiled softly, brushing a quick kiss against your lips that left you craving more. “i know, m’sorry, baby,” he murmured.

the nickname made your stomach flutter, sending a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the cozy cabin. you sighed, tilting your head to look up at him, waiting for the words that you knew were coming.

zach’s face was conflicted, his brows drawn together as he avoided your gaze for a moment. “i can’t believe i’m saying this… but we can’t tonight,” he admitted, chewing on his bottom lip in that pained way he did when he was struggling with something.

you groaned softly, the disappointment evident in your expression. your eyes softened as you saw the genuine concern etched into his face.

“i don’t want to hurt you even more,” he continued, his hand brushing lightly against your side. “and it could make your injury worse.”

“zach,” you whined, leaning your forehead against his chest, squeezing your eyes shut. “we’ll be careful,” you pleaded, your voice soft and hopeful.

you tilted your head back up, your big, pleading eyes locking with his. you knew exactly the effect they had on him, and for a second, you saw him falter. his jaw tightened as he exhaled a shaky breath, clearly battling with himself.

zach let out a defeated sigh, his resolve crumbling as he crouched down and effortlessly lifted your legs around his waist. the sudden motion made you giggle, clinging to him instinctively. “i win,” you teased breathlessly, a triumphant grin spreading across your lips.

his only response was a sly smirk before pinching your ass, making you squeal in surprise. “careful, or i might change my mind,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he carried you to the bed.

the soft mattress welcomed you as he laid you down gently, the warm glow of the electric fireplace casting flickering shadows across the room. the heat of the moment mirrored the cozy warmth surrounding you both.

zach slid between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he settled there, his aching length pressing against you in a way that made your heart race. neither of you hesitated—your lips collided in a fervent kiss, all hunger and passion, as if this moment had been years in the making. which it was.

your fingers found their way into his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you pulled him closer. his lips moved against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own, each kiss deeper, more intoxicating, than the last. it felt as if the rest of the world melted away, leaving only the two of you in the crackling warmth of the cabin.

“god, you have no idea how much i’ve wanted this,” zach murmurs against your lips, his voice a mix of hunger and longing. your response is a soft moan, quiet but fervent, that makes him press even closer.

he trails a series of slow, teasing kisses down your neck, each nip and suck prompting a sweet, aching arch from your body—until a sudden twinge in your side makes you wince. zach notices immediately, pulling back, concern flooding his eyes. “you okay?”

you nod, forcing a soft smile while trying to mask the lingering pain. you’ve waited too long for this moment and the last thing you want is for him to stop.

he studies you for a second, as if assessing whether you’re truly good, then sits back on his legs. “alright,” he says, voice calm but resolute, “this is how it’s gonna go, then. you can’t move. at all.”

your brows draw together, half-expecting him to crack a grin. but he doesn’t. he’s serious, his gaze unwavering.

“if you move,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, “or try to, i’ll stop.”

you swallow, the weight of his words and the gentle authority in his tone sending a surge of arousal low into your belly. you bite the inside of your cheek, eyes fixed on him, already imagining how you’ll manage to keep still under his touch.

“okay,” you whisper, voice steady but laced with anticipation.

zach’s fingertips skimmed over the outside of your closed thighs, his touch feather-light yet deliberate, as if savoring the moment before taking it further. you watched him through half-lidded eyes, heart thrumming in your chest. with patient care, he began to slide your pajama pants down, revealing your baby blue lace underwear.

his throat worked over a hard swallow as he took you in, jaw clenching and pulse thrumming hot beneath his skin. he could feel himself respond immediately—his cock straining against the softness of his sweats. you saw the way his eyes darkened, how that gentle composure threatened to unravel.

without a word, he eased the lace down as well, leaving you bare before him. instinctively, you kept your thighs pressed together, a final barrier of modesty even as your cheeks warmed. he paused, taking in the sight—the subtle flush on your skin—letting the tension in the air stretch taut.

his gaze flickered up to yours, intense and wordless, the warm glow of the fireplace painting both of you in golden hues that made everything feel dreamy and far removed from the outside world.

“perfect,” he whispered, the single word washing over you, making your skin prickle with a delicious heat. it was as if he saw you in a new light—something delicate and cherished. you felt the flush rise all the way from your chest to your cheeks.

he worked on the buttons of your top with gentle care, careful not to brush too roughly near your bruise. his eyes softened the moment the fabric parted, revealing the tender, discolored skin along your ribs. it was more than just concern written in his features—there was affection, regret, and a silent promise to be gentle.

before you could protest or reassure him, his head dipped down, pressing a series of soft, reverent kisses to the bruise as he eased the top off you, leaving you bare. you shivered under the weight of his tenderness, the careful attention making you feel impossibly close to him.

his fingers drifted lower along your navel, the sensitive skin prickling under his touch. he nuzzled his head beneath your jaw, encouraging you to tilt your head and grant him better access as he breathed slowly, evenly, his warm breath fanning over your throat. just as you began to surrender to the sensation of his lips on your neck, he slipped his hand further down, exploring the softness between your legs.

the first gentle slide of his fingertips through your slick folds made your jaw slacken, a quiet gasp escaping. gathering your wetness, he began to trace slow, deliberate shapes over your clit, drawing you into a heady rhythm that set every nerve alight. your body instinctively wanted to rise to meet his touch, but each time your hips started to rock forward, he’d slow his pace, lifting his gaze to give you a knowing, pointed look—reminding you of your earlier agreement.

the unspoken rule was clear: no moving. you had to let him lead, to trust him completely. caught between sweet frustration and delicious anticipation, you let out a shaky breath and let him guide your pleasure, your heart pounding in your ears.

“shit—you’re soaking,” zach groaned, voice low and strained as he picked up the pace of his fingers. each curl and slide drew out soft, breathy whimpers that spilled from your parted lips. he wore a look of intense concentration, as though memorizing every sound you made.

without warning, his middle finger pressed at your entrance before slowly sinking in, earning a strangled moan that made him nuzzle deeper into your neck. “god,” he breathed, voice muffled against your skin, “you feel so good.” you tightened around him reflexively, and he groaned, the vibration of his voice sending sparks along your spine.

straightening up, he shifted to sit back on his legs, changing the angle and giving himself a better view. he guided your knee down flat against the mattress, not just for his eyes but to ensure you couldn’t easily arch into his touch. a high, keening moan tore from your throat as he curled his finger inside you, hitting that perfect spot that sent tremors through your thighs.

you fought the urge to lift your hips, remembering his warning. still, your body trembled with the need to move, to push deeper into that intoxicating sensation. zach noticed—how could he not?—and it fueled the dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. he knew you were on the edge, knew how badly you wanted to give in.

meanwhile, his own restraint was wearing thin. he was hard—achingly so—and the slow, deliberate way you clenched around his finger nearly did him in. but he held back and added a second finger, pulling a sharp moan from you. if you couldn’t keep still now, how could you handle all of him inside you? this was a test of sorts, a delicious torment, and he was savoring every second.

he felt the way you clenched around his fingers, each flutter and squeeze like a plea for release. your hand gripped his wrist, desperate and trembling, but his pace never wavered. “gonna cum for me, angel?” he asked, voice heavy with anticipation.

you nodded frantically, wordless cries tumbling past your lips as he kept hitting that perfect spot inside you. the pressure built swiftly, stealing your breath, until you shattered around him. your vision went white, the world narrowing down to nothing but the pleasure he wrung from your body.

he guided you through it, not stopping until your muscles started to twitch with the first hints of overstimulation. finally, he slowed, easing you down until your body relaxed beneath him, trembling and sated.

with deliberate slowness, he withdrew his fingers, eyes locked on yours. you watched as he brought them to his mouth, his gaze never leaving your face. he sucked on the digits, tasting you the way he’d imagined a thousand times, letting out a deep, appreciative groan. the warmth of his breath on your skin, the soft glow around you both—everything felt charged and intimate, humming with the understanding that nothing would be the same between you again.

zach tugged his sweatshirt off in one smooth, hurried motion, the fabric barely brushing his skin before it landed somewhere on the floor. the urgency in his movements was unmistakable—he was desperate to feel you against him again. every nerve in his body was alight, the ache of wanting you growing more intense by the second.

with a quick push, he lowered his sweatpants and boxers together, freeing himself in one swift motion. the sight of him made your pulse stumble. he was huge—imposingly so—and the thought of taking him in had your breath catching in your throat. you tried to keep your expression neutral, but the widening of your eyes gave you away.

zach noticed. a hint of a smirk ghosted his lips as he settled himself between your thighs, his length resting hot and heavy against your abdomen. leaning down, he caught your mouth in a kiss that was both tender and all-consuming, as if he needed to show you how much he wanted you, how badly he craved this moment with you.

“it’s okay, baby,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and reassuring. “we’ll make it fit.” he pulled back slightly, just enough to watch your face as he guided his tip to your entrance. he gave himself a few slow pumps, as though trying to ease the ache and calm the racing of his own heartbeat.

your breath caught again, excitement and nervous anticipation mingling as he hovered there, every second swelling with tension and promise.

he pressed forward slowly, a careful, deliberate push that drew a ragged gasp from both of you. his forehead hovered just above yours, the soft brush of your lips more an exchange of breath than a kiss, and you tangled your fingers into his hair, gripping gently as he eased himself deeper. small, shallow strokes let you stretch around him, adjusting inch by inch.

your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the dull ache that signaled your body opening to him. he paused when he was fully sheathed, giving you time to accommodate his size. your breath caught as his pelvis brushed against your clit, sparking a low moan from your chest. then he pulled back just enough, pushing forward again to repeat the motion, sending soft ripples of pleasure through you. each gentle thrust replaced pain with gathering warmth, and you felt your body relaxing, welcoming him fully as a quiet whimper escaped your throat.

soon, the discomfort faded entirely, leaving only the sweet, humming pleasure of his movements. once he sensed the tension melt from your muscles, he began a steady, more confident rhythm. a subtle shift in angle, and before long, he had your legs wrapped around his waist, granting him deeper access. the pace picked up, each thrust punctuated by the soft slap of skin and echoed moans that drifted through the room.

you couldn’t hold back a curse at the intensity of it all—his body pressed to yours, filling you so completely, his breathing mixing with yours in frantic, needy staccato. it was raw and intoxicating, the two of you lost in the moment, in each other.

“mm, s’ so deep,” you whimpered, voice catching as you glanced down between your bodies. the sight of him disappearing into you with each thrust made your stomach flutter, your walls gripping him tightly.

zach’s breathing turned ragged, trying to maintain enough control to keep you safe and comfortable. but the temptation was too strong, and he gave a particularly sharp thrust, testing your reaction. you yelped, not in pain but in startled pleasure, and he felt you clench around him in response. encouraged, he repeated it until you were left hiccuping between sobs of bliss, every stroke drawing you closer to that sweet oblivion.

“i know, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with need. leaning down, he braced himself and brought his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. he stroked firm, fast circles, determined to send you over the edge first. your nails raked along his shoulders, your breath hitching with each spiral of sensation. the coil in your belly tightened, ready to snap, as he coaxed you closer and closer toward that shattering release.

“—zach,” you warned, voice thin and strained. his response was a low, desperate moan, fingers and hips working in tandem, never giving you a moment’s respite. every thrust felt deeper than the last, his fingertips circling that swollen, sensitive spot until you were on the verge of unraveling completely.

“c’mon, baby,” he coaxed, voice rough and urgent. “soak me. i wanna feel it.” his pace quickened, hips snapping forward, and you gasped as a wave of pleasure hit you hard and fast. your walls clamped down around him, body arching, a silent scream caught in your throat as you were hurled headfirst into bliss.

zach kept moving, guiding you through the aftershocks, his cock dragging through your pulsing muscles as you trembled beneath him. your moans tumbled into whimpers, every nerve still singing with overstimulation. your fingers curled into his shoulders, breath coming in ragged gasps. “please cum inside me,” you begged, voice shaky and raw, desperate to feel him follow you into that world of sensation.

you felt him stiffen, his rhythm faltering as he pressed closer, every breath hot against your ear. with a low, guttural moan, he finally let go, hips rolling gently as he filled you, warmth spreading with each soft pulse. you could feel it, the tension draining from his body, leaving both of you weightless and sated.

his forehead dipped into the crook of your neck, lips pressing languid, grateful kisses against your skin. he was careful with his weight, mindful of your injury and the tenderness in your body, as both of you lingered in the lingering glow. your breaths intermingled, still coming in soft, uneven gasps as you drifted down from that blissful high.

after a moment, he slowly pulled out, making you both hiss quietly at the sensitivity. he rolled onto his side, immediately reaching for you and covering both of your cooling bodies with the duvet. you shifted to face him, still a little breathless, your eyes meeting as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“hi,” you managed, voice husky and soft, a small, contented smile curving your lips.

a quiet laugh escaped him, his arm moving soothingly up and down your back. “hey,” he replied, voice deep and warm, as if speaking in a secret language only the two of you understood.

“i don’t think i told you this earlier but…” you begin, voice soft and cautious as you search for the right words. “i’m all in, zach.” your heart is pounding in your ears, and you’re pretty sure he can feel it where he’s pressed close to you under the duvet.

zach’s eyes soften, a gentle smile curving his lips. the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes gives away his relief. you draw a shaky breath, forging ahead. “i feel like you know you’ve always been it for me. or even if you didn’t, i did. you’re my endgame.”

you’re watching him carefully, looking for any flicker of doubt or hesitation, but all you see is the same warmth and affection you’ve been craving for years.

he doesn’t say a word at first, just leans in and kisses you—slow and deliberate, a silent promise pressed softly into your lips. then he moves along your cheek, brushing your skin with tender pecks, and keeps going until you’re giggling, trying to squirm away from his playful assault of affection.

when he finally pulls back, both of you breathless with laughter, he meets your gaze head-on. “i’ve always loved you, y/n,” he says, voice steady and sure. “you’re it for me.”

your heart swells, and you think you’ve never been happier than in this very moment, wrapped up in his arms, secure in the certainty of what comes next.

for the rest of the night, you and zach drifted in and out of conversation—those familiar, meandering chats that never really needed a point—punctuated by soft laughter and sweet nothings murmured into the darkness. in the quiet spaces, you made love again and again, as if making up for all the time lost.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

the next morning, you woke to find the bed empty. you stretched, the slight ache in your side a warm reminder of the day before. slipping into zach’s sweater and a pair of sleep shorts, you followed the glow of holiday lights out of the bedroom. as you reached the upstairs landing, your eyes widened at the transformation: the entire cabin, from the top floor down, was strung with festive garlands, sparkling ornaments, and twinkling lights.

a fond smile curved on your lips as you descended the stairs, drawn toward the kitchen by soft clinks and muffled curses. rounding the corner, you spotted zach at the stove, his back to you, clearly wrestling with some culinary experiment. “morning,” you said, leaning your elbows on the island.

he turned quickly, an anxious frown on his face. “did i wake you?” he asked, only to relax when you shook your head. you slipped behind the island to join him, his arms sliding around your waist as you took in the sight of eggs and batter, a haphazard attempt at breakfast. “wanted to surprise you,” he murmured into your hair. you giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek in thanks.

“good morning, baby,” zach said softly, smiling down at you.

just then, the front door swung open. in came both sets of parents and a handful of siblings, chatter and laughter echoing off the wood-paneled walls. “hello, hello!” your mom’s voice rang out. before you and zach could step apart or even explain yourselves, she rounded the corner into the kitchen. the scene she found: zach nuzzling your neck, you murmuring about how sweet he was being, both of you bathed in the soft glow of holiday lights.

you froze, cheeks flushing, while zach’s arms tightened protectively around you. your families, already grinning from the doorway, seemed more than pleased to discover the truth you’d both been too shy to admit—until now.

“alright, i called it! everyone cough it up!” avery, zach’s little sister, crowed triumphantly. your families groaned in unison, each one reluctantly digging into their pockets to hand over five dollars. avery quickly amassed thirty bucks in her palm, grinning from ear to ear.

you and zach exchanged a look, trying and failing to stifle your laughter before pulling apart and greeting everyone properly. you embraced each of them in turn, still a bit stunned to see them all here a day early. the cabin brimmed with the scent of pine, hot chocolate, and something baking in the oven—warmth and comfort encapsulated in one cozy scene.

for the remainder of your winter break, you and zach reveled in that feeling of family and togetherness. your days filled with laughter echoing off the wooden walls, good-natured bickering with siblings over board games, and playful teasing from your parents that had both of you blushing more than once. above all, there was the gentle thrill of reaching for zach’s hand under the table, catching his eye across the room, and feeling love wrapped around you like a warm blanket against the cold outside.

#⋆ ˚𝐚𝐫𝐢𝜗𝜚writes #drew starkey #zach maclaren #rafe cameron #zach maclaren x reader #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey x y/n #zach maclaren x y/n #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey smut #Spotify

2K notes · View notes

weaselandfriends · 4 months ago

Text

Ender's Game (novel)

Is Ender Wiggin (pictured above as the little brother from Malcolm in the Middle) guilty of xenocide?

Actually, let's first answer a different, but related, question:

What game does the title "Ender's Game" refer to?

It's not as simple a question as it seems. There are three games that have a prominent role in the plot, all very different from one another.

The obvious answer is the Battle School zero-gravity game, where teams of competitors play glorified laser tag in a big empty cube. In terms of page count, most of the book is dedicated to this game. It's also the game depicted on the cover of the edition above.

Yet this game vanishes during the story's climax, when Ender is given a new game to play, a game he is told is a simulator of spaceship warfare. This "game" turns out to not be a game at all, though; after annihilating the alien homeworld in the final stage, Ender learns that he was actually commanding real ships against real enemies the whole time, and that he just singlehandedly ended the Human-Bugger war forever via total xenocide of the aliens. This is both the final game and the most consequential to the plot, despite the short amount of time it appears.

There's also a third game, a single-player video game Ender plays throughout the story. The game is procedurally generated by an AI to respond to the player's emotional state, and is used as a psychiatric diagnostic for the players. Of the three games, this is the one that probes deepest into Ender's psyche, that most defines him as a person; it's also the final image of the story, as the aliens build a facsimile of its world in reality after psychically reading Ender's mind while he xenocides them.

Because all three games are important, the easiest answer might be that the question doesn't matter, that the story is called Ender's Game not to propose this question at all but simply because the technically more accurate "Ender's Games" would improperly suggest a story about a serial prankster.

Fine. But why does the title use the possessive "Ender's" at all?

He does not own any of these games. He did not create them. He does not facilitate them. All of these games, even the simulator game, predate his use of them as a player, were not designed with him in mind, were intended to train and assess potential commanders for, ostensibly, the hundred years since the last Human-Bugger war.

It's in this question that we get to the crux of what defines Gamer literature.

These games are Ender's games because he dominates them into being about him. He enters a rigidly-defined, rules-based system, and excels so completely that the games warp around his presence. In the Battle School game, the administrators stack the odds against Ender, thereby rendering every other player's presence in the game irrelevant except in their function as challenges for Ender to overcome. The administrators acknowledge this in an argument among themselves:

"The game will be compromised. The comparative standings will become meaningless." [...] "You're getting too close to the game, Anderson. You're forgetting that it is merely a training exercise." "It's also status, identity, purpose, name; all that makes these children who they are comes out of this game. When it becomes known that the game can be manipulated, weighted, cheated, it will undo this whole school. I'm not exaggerating." "I know." "So I hope Ender Wiggin truly is the one, because you'll have degraded the effectiveness of our training method for a long time to come."

In this argument, Anderson views the game the way games have been viewed since antiquity: exercises in acquiring honor and status. This honor is based on the innate fairness inherent to games as rule-based systems, which is why in ancient depictions of sport the chief character is often not a competitor but the host, who acts as referee. In Virgil's Aeneid, for instance, the hero Aeneas hosts a series of funeral games (the games themselves intended as an honor for his dead father). Despite being the principal character of the epic, Aeneas does not compete in these games. Instead, he doles out prizes to each competitor based on the worthiness they display; his fairness marks him symbolically as a wise ruler. The Arthurian tournament is another example, where Arthur as host is the principal character, and the knights (Lancelot, Tristan, etc.) who compete do so primarily to receive honors from him or his queen.

In Ender's Game, it is the antagonistic figure Bonzo Madrid who embodies this classical concept of honor; the word defines him, is repeated constantly ("his Spanish honor"), drives his blistering hatred of Ender, who receives both unfair boons and unfair banes from the game's administrators, who skirts the rules of what is allowed to secure victory. Bonzo is depicted as a stupid, bull-like figure; his honor is ultimately worthless, trivially manipulated by Ender in their final fight.

Meanwhile, it's Ender's disregard for honor, his focus solely on his namesake -- ending, finishing the game, the ends before the means -- that makes him so valuable within the scope of the story. He is "the one," as Anderson puts it, the solipsistically important Gamer, the Only I Play the Game-r, because the game now matters in and of itself, rather than as a social activity. In the Aeneid and in Arthur, the competitors are soldiers, for whom there is a world outside the game. Their games are not a substitute for war but a reprieve from it, and as such they are an activity meant to hold together the unifying fabric of society. The values Anderson espouses (status, identity, purpose, name) are fundamentally more important in this social framework than winning (ending) is.

Ender's game, as the Goosebumps-style blurb on my 20-year-old book fair edition's cover proclaims, is not just a game anymore. Its competitors are also soldiers, but the game is meant to prepare them for war; the spaceship video game is actual war. And as this is a war for the survival of the human race, as Ender is told, there is no need for honor. The othered enemy must be annihilated, without remorse or mercy.

This ethos of the game as fundamentally important for its own sake pervades Gamer literature beyond Ender's Game. In Sword Art Online (which I wrote an essay on here), dying in the game is dying in real life, and as such, only Kirito's ability to beat the game matters. Like Ender, Kirito is immediately disdained by his fellow players as a "cheater" (oh sorry, I mean a "beater") because he possesses inherent advantages due to being a beta player. In an actual game, a game that is only a game, Kirito's cheat powers would render the game pointless. What purpose does Kirito winning serve if he does it with Dual Wielding, an overpowered skill that only he is allowed to have? But when a game has real stakes, when only ability to win matters, it is possible to disregard fairness and see the cheater as heroic.

This notion of the "cheat power," a unique and overpowered ability only the protagonist has, is pervasive in post-SAO Gamer literature. To those for whom games are simply games, such powers can only be infuriating and obnoxious betrayals of the purpose of games; to those for whom games mean more than just games, for whom games have a primacy of importance, these powers are all that matter.

That's the core conceit of Gamer literature: the idea that the Game is life, that winning is, in fact, everything.

What sets Ender's Game apart from Sword Art Online is that it creates the inverted world where the Game matters above all, but then draws back the curtain to reveal the inversion. The Buggers are, in fact, no longer hostile. They are not planning to invade Earth again, as Ender has been told his entire life. The war, for them, is entirely defensive, and Ender is the aggressor. And due to Ender's singleminded focus on Ending, on winning, on disregarding honor and fairness, he ultimately commits the xenocide, erases an entire sentient species from existence. He wins a game he should never have been playing.

The obvious counterargument, the one I imagine everyone who has read this book thought up the moment I posed the question at the beginning of this essay, is that Ender did not know he was committing xenocide. The fact that the combat simulator game was not a game was withheld from him until afterward. Plus, he was a child.

Salient arguments all. Ones the book itself makes, via Ender's commander, Graff, to absolve him of sin at the end. They're probably even correct, in a legal sense (I'm not a legal scholar, don't quote me), and in a moral sense. In real life, it would be difficult to blame a 10-year-old in those circumstances for what he did. But in the thematic framework of Ender's Game the book, these arguments are completely inadequate.

Ender has been playing a fourth game the entire story. And this is the only game he doesn't win.

A game is defined by its system of control and limitation over the behavior of the players. A game has rules. His whole life, Ender has been playing within the rules of the system of control his military commanders place upon him.

Their control extends even before he was born; as a third child in a draconian two-child-only world, his existence is at the behest of the government. Graff confirms this to Ender's parents when he recruits him to Battle School: "Of course we already have your consent, granted in writing at the time conception was confirmed, or he could not have been born. He has been ours since then, if he qualified." Graff frames this control utterly, in terms of possession: "he has been ours." He does not exaggerate. Since Ender was young, he has had a "monitor" implanted in his body so the army could observe him at all times, assess whether he "qualifies"; even the brief moment the monitor is removed is a test. "The final step in your testing was to see what would happen when the monitor came off," Graff explains after Ender passes the test by murdering a 6-year-old. Conditions are set up for Ender, similar to the unfair challenges established in the Battle School game; he is isolated from his peers, denied practice sessions, held in solitary confinement on a remote planetoid. It's all in service of assessing Ender as "the one."

Ender wins this game in the sense that he does, ultimately, become "the one" -- the one Graff and the other military men want, the xenocider of the Buggers. He fails this game in the sense that he does not break it.

The other three games Ender plays, he breaks. Usually by cheating. In the single-player psychiatry game, when presented with a deliberately impossible challenge where a giant gives him two glasses to pick between, Ender cheats and kills the giant. "Cheater, cheater!" the dying giant shouts. In the Battle School game, Ender is ultimately confronted by insurmountable odds: 2 armies against his 1. He cannot outgun his opponent, so he cheats by using most of his troops as a distraction so five soldiers can sneak through the enemy's gate, ending the game. At the school, going through the gate is traditionally seen as a mere formality, something done ceremonially once the enemy team is wiped out (there's that honor again, that ceremony), but it technically causes a win. Even Anderson, the game's administrator, sees this as a breach of the rules when Ender confronts him afterward.

Ender was smiling. "I beat you again, sir," he said. "Nonsense, Ender," Anderson said softly. "Your battle was with Griffin and Tiger." "How stupid do you think I am?" Ender said. Loudly, Anderson said, "After that little maneuver, the rules are being revised to require that all of the enemy's soldiers must be frozen or disabled before the gate can be reversed."

(I include the first part of that quote to indicate that Ender all along knows who he is really playing this game against -- the administrators, the military men who control every facet of his life.)

Ender beats the war simulator game in a similar fashion. Outnumbered this time 1000-to-1, he uses his soldiers as sacrifices to sneak a single bomb onto the alien's homeworld, destroying it and committing his xenocide. Ender himself sees this maneuver as breaking the rules, and in fact falsely believes that if he breaks the rules he will be disqualified, set free from the fourth game: "If I break this rule, they'll never let me be a commander. It would be too dangerous. I'll never have to play a game again. And that is victory." The flaw in his logic comes not from whether he's breaking the rules of the game, but which game he is breaking the rules of. It's not the fourth game, Ender's game, but the war simulator game, simply a sub-game within the confines of the fourth game, a sub-game the fourth game's administrators want him to break, a sub-game that gives Ender the illusion of control by breaking. When Ender tells his administrators about his plan, the response he receives almost taunts him to do it:

"Does the Little Doctor work against a planet?" Mazer's face went rigid. "Ender, the buggers never deliberately attacked a civilian population in either invasion. You decide whether it would be wise to adopt a strategy that would invite reprisals."

(And if it wasn't clear how much the administrators wanted him to do this all along, the moment he does it, they flood the room with cheers.)

Ender wins his games by cheating -- by fighting the rules of the game itself -- and yet he never cheats at the fourth game, the game of his life.

In this fourth game, he always plays by the rules.

In the inverted world of Gamer lit, where games define everything, including life and death, it's a common, even natural progression for the Gamer to finally confront the game's administrator. Sword Art Online ends when Kirito defeats Akihiko Kayaba, the developer. In doing so, Kirito exceeds the confines of the game, not simply by ignoring its rules and coming back to life after he's killed, but by demonstrating mastery against the game's God. Afterward, Sword Art Online truly becomes Kirito's Game, with nobody else able to lay claim to the possessive. Kirito demonstrates this control at the end of the anime by recreating Sword Art Online's world using its source code, completing the transition into a player-administrator.

(Though I wonder, how much of a class reading could one give to this new brand of Gamer lit? If classical games were told from the perspective of the one who controlled them, then is there not something innately anti-establishment in Kirito overcoming the controller? This is the gist of many other death game stories, like The Hunger Games, though none of them may be the most sophisticated takes on the subject, more empty fantasy than anything else.)

Ender never fights or defeats his administrators. He never even tries, other than rare periods of depressive inactivity. He doesn't try even though the option is proposed to him by Dink Meeker, an older student whom Ender respects:

"I'm not going to let the bastards run me, Ender. They've got you pegged, too, and they don't plan to treat you kindly. Look what they've done to you so far." "They haven't done anything except promote me." "And she make you life so easy, neh?" Ender laughed and shook his head. "So maybe you're right." "They think they got you on ice. Don't let them." "But that's what I came for," Ender said. "For them to make me into a tool."

Instead, Ender finds comfort in the control exerted on his life. When sent to Earth on leave, he seeks out a lake that reminds him of living in Battle School.

"I spend a lot of time on the water. When I'm swimming, it's like being weightless. I miss being weightless. Also, when I'm here on the lake, the land slopes up in every direction." "Like living in a bowl." "I've lived in a bowl for four years."

Because of this, Ender never cheats against Graff. He could; Graff states several times that Ender is smarter than him, and the fact that they have Ender fighting the war instead of Graff is proof he believes it. But Ender never considers it. He never considers gaming the system of his life.

If Gamer literature emphasizes the inversion of the world order, where games supersede reality in importance (and, as in Sword Art Online, only through this inverted order is one able to claim real power by being a Gamer), then Ender's Game acknowledges both sides of the inversion. For Ender, the games he plays are not simply games anymore. The psychology game, the Battle School game, the war simulator game; all of these he must win at all costs, even if it requires disrespecting the foundational purpose of these games. But his real life? Ender wants that to be a game, craves it to be a game, can't live unless the walls slope up around him like a bowl, can't stand it unless there is a system of control around him. He does what Graff tells him, even though he recognizes immediately that Graff is not his friend, that Graff is the one isolating him from others, rigging things against him. He does what Graff tells him all the way up to and including xenocide, because Ender cannot tell game from real life. That's the core deception at the end: Ender is playing a game that's actually real and he doesn't know it -- or refuses to acknowledge it, since nobody has ever tricked the genius Ender before this point.

Actually, that's not true. They tricked him twice before. Ender twice attacks his peers physically, with brutal violence. The administrators conceal from him that he murdered both his foes; he simply thinks he hurt them. The only way to trick Ender is to do so in a way that insulates him from the consequences of his actions. The only way he will allow himself to be tricked.

So, is Ender guilty of xenocide?

Under it all, Ender believes he is.

The dying Buggers, after reading Ender's mind, recreate the psychology game in the real world. The story ends when Ender finds this recreation, yet another blurring of the lines between game and reality.

The psychology game is different from the other games Ender plays, because nobody expects him to win it. Its purpose is not to be won, simply to assess his mental health. Yet Ender approaches it like the other games, cheats at it and systematically kills all his enemies until he reaches a place called The End of the World. (Another End for Ender.) His drive to win, to dominate, does not come solely from the pressures of the system around him, but from deep within himself, which is what Ender fears the most. But it is here, at The End of the World, where Ender finds atonement, both in the game and in the game-made-real. In the game, he kisses his opponent instead of killing them, and reaches a resolution he is happy with. He stops playing the game after doing this, though the game seems to continue (when an administrator asks him why he stopped playing it, he says "I beat it"; the administrator tells him the game cannot be beaten). It is through this act of love that Ender can escape the game-like system of control that puppeteers him no matter how smart and clever he is or thinks he is.

In the game-made-real, Ender finds his atonement in the same place, The End of the World. The Buggers left for him here, in this place that they (reading his mind) understood as the location of his mercy and compassion, an egg that can repopulate their species. Through this egg, Ender is given the chance to undo his xenocide. But that chance is also contingent on what The End of the World means to Ender, an end to the game, not simply the games he plays but the fourth game, the game of his life. Ender's Game.

#ender's game #novel

778 notes · View notes

fortunxa · 3 days ago

Text

-ˋˏ✄ loser!Jinx college AU + miscellaneous ⊹ ࣪ ˖

H E A D C A N O N S

Jinx masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

#cw. Jinx x fem!reader, obsessive & pervy!Jinx, soft & caring!Jinx, mental health + eating habits mentions, brainrot, mentions of bullying, modern/college AU, sfw + nsfw. MINORS PROCEED WITH CAUTION .ᐟ

ᯓ★ author’s note: these have been in the making since april. be warned… it’s a lot. i missed writing hcs but this took me days to edit. i don’t have the energy to proofread.

┈┈・✦ loser!Jinx in general

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx always has a wrist full of random bracelets—beaded ones, handmade ones, mixed metal bangles. when she’s anxious, she twists them. when she’s zoning out, she picks at the knots. they jingle everywhere she goes. you always know when she’s nearby by the sound alone. she’s like a queer windchime.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she also has a carabiner clipped to her belt loop (or backpack strap). it started off as a practical thing—just a random carabiner she found in a junk drawer to hold her dorm key. but now? it’s a full-blown personality trait + flagging. it’s cluttered with a mini plushie, a crow keychain, and a bunch of other random keys now (she has no idea what they unlock). she stacks her rings on it when she gets overwhelmed (lowkey sensory issues at times).

˳·˖✮⋆˙ loser-core meets alt-girl hotness (visual). she’s decked out in piercings—stretched ears with black tunnels, shiny little hoops through the cartilage, nose ring to match her sister’s, barely healed bridge she keeps touching, one (1) lip ring (which she absolutely fiddles with when she’s nervous or thinking horny thoughts). she’s got plans, more piercings than sense. wants her tongue done next, or maybe her nipples—can’t decide.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ often wears beat-up converse that she covered in doodles and stickers. they’re filthy, falling apart, and the soles are separating, but she refuses to let them go.

“these shoes have been with me through war. they have lore.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ wears oversized hoodies with chewed-up strings one day and rave crop tops the next, a bright purple bra poking out. blue hair always messy, sometimes glittery. one time, she wore a skirt with bike shorts, a tool belt, and a band tee—somehow made it work.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ additionally, she wears shirts from the boy section as baby-tees. they’re always cropped, always tight, and she pairs them with cargo pants, chokers, big boots, or raggedy cutoffs. she has no idea how hot she looks half the time despite her loser status.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ shaggy haircut/wolfcuf. must i say more.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ blue light glasses during lectures, and prescription ones she only wears after-hours in her dorm room. both pairs have fingerprints on them because she keeps forgetting to clean them. she thinks they’re fine.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ hygiene = a roulette. some days she doesn’t shower, doesn’t brush her teeth, hair’s greasy (dry shampoo is her religion), bags under her eyes, and she’s been wearing the same hoodie for 3 days. either because her mental health is low or she’s hyperfocused on a project. the next day? eyeliner sharp enough to kill, fun eyeshadow, painted nails, glitter freckles, smells like vanilla coke and body spray.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ but no matter how much she showers, there’s always something industrial lingering. not necessarily unpleasant, just confusing. you lean in expecting cherries and get hit with “hardware store.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx rollerskates across campus. she’s surprisingly skilled, but not graceful—she’s fast and messy, with too much speed and zero caution. backpack swinging, hoodie strings flying, energy drink in one hand.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ the original reason? she’s late 99% of the time. early in the semester she was running late to her engineering lab and just said “fuck it.” she slapped on her beat-up skates and never looked back.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ there are times when she absolutely eats shit on the pavement. books go flying, doodles scatter—she doesn’t care. she pops back up like “that was a trick. i meant to do that.” or just stays on the ground for a bit longer because “i’m already down. might as well take a break.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ her skates are decorated and lowkey falling apart. they’re covered in stickers and scuffed to hell with colorful laces. one wheel glows, the other squeaks.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ can’t sit still in lectures. always slouching, always doodling in the margins of her notes, always fidgeting. she bounces her leg under the table, spins her keychain around her finger like a nervous tic. she acts super chill, but it’s a front for the thousand thoughts racing through her brain.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s also a tablet kind of girl—solely for digital art—and she bites her stylus when she’s thinking. she ruined like four of them. she’ll chew on the rubber tips until they’re useless, and she can’t stop. (oral fixation strikes again)

˳·˖✮⋆˙ goes feral during lectures she actually cares about, though. she’ll bring a fidget toy to help her sit still, a notebook, and her tablet. somehow multitasking everything at once and constantly raises her hand.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s unintentionally intimidating, but in that weirdo way. her professors think she’s either a genius or about to burn the lab down. other students are a little scared to sit next to her because her eye twitches when she’s deep in thought, and she mutters shit like, “if it explodes, it explodes.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx hyperfixates on the weirdest, most random things. one week it’s quantum mechanics, the next it’s FNAF. she rambles to anyone who blinks near her. full speed, wide-eyed, smiling—and then goes quiet mid-sentence when she realizes they’re not following.

“never mind. it’s dumb.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she has a deep, dorky, all-consuming love for sharks, and she’s not subtle about it. it started when she was like 9 and saw a shark documentary narrated by some guy with a British accent. now it’s a full-blown obsession—shark facts, shark memes, shark plushies, shark-themed earrings (yes, she has a pair). she owns a giant shark plushie that lives on her dorm bed, and it’s literally bigger than she is. she hugs him while she scrolls on Wikipedia pages about deep sea species at 3am like it’s her emotional support predator.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she has strong opinions on energy drinks and will absolutely rant about which ones taste like battery acid and which ones make her vibrate in a good way. her current favorite is some off-brand neon thing with no recognizable logo. she calls it “brain juice.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she makes herself the punchline before anyone else can. if she feels vulnerable, she’ll roast herself. she’d rather make you laugh than let you see her flinch.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s scared of being known. some people like her. they really do. but the second someone tries to really know her? ask about her past? her family? her hopes? she clams up, cracks a joke, deflects. she wants connection so bad it hurts, but the idea of being seen makes her want to disappear.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s the type to overanalyze everything alone in bed at 2am. “did i say that weird?” “did they mean that thing they said or were they just being nice?” “do they hate me or are they just chill?” she will lie awake in the dark and overthink a throwaway comment from four days ago.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ wears her headphones all the time. she needs them to exist in public. the music’s bleeding through whenever she’s listening to something (example). other times they are connected to nothing—it’s just a signal to leave her alone or so she can eavesdrop unnoticed.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ nightcore obsession. still present. next!

˳·˖✮⋆˙ social battery? weird and unpredictable. sometimes she’s the loudest in the room, making everyone laugh with weird voices and wild tangents. other days she ghosts everyone for 3 days to lie on the floor with her “emotional support” cat.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ pets aren’t permitted in dorm rooms, so Jinx smuggled him in a canvas bag with a busted zipper and whispered, “don’t you dare meow, this is life or death” the whole way to her room. the cat meowed anyway, and she just coughed over it.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ he’s little black cat with a chewed ear and way too much attitude. his name is something dumb and obvious like Mr. Cat or Whiskers, but the nicknames are endless—Void, Sir Purrs-a-Lot, Catboy, Bastard, Your Majesty. he knocks over cups, screams at 3am, and bites toes under blankets. Jinx is obsessed.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she constantly takes pictures of him and posts them to her story with little doodles: tiny sunglasses, swords, or hearts and stars.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ her roommate caught her baby-talking to him, and she tried to bribe them so they wouldn’t snitch about how she smuggled him in with:

weekly DoorDash orders (“pick anything under $25. i’ll Venmo you, no questions asked.”)

doing their assignments for two weeks

bringing back snacks whenever she leaves campus (“don’t say i never do anything for you.”)

˳·˖✮⋆˙ but the roommate shrugs and goes, “whatever, just don’t let him piss in my laundry basket.” eventually, they just grow to love the cat too, and now it’s their shared secret.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she keeps the litter box in her closet. it should smell. it doesn’t—because it’s the only thing she obsessively cleans every. damn. day. she sprinkles baking soda in and has air purifiers nearby, but still panics every time the door is opened even an inch. if her RA ever comes by, she dumps the cat in a laundry basket.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx worries about him constantly when she’s not in her room and has a camera set up on her laptop just to check in.

“please, stop eating the wire. i’m not taking you to the vet again. we don’t have health insurance.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she wakes up with the cat on her face every morning. he sleeps directly on her cheek or chest, and she pretends to be annoyed.

“oh my god, stop suffocating me, you freak.” but then immediately kisses his head and whispers, “you’re my entire life.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she carries him around like a baby and calls him her son. he’s wrapped in hoodies, sometimes worn like a scarf. she has one arm under the butt, one across his chest. she looks like a divorced dad with visitation rights.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ her part of the dorm room has duality. one side is a chaotic mess: wires, loose parts, half-finished projects. the other side is comfort: fairy lights, soft blankets, squishy plushies she never admits to liking, a stuffed animal from her childhood. her desk is cluttered: tools, wires, candy wrappers, a Gameboy she gutted, a coffee cup with pencils and brushes in it, and a framed picture of her and her cat.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ the room smells like Vicks VapoRub because she likes the “freshness” of it, energy drinks, and paint. she occasionally lights incense or some candles but forgets to blow them out.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx has Minecraft props in her dorm room like a foam pickaxe leaning against her dresser or a torch mounted on the wall. she also has a bedside lantern she leaves on at night and pretends it’s for the vibes when it’s actually for comfort. the soft pixelated glow helps when her brain won’t stop buzzing.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she also owns the full set of Minecraft guidebooks. they’re dog-eared, highlighted, and falling apart. she’s covered some in stickers and doodles—hearts, swords, personal annotations. they’re her sacred texts. she also loves pop-up books.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s weirdly into LEGO and keeps a sealed baggie of her “emergency pieces” in her desk drawer in case she needs to fidget or gets inspired.

“it’s like therapy. but with clicky sounds.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she either has zero appetite or is absolutely starving. will say “i haven’t eaten since yesterday” while building a contraption, then casually demolish two burritos in one sitting. she’ll eat whatever is available just to fill her stomach rather than opting for proper meals.

⤷ side note: she really enjoys curry and seafood dishes—mostly sushi or sushi wraps/onigri and fish, because shrimps kinda freak her out. she also has a sweet tooth, and her favorite candies are Skittles. orange juice is her go-to, of course.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx desperately needs a calendar but refuses to use one. her schedule is a mess—she’ll show up to the wrong class on the wrong day and pretend she meant to be there.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she carries a tiny screwdriver everywhere. if someone’s glasses fall apart? she’s there, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her tiny screwdriver, grinning proudly like, “stand back. i’ve got this.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she has rewritten the Wi-Fi password more than once just to mess with the admin. if something on campus breaks mysteriously, it was probably Jinx. if it works again five hours later? also Jinx (tiny screwdriver glory moment).

˳·˖✮⋆˙ learned how to trick the vending machines into giving free snacks. she doesn’t use it for herself often, but she’ll randomly hand someone a bag of chips and wink like it’s a secret mission.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ talks to inanimate objects. “please cooperate, you tiny bastard,” she mutters to screws and wires. once cried when her old fan finally broke and said, “she was loyal.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she avoids doctors and dentists. hates regular check-ups (she’s lowkey afraid of being touched by strangers and highkey afraid they’ll tell her she’s broken).

˳·˖✮⋆˙ listens to fast and chaotic ASMR like Miss Manganese. she can’t do the “relaxing” stuff. she also listens to roleplay ASMR like “mad scientist repairs your android body.” it puts her to sleep instantly.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’ll act like she’s zoning out while someone talks about their bad day, but later she’ll hand them their favorite candy or send them a meme that somehow perfectly references what they were upset about. she also leaves tea and cold meds by her sick roommate’s bed, brings snacks to study groups, and gives forehead flicks as affection.

“it’s not a thing. don’t make it weird.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx hates studying, but can’t handle failing. she pretends not to care about grades, but if she gets anything lower than her average, it eats her alive. she doesn’t tell anyone. she just stays up all night redrawing diagrams.

“stupid. you’re smarter than this.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s awkward in group projects. she either accidentally takes over or zones out entirely. there’s no in-between. she’s bad at replying to group chats but will send a random meme at 2am and then a full draft of the project out of nowhere.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she once did a group presentation solo because no one else showed up. she had no slides, just a marker and an insane amount of charisma. got full marks and absolutely derailed the class discussion.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ sometimes, she plays the lone wolf role a little too hard. “i don’t do group stuff,” she’ll say, then proceed to hover at the edge of a study group, make weird jokes until people laugh, and eventually settle in like she belongs there (she does).

˳·˖✮⋆˙ people come to her for help with assignments. she pretends to be annoyed but secretly loves explaining things and gets really animated about it. she always ends up going on a 30-minute tangent while eating gummy worms.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she would rather die than admit she wants to be invited to something. “parties are dumb anyway,” she mutters, then sits in her room half-listening for noise in the hallway, wondering if anyone would’ve wanted her there.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ obsessed with things like the robotics club, weird horror comics, old Nickelodeon shows, and anime she swears she watches “ironically.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx was a theatre kid and you can tell. she wasn’t the lead—she was the unhinged supporting character who stole the show because she brought way too much intensity to the role. she still warms up her voice in weird ways and does stage makeup for fun. she’s not in drama anymore, but it’s in her bones with the way she talks with her hands and does dramatic readings when high.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ is absolutely in the D&D campus circle. she builds elaborate homebrew worlds, makes custom maps, invents gadgets to use during campaigns, and has a special set of dice she made out of blue resin with glitter inside (iykyk). once, her character was offered safety, a family, a home. the DM described it in such vivid, sincere detail that Jinx sat there, eyes glassy, jaw tight. she muttered, “i don’t trust it,” but her voice shook.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ is in way too many discord servers. she mutes all of them and only checks 3. one is about mechanics. another is an art trade group that’s completely dead but she won’t leave “for history.” the third? a secret vent server.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ used to be a mod and it still haunts her. she tries to play it cool but she absolutely wore the admin role like a crown back in her peak mod era. ran that shit like the navy but couldn’t follow her own rules—changed them every day depending on her mood. still flinches at the words “server drama.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ was in a discord relationship that lasted 3 weeks. they roleplayed, exchanged playlists, and Jinx gifted her Nitro like it was the greatest love gesture of all time. then they broke up when Jinx ghosted because she “felt too much.” she will deny this to her grave.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ loves webcomics and made her own. it had a strict color palette, fourth wall breaks, dramatic monologues, and a main character that definitely wasn’t made after Jinx herself. she got burnt out instantly and it never made it past page four, but she still draws the characters sometimes in the margins of her notes.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she had a DeviantArt phase. she made OCs. the energy still lingers when she gets too into D&D lore.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she was definitely a Gacha kid, and it shows. she used to grind for SSRs like her life depended on it. still mutters “pleasepleaseplease” under her breath when opening emails.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she used to pretend she was possessed for attention. middle school era. she would draw runes in her notebook, walk into class with smudged eyeliner, and dress like she got lost in a Hot Topic. people thought she was haunted—she was just lonely, undiagnosed, and very online.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ therefore, she was bullied. people made fun of her hair, her laugh, her fandom hoodies. it never broke her, but it shaped her. she had to pull out the “older sister guard dog privilege.” someone called her “crazy” for the first time and it stuck. it made her quick with comebacks and afraid of being vulnerable. it made her Jinx.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ grew up deep in the Creepypasta trenches. she thought Slenderman was real until age 14. she used to stay up until 3am watching badly edited YouTube horror videos with red text, distorted audio, and bad jumpscares.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ her favorite character is Jason the Toymaker. she says it’s “the aesthetic, okay? he’s red and fucked up and makes things. it’s me-coded.” but it’s also the story—abandonment issues, obsession, resentment turning into possession. it gets her.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s emotionally invested in the lore and has deep takes.

“Jeff the Killer was emotionally neglected. you’re all shallow.”

“Jason would NEVER act like that. read the actual lore, idiot.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she once blocked someone for saying Ticci Toby was overrated.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s obsessed with internet urban legends. Cicada 3301? SCPs? webcore rabbit holes? she’s in deep and has watched every “explained” video.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ additionally, she’s obsessed with ARGs. “Marble Hornets” rewired her brain when she was younger. she tried to make her own ARG once using a blog, an abandoned hallway on campus, and distorted audio clips she recorded with a broken mic. no one cared. she still updates it sometimes. just in case.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ knows FNAF lore too well. she doesn’t even like the games that much anymore, but she knows the timeline like the back of her hand. can and will explain every animatronic’s origin, murder theory, and security cam angle.

“no, no, you don’t get it. the Bite of ‘83 and the Bite of ‘87 are different events. sit down.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ therefore, she absolutely worships Markiplier, she grew up watching him and calls him “The Only Man.” quotes him constantly.

“i’m not ashamed. he’s the only man i trust.”

⤷ bonus: she had a phase where she found him kind of hot and is deeply ashamed of it.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ will randomly say “HeLLo EVerYBoDy my name is MaRkIpLiEr” mid-convo and jingle-jingles herself when she gets distracted.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ got way too into backrooms lore. she knows every level. the entities. the scent of Level 0. she will casually bring it up in convo like “this hallway feels liminal. don’t noclip, okay?”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx uses outdated internet slang in a deadpan voice to make people uncomfortable. “that’s so based. very pog. i’m quaking.” but sometimes it slips out for real and she instantly tries to cover it with a cough or a fake laugh.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she makes custom content for The Sims 4, and she’s so good at it. she’s got a whole CC folder of textures, meshes, poses, recolors. she also loves creating clothes and tattoos. she posts them under a fake username and has a tiny loyal fanbase.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ makes fake dating profiles for her Sims to live out the relationships she’s too scared to have. she’ll spend two hours designing a goth girl Sim, then set her up on dates with shy library girls and watch them hold hands.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she had a cosplayer era back in middle/high school. did full makeup, foam props, spiked wigs, contacts. she hot glued her fingers together weekly. she still has it all in a trunk under her bed. sometimes she puts them on when no one’s around. felt weirdly connected to Sally Face and the game in general.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ at one point she tried to teach herself Japanese via Hatsune Miku. if you play a Miku song around her now, she’ll pretend she’s too cool, but her eyes will glaze over and she’ll whisper the lyrics like a summoning chant.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ yandere simulator. that's it. send tweet.

┈┈・✦ loser!Jinx with a crush

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx gets so blushy it’s ridiculous. not just her face—her ears, her neck, her chest. they get blotchy so fast.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ the first time she sees you, she knocks over her own coffee, burns her hand, and stares at you like she’s been hit with a flashbang. she fixates instantly.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ sits near you in class but never makes eye contact, just sends vibes in your general direction and acts like that counts as flirting. she stares at the back of your head during lectures and zones out for twenty minutes imagining your future apartment together.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she pretends she doesn’t care, but she waits for you every time. outside class, at the coffee shop, after lab. she even shows up a few minutes early, just to catch you walking in. she leans against the wall, arms crossed, pretending to scroll—until she sees you and instantly straightens up like she wasn’t watching the door the whole time.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she practices what to say in the mirror and still chokes.

“hi, uh—i mean, hey—hi. again. oh god. i like your shirt—jacket? skin? hair? fuck—wait no, not your skin—”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ on a particularly confident day, she will absolutely do the most when you’re around: sits on the back of chairs, swings keys on her finger, smirks too much. but when you flirt back, she breaks. one compliment and Jinx short-circuits—mouth opens, no sound comes out, eyes go wide. then she says something like “shut up before i explode” and kicks a chair over on her way out.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she pretends to be chill but accidentally flirts too hard.

“i like your shirt.”

“you could borrow it. or take it off me. either way.” then blinks, shuts her laptop, and leaves the room. “WHY did i say that.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she rewatches every movie or show you even casually mention so she can “accidentally” bring it up in conversation.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ stalks your Spotify playlists. adds the same songs to her own and pretends she “just stumbled on them too.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she talks to her cat constantly when she’s alone, asking for advice. “should i text her?” she says while pacing. the cat blinks. “she did like my story. and she said ‘lol’ in all lowercase. that’s flirty, right?” the cat yawns. “you’re no help, bro.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx overthinks everything. you liked her tweet = it’s true love. you didn’t like her tweet = she’s definitely annoying and should delete her entire internet presence. you laughed at her joke = in love with her. you touched her arm = marriage pending. you texted “goodnight loser 💕” = Jinx is literally rolling around on her bed whispering, “she loves me she loves me she loves me—”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she changes her discord status every time you go offline. if you’re active, her status is “🧠 doing brain things” or “drawing crusty shit.” when you log off, Jinx changes it to something cryptic like “ghost mode activated” or “no point in speaking when no one’s listening” and then immediately regrets it.

“what the fuck am i doing?”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she cannot be normal about your Instagram posts. you post a casual mirror selfie? Jinx stares at it for ten full minutes, saves it, zooms in, imagines what’s underneath your shirt, what your voice would sound like whispering her name before pulling her down to the bed…

˳·˖✮⋆˙ obsessively rewatches your stories. she mutes the sound and turns the brightness all the way up so she can “focus on the way your nose crinkles when you laugh” and then replays it six more times while kicking her feet.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s accidentally horny all the time. it’s not her fault. you’re pretty. you exist. Jinx will be mid-conversation, watching the way you talk, and realize she hasn’t heard a single word—she’s too busy imagining you pressed against the dorm wall. cue her snapping her rubber band bracelet against her wrist like stay in the moment, loser. stay in the moment.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ you wear lipgloss one day. it’s subtle, pink, soft. she spends the whole afternoon obsessing over it—staring at your mouth during every sentence, imagining what it would taste like, smear like, feel like dragging across her skin. she goes back to her dorm and ruins herself with two fingers and a whimper.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she gets off to the idea of you, too—just the thought of you pinning her down, grabbing her hips, whispering something mean and hot into her ear. that’s enough. that’s too much. she finishes fast, almost messily, and then just lies there like “i’m so fucked. i am sooo fucked.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ her roommate walked in on her masturbating ONE (1) time, and it ruined her life. it was late. Jinx thought they were gone for the night. she was under the blanket, headphones in, red in the face, flushed as hell, whispering, “fuck, baby…” into her pillow while watching one of your old Instagram stories on a loop. the door opened, they made eye contact, Jinx screamed and threw her phone across the room.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she tried to pretend it didn’t happen, but she was clearly spiraling. she avoided eye contact for two days, over-apologized, left apology snacks on her roommate’s desk. eventually, her roommate felt bad and offered her a bag of pretzels as a peace treaty. they never spoke of it again.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ but she starts setting elaborate booby traps before masturbating after that. she puts a chair against the doorknob, ties a bell to the handle, wedges her desk in a way that makes the door jam. all so she can scroll through your selfies in peace.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ sometimes, she gets herself off, still flushed, and ding—you text her. “you around?” or “can you help me with my laptop?” Jinx stares at the screen, legs still trembling, heart racing. she types “yeah sure lol” like she wasn’t just moaning your name into her pillow five minutes ago.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she made a Sims version of you once. gave you soft sweaters, delicate walks, custom pink lipgloss. she played out a whole domestic storyline she’ll never admit to… then got horny when you did the WooHoo with her Sim (she has Wicked Whims), got scared, and deleted the save file mid-crisis.

“nope. nope. too weird. i am not that girl.” (she is that girl)

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she tries to get over you. fails. tries again. still fails. “i’m done,” she says one night. “she’s too pretty. too soft. i’m not normal around her. it’s too much.” the next morning? you say hi and Jinx is back at square one with her heart pounding and her soul leaving her body.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ jealous in the dumbest ways. she sees someone compliment you and mumbles, “ha, well she’s mine, so… fuck off.” under her breath. while walking away.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ her crush isn’t subtle. everyone knows. you probably know. Jinx is in too deep to notice she’s already outed herself.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ will walk across campus in the rain to bring you something stupid like a charger. will hand you a chocolate bar and say, “i accidentally bought two. shut up and eat it.” will sit silently next to you in the library just so you don’t fall asleep studying alone. she acts like it’s nothing (it’s everything).

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx gives you the best bits of everything. whether it’s a cookie, a doodle, or a scavenged trinket, she always gives you the prettiest, softest, most perfect piece, then acts like she didn’t even notice. “this one’s cursed. you can have it.” you just smile and thank her. it melts her every time.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ you complain about the wind, so Jinx just plops her hoodie over you without a word. you blink. “you’re ridiculous.” “you’re cold,” she mutters, pretending to look at anything but you. (that hoodie never gets returned)

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she makes herself unavailable to everyone except you. she’ll ghost group chats, ignore emails, miss class, but the second you text “are you around?” she replies instantly with “always. what’s up?” she will drop everything—assignments, meals, sleep—just to help you find a lost earring or talk about your weird dream.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she overthinks every message before sending, rewriting it at least 5 times.

💬 jinx [4:46 PM]

Hey.

hey :P

heyyy (ignore me lol)

do u want to hang out maybe unless that’s cringe

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she eventually lands on “yo. u alive?” and throws her phone across the room as soon as it delivers.

“she’s gonna think i’m cold. or dumb. or both. or she’ll block me.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she pretends she doesn’t care, then waits by her phone. she’ll say “yeah, whatever, text me if you feel like it” and act nonchalant—but she checks her phone every five minutes after. when you do text her something sweet? Jinx bites her lip, hugs her pillow, and stares at the screen way too long before replying, “lol lame. i like u too i guess.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she sends you cat photos as a flirting method. it starts off tame:

💬 jinx [2:32 PM]

look at this idiot lol

he bit my charger again

˳·˖✮⋆˙ then it slowly escalates into “matching hoodies,” “he posed like me, we’re soulmates,” and one where she’s holding him with ‘accidentally hot’ messy hair and a tank top. (you secretly save that one)

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she tries to get you to visit just to “meet The Cat™️”

💬 jinx [5:17 PM]

wanna come over? he’s been asking about you

💬 you [5:25 PM]

he doesn’t even know me

💬 jinx [5:26 PM]

that’s what makes this so tragic. come fix his heart? :)

˳·˖✮⋆˙ once you finally do come over, she pretends the cat has a crush on you to project her own feelings.

“he only acts like this around you.”

“he doesn’t cuddle anyone else. i think he imprinted.”

“he likes you more than me. rude.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she sends voice messages of the cat meowing, with her voice all soft in the background. you hear her cooing “who’s a handsome little guy? yeah, you are” and forget how to breathe. she immediately regrets sending it and spends the next hour lying face-down in her bed screaming silently into her hoodie.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she builds a secret “shrine house” for you in one of her Minecraft servers. it’s a beautiful, slightly chaotic cottage in the woods—blue flowers, cats, and little signs that say stuff like “you’re so pretty lol” and “no monsters allowed except me <3.” she waits like 2 weeks before inviting you to “just explore.” when you find it, Jinx pretends it was an inside joke or plays it off like “oh that house? idk. i just built it. no big deal.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ your late-night discord calls start chaotic—games, yelling, memes. but slowly, it turns into something quieter. Jinx curls up under her blanket when you start talking softly. she listens, smiling into her pillow, letting your voice carry her to sleep.

“still there?”

“mmhmm.”

“okay. good.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she picks flowers for you and tries to make it a joke. she hands you a clumsy, crumpled little wildflower—nothing fancy—and goes, “here. because you’re, like… nature or something.” you smile like she just handed you a diamond, and Jinx has to look away because her face is on fire.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ you notice when Jinx stops talking mid-ramble. she gets carried away explaining something—how a circuit board works, her latest cursed Sims mod, a half-finished sketch idea—and then suddenly quiets, thinking she’s being annoying. you just say softly, “you can keep going. i like hearing you talk.” and she looks at you like she just got handed the sun.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she has no idea you like her back because she can’t fathom it. you could say “you’re my favorite person :)” and Jinx would be like “haha… she probably says that to the lunch lady too.” she’s too caught up in her own spiral to notice your soft stares, lingering touches, bashful giggles, or the way you always save her a seat.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx hates when people touch her… except you. you can fix her bangs, tuck a strand behind her ear, run your fingers through it when you’re laying down, watching something. she melts each time.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx starts letting her guard down in little ways. she lets you into her dorm without apologizing for the mess, lets you sit at her desk, lets you see half-finished art, chaotic projects, the weird corners of her world. she shrugs and says, “it’s not much,” but she means, “i trust you.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she tries to confess a few times. the first time, she laughed nervously and played it off as a lame joke.

“god, i’m like… so in love with you it’s pathetic.”

“what?”

“hah. nothing. unless… i mean, unless that’s cool with you. then it’s definitely something.” she spends the next six hours pacing her dorm trying not to implode.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ the next one was fueled by a sudden wave of emotions. it’s 2am, you were laying in bed, quiet, almost touching. her roommate was out, her fairy lights were on, and her heart was open.

“do you think people can want someone so bad it makes them sick?”

“are you talking about me?”

Jinx just went silent, blushed, then whispered, “yeah. sorry.”

⤷ side note: you could’ve confessed back that time, but you wanted her to mean it—no jokes, no apologies.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ the final confession was a mess. she couldn’t keep it in anymore. you were just sitting there, being soft and kind and looking at her like she matters. she blurted it out without thinking: “you make everything hurt less. and it scares the shit out of me, because i think i like you like you and i don’t know what to do with that.” then she immediately covered her face, said “forget it—oh my god, i’m so fucking embarrassing.” but you just… kissed her. quietly, with certainty. Jinx didn’t speak for a full minute, just stared, wide-eyed, lips parted. when she finally whispered, “wait. that actually just happened?” you simply kissed her again.

┈┈・✦ loser!Jinx in a relationship

˳·˖✮⋆˙ her lovergirl era hits hard. she’s suddenly doodling your names together, writing love notes, drawing you as a little cartoon with hearts around your head. she wants to kiss and touch you all the time.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx keeps saying “this is so dumb” while clearly being obsessed. she’ll be holding your hand, forehead pressed against yours, giggling like an idiot, and still go, “ugh, this is so dumb. you’re so dumb. you’re gonna make me throw up.” and then she kisses you like she’ll never stop. she never shuts up about you either—constantly shocked she gets to have this.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she tried to be chill the first week—it lasted a few hours. she showed up to class with a lipstick mark on her jaw and told her friends “whatever, she’s just into me. who isn’t?” later that night, she was curled up in your lap whispering, “do you still like me? you do, right? say it again. please.” she constantly needs to reassure herself that this is real.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ sometimes, she still has late night meltdowns where she asks if you’re sure. “are you really happy with me?” “you could have anyone.” “what if i mess this up?” you never get tired of reassuring her. you kiss every worry off her mouth, wrap her in arms and words. and Jinx—shaking, sniffling—lets herself believe it.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she has a folder in her phone just for candids of you: reading, painting your nails, laughing with your head thrown back. Jinx looks at it when she’s sad, overwhelmed, or in bed alone. she scrolls through the folder and just whispers “mine.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she still overthinks every little thing you do… in a good way now. before, she spiraled wondering if you cared. now she spirals because “she looked at me like i’m the only person in the world. what the fuck. what the actual fuck.” she keeps these moments like pocket treasures. she writes them down, rereads them, draws them out.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she whines without meaning to—not like a brat, but more like a kitten. soft, needy noises when she’s tired, when you pull away, when she wants to be held.

“c’mere. babe. baby. babyyyy. touch me or i’ll explode.” it’s not a threat. it’s emotional truth.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she starts leaving her stuff at your place instinctively: a hoodie, a charger, a sketchbook. it’s not even a conscious thing, she just wants to exist around you, wants your space to feel like hers, too.

“i’m nesting. deal with it.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ her room slowly becomes your room, too. your clothes end up on her chair, your drawings on her wall, a toothbrush in the cup. Jinx pretends she didn’t notice. “wow. weird. who put this here?” but she touches it all like it’s holy.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ sleepy Jinx is just heartbreaking. the first time you spend the night, she clings to you like a blanket, buries her face in your shoulder, mumbles, “you’re warm. you’re real. i like that. i like you.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ needs a 10-minute prep talk before saying i love you. she rehearses it while brushing her teeth and cries a little. ultimately chickens out.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ ended up saying it casually, then panicked after. it just slipped out: “thanks for the juice—i love you.” she froze, went pale, backed up like she just said something unforgivable.

“i love you too, y’know.”

“…oh. okay. cool. that’s fine. great, even. i’m just gonna go scream into my hoodie now.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she draws you all the time, but with love instead of longing, softer and gentler now. she sketches you asleep on her couch, tying your hair up, or smiling. sometimes she adds herself, too. she used to draw you like a dream. now she draws you like a home.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ you’ll kiss her just to watch her stumble. she’s mid-rant when you lean in and kiss her mid-sentence. Jinx immediately short-circuits, loses her train of thought, blinks at you like she just got slapped with a rose.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx giggles through soft, lazy make-outs. you’re in bed, it’s quiet. she’s on top of you, pressing gentle, slow kisses along your jaw, lips, collar... but she keeps giggling. not because anything’s funny, but because she’s so full of love she doesn’t know how to hold it.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she also makes the softest little noises between kisses. they’re not loud, not intense—just soft, warm little hums and sighs. she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she starts letting herself be taken care of (terrified, but she tries). she lets you help her with things she’d normally lie about—eating, resting, calming down. she gets really quiet when you take care of her, sometimes teary-eyed. she whispers “you don’t have to…” but deep down, she wants it more than anything.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she plays it cool until your first time comes, then she absolutely panics. she thought she’d be fine—she flirts, teases, even makes a joke as she kisses your neck like “i bet you taste like candy or some shit.” but when you actually start undressing her? her face goes beet red, hands shaking slightly, breath catching like she just remembered it’s really happening.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s clumsy at first and apologizes a lot. her hands fumble with your bra, she bumps foreheads during a kiss, she almost falls off the bed while trying to take her socks off. “wait—hang on—fuck, no i swear i’m good at this, just give me—” you just laugh softly, cupping her cheek: “you’re fine. you’re perfect. slow down.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s inexperienced in ways she didn’t realize until now. she’s done stuff before, but never like this—while in love. so everything—every touch, every soft moan from you, every inch of skin—hits her so much harder. it’s not just physical, it’s emotional. she keeps blinking too much like she’s trying not to cry.

“is this what it’s supposed to feel like? because holy shit.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she makes the sweetest, most embarrassing sounds. whimpers, gasps, shaky and hiccups “fuck”s, drawn-out moans when you touch her just right. she’s sensitive—painfully so. her thighs twitch, her hands claw at the sheets. you kiss her neck and she lets out the tiniest choked “oh.” she covers her face and groans: “i sound like a virgin.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ her eyes go glassy after, her breathing gets soft. when you pull her close and stroke her back, she just presses her face intro your shoulder.

“i don’t think anyone’s ever touched me like that. you could’ve been mean, and you weren’t… i don’t know what to do with that.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx learns what you like, and it changes her. she pays attention and gets addicted to the way you gasp when she kisses down your ribs, to the way your hips stutter when you get praised. she never thought she could give that kind of pleasure—now she craves it, gets drunk on it, and learns how to own it.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ after that, the sex gets even more tender, sweeter. it’s not just lust anymore—Jinx is reverent. slow touches, kisses that last forever, whispers like “i’ve got you” and “you’re so pretty like this.” she lets you guide her, ride her, wrap her up in warmth. she never knew being loved could make her body feel so light.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ and then… it gets filthier. because now that she feels safe? Jinx starts to play. she teases more, grinds into your lap while biting your lip, tries new positions. she even buys a strap online and sends it to you with a dumb caption like “hope ur ready to see god <3” she stops holding back.

“you wanna use me, baby? wanna make me squirm?”

“c’mon, tell me what to do. i’ll do anything, just touch me. fuck—please.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx can make-out for hours—hand tangled in your hair, hips rocking lazily, completely lost in it. but as soon as things get intense, and clothes come off? she gets nervous the first few minutes again. not scared—just overwhelmed. might say something dumb like, “you’re so hot it’s making my brain turn to soup.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she still blushed when you undress in front of her. it doesn’t matter how many times she’s seen it, she still gets giddy

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s weak for your voice when you’re turned on. the breathier it gets, the more she loses her composure. she’ll press her forehead to yours, panting, whispering “do that again. i wanna hear you like that.” and when you do? her whole body shudders. ruined.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Jinx will run her mouth all day—“bet you’d melt if i touched you right”—until you actually climb into her lap, grab her jaw, and kiss her like you mean it. she’s done. she’s whimpering, gripping the sheets. suddenly shy, suddenly quiet. she doesn’t recover for hours.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she loves when you’re a little mean to her. just a little. you’re teasing her, calling her out when she’s flustered? “aww, is my bratty girl getting shy?” she turns to liquid. she’ll try to sass back and end up mewling instead. total switch energy—thinks she’s in control, then you smirk and it’s over.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ later, in a moment of weakness (maybe during pillow talk), she finally confesses to everything she did before you got together.

“remember when we weren’t together and i was weird and twitchy all the time? yeah. your fault. i was obsessed.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she’s obsessed with your hands in a soft, gentle way. she loves holding them, playing with your rings, kissing your knuckles. when you’re talking and getting flustered, she will reach over and just grab your hand, rubbing her thumb over your palm with a smile.

“you’re okay. you’re okay.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ also obsessed with your thighs. can’t stop staring but will pretend she’s not. she’s toast if you wear shorts or a skirt—hands get grabby.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ Minecraft dates become your thing—late-night builds, cozy houses in biomes you picked together. Jinx gets all happy when you log in. she makes you matching beds, leaves love notes on in-game books, follows you around and throws flowers at your feet. you have a shared farm with signs like “our gay little wheat patch.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ you sleep in Minecraft beds next to each other even if you’re in person and just playing side-by-side.

“wait for me to log on. i don’t wanna go to bed without you.”

“you’re so sappy.”

“shut up and build me a love shrine.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she gets mad if someone kills your Minecraft pet. like actually mad. she starts muttering threats, plotting revenge.

“you killed Cinnamon?! cool. watch your crops rot, bitch.” proceeds to lay TNT under their base.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ if you ever fight, Jinx logs on and builds sad shit—a tiny, lonely tent, a rainy forest campfire with one empty stool, a grave that says “here lies my dignity.” you show up in-game and leave a sign that just says “i still love you. come home.” she cries. you build a new cottage together.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she makes you a resource pack that replaces Creeper sounds with her voice. the Creepers now go “babygirl don’t turn around” before exploding. she’s so proud.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ you nap together a lot. it always starts the same way: “we’re not sleeping, just resting our eyes.” cut to both of you passed out in a nest of pillows, limbs tangled, Jinx half-snoring with her cheek against your chest and her fingers loosely curled around your shirt.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ sometimes she makes you hold her hand while she rollerskates. she’ll just roll up next to you on the sidewalk, grab your hand without warning, and coast along while you walk.

“you’re my little gravity tether.”

“you’re going to pull me into traffic.”

“then we die in love. worth it.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ you share headphones when you study. Jinx puts one earbud in your ear and one in hers. you don’t talk—just sit, music low, working in sync. sometimes she reaches over and pecks you.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she picks at her fingers until they bleed during study sessions—she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. it’s quiet, repetitive, little half-moons of damage around her nails. you notice and gently hold her hand still or kiss her knuckles. Jinx doesn’t say anything, but her breathing slows.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ you encourage her to try cosplaying again just for fun. you see the way she lights up when she talks about old builds or character design. one day you say, “i’d help you put something together. just for us.” Jinx tries to brush it off, but later she’s tearing up, smiling softly to herself while brushing a wig she hadn’t touched in years.

˳·˖✮⋆˙ she doodles you, herself, and her cat as a little family—constantly. it starts in the corner of a notebook page, just a tiny cartoon: her, you, and your weird goblin son (the cat), all holding hands with a tiny heart bubble that says “our dumb gay little life.” you find it on accident, and Jinx tries to grab it back.

“DON’T LOOK AT THAT��THAT’S NOT FOR—IT’S—SHUT UP.”

“you’re so soft it hurts me.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ you start bringing toys for her cat, and Jinx falls in love all over again. a small plush mice, a banana with catnip, a little blue collar. she opens her bag after class and finds a treat pouch inside.

“you’re trying to seduce me with animal enrichment. it’s working.”

˳·˖✮⋆˙ one night, you stay up late building a LEGO set together. it’s 3am, you’re on the floor, her cat keeps stealing bricks. it’s a half-finished flower bouquet and a very questionable spaceship that Jinx swears is “intentionally asymmetrical.” you’re giggling, cross-legged, bumping shoulders.

“this is like… weirdly romantic. just us. building stuff.”

“you’re weirdly romantic.”

totally not inspired by myself!! 100% pure Jinx fr

ᝰ.ᐟ dedicated to . . . @jinxsbunny @ac1dmeow @sketch303 @16spades @thisrots aka my helpful council ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

396 notes · View notes

honeytonedhottie · 2 months ago

Text

honey's hot-girl guide to summer (2025 edition)⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍦👙

how to have the best summer EVER from a certified hottie (me), all the little tips and tricks to look your best, have a great time and enjoy yourself this summer…💬🎀

THE PERFECT TAN ;

so as you guys can probably tell from my username i am a honey toned hottie, but during the summer i love to look a little more bronzy and glowy. and i've learned some things when it comes to getting a tan that comes out perfectly.

❤︎ salt water spray before tanning

ik this sounds crazy but LET ME TELL YOUUU. salt water reflects sunlight and removes oils -> making your skin more exposed to the UV rays -> you tan even more for a less amount of time. UR WELCOME. and ik it might sound crazy but literally just try it. dont forget to put ur SPF on first though

❤︎ stay moisturized

❤︎ tan in intervals, x amount of time per side

STAY BUSY ;

the worst feeling is when school rolls around and you realize that you've wasted the entire summer. DONT LET THAT BE YOU. look up "things going on in my area" and find something that you like, plan out things to do over the summer in a google doc with your girls (thats what i did this year) in fact, make it more fun by introducing a points system which we'll talk about more in the next section.

SUMMER POINTS SYSTEM ;

so the idea behind this is each task is worth x amount of points and we add up all the points that you made throughout the whole summer. the winner gets something off of their wishlist. everyone has access to the doc so its their own responsibility to make sure that they participate

if you want more info on the summer points system i'd love to share my doc with y'all so you guys could have a super fun summer too…💬🎀

LOOKING GOOD ALL SUMMER LONG ;

if you haven't read my summer beauty/glow up guide yet WHAT R U EVEN DOING? in there i go super in depth about summer beauty and how to look absolutely fabulous but i'll go over some of the basics in this post.

first we wanna be ACTIVE. going on walks everyday or working out 4-5 times a week. my go-to formula that hasn't failed me yet is a workout split of cardio, weight training and reformer pilates. the reformer pilates is like, once a week but weight training is more regularly.

glittery glowy skin. use body butters and nectars, lotions, and most IMPORTANTLY body glitter. we wanna shimmer and sparkle, especially if ur showing skin this summer, look like a shimmery mermaid. ash is not allowed under ANY circumstance.

SUMMER FASHION ;

think, bubble gum beach BUNNY. thats how i love to dress for the summer. halter tops and dresses, ruffle-layered skirts, denim shorts, cute bikinis. THINGS LIKE THAT. i also wear soft teals, pastels and of course pinks during the summer so thats the color palette. some essentials for the summery look are

hoop earrings (especially bamboo hoops)

a good pair of denim shorts

baby tees and halter tops

little ruffle skirts

wedges and platform pumps

bangles

bracelet and necklace stacks

MAKE SUMMER RULES ;

its always important to have a standard for yourself when it comes to anything at all so outline some summer rules for yourself. here are mine ->

🥥 no bed-rotting days/staying in bed all day

�� no putting urself in dangerous situations. BE SAFE.

🥥 stay hydrated and keep SPF on your skin

🌺 take LOTS and lots of photos

🥥 fruit salads + coconut water! my faves

391 notes · View notes

pathologicalreid · 8 months ago

Text

first snow | s.r.

in which you and Spencer experience the first snow in your new apartment together

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff. the kind that rots your teeth. content warnings: snow? ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ word count: 954 a/n: so! not margovember! but i've been saving this one for a special occasion (my first snow came!!!!!) and i hope you enjoy it!!!!

“Why are we doing this now?” You asked, cocking your head at your boyfriend after you finished hauling a stack of books off of the shelves.

He was sitting on the floor, dozens of stacks of books surrounding him, so each step you took was precarious. Spencer’s self-appointed job was to sort through the books, but you weren’t getting rid of any of them. No. He’d decided to reorganize them, influenced by an influx of new language books, according to the Dewey decimal system—a phrase you hadn’t heard since grade school.

You hoisted another stack of books from the shelves, thankfully built into the walls, and set them on the ground. “We can never move out of this apartment,” you told him, flipping through an early edition Proust, likely from his mom’s collection.

That got his attention, “Why not?” His legs were crisscrossed beneath him, his hair freshly washed, and glasses perched on his face. Spencer’s flannel pajama pants were likely warmer than your cotton ones, but you felt as though your hoodie had an advantage over his crewneck.

Gesturing your hands out to the piles of books, you raised your eyebrows, “We’d have to move all of the books again.” The two of you had moved into the apartment near the beginning of the summer, right before Spencer started his training at the Academy, and the heat had ended up being more than you bargained for.

Spencer smiled fondly at you, “I like this apartment,” he reminded you, turning his attention back to his philosophy books, “It suits us.”

Looking around, you had also fallen in love with the apartment rather quickly, and you didn’t have much room to complain, knowing that Spencer had sacrificed having a short commute so you could be close to work. The two of you moved in together after you finished school in Pasadena, and he wrapped up classes at MIT, closing the distance and starting the rest of your lives together.

The two of you repainted together, abandoning the miserable taupe that had been on the walls in favor of a dark green; you worked together to make it home, even if you were here more often than him.

Stepping over a teetering pile of novels, you held your arms out for balance as you tried to get to the kitchen, yelping when your foot caught on a book, sending you falling to the ground. You groaned as the corner of a book dug into your side; the blow softened by the cotton of your sweatshirt as you rolled off of the collapsed stack.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked as you rolled over to a safe area. His hand settled on your side, stopping you from rolling onto your back.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you nodded, “Yeah.” You frowned at the books that were left in your wake, “Oh, Spence. Your books,” you sighed, sticking out your bottom lip sadly.

He shook his head, “They’re just books, lovely.” Despite his reassurance, you caught his brown eyes flickering over the fallen novels. At a glance, it didn’t seem like any damage was incurred, but Spencer held his books to a very high standard. You knew he’d be checking them over as soon as you turned your head.

Sitting all the way up, you giggled softly at the way his concern split between you and the books; you thought about pressing your lips to his, but something moving outside the window caught your eye instead.

You squinted out the window, trying to ascertain what was going on, when your mouth gaped in surprise, “Spencer!” You scrambled to your feet, trying to drag your boyfriend to his, “Come on!”

His brows pinched in confusion. He looked around the living room, trying to find what had gotten you so excited, but you were already shoving your fuzzy sock-covered feet into your sneakers. Spencer had no choice but to follow.

Not even minding that you’d folded over the heels of your shoes, you were shuffling down the stairs and making your way to the street. Spencer lagged behind you, and you had already thrown your arms out in excitement by the time he made it outside. “It’s snowing,” You said giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet and spinning on the pavement.

Spencer grabbed one of your hands, stopping you from moving while he draped your jacket over your shoulders, having been too driven to get to the snowflakes to think about staying warm. His eyes were filled with love, leaving no room for judgment.

Sticking your tongue in an attempt to catch a snowflake, you didn’t even care that you were acting like a child. You’d never lived anywhere that got real snow like this before, “Oh, I love snow.”

“Your scarf is in tatters,” Spencer observed, holding the threadbare fabric at arm’s length.

You shrugged, breathing in and letting the cold air nip at your nose, “I haven’t had any use for it. It’s been in storage for ages,” you reminded him, closing your eyes and basking in the snow.

Instead of placing the hole-ridden scarf around your neck, Spencer loops his purple one over your shoulders. “I’ll have to knit you a new one. They’re predicting above-average snowfall this winter.”

Beaming at Spencer, you held out your hand for him to take, and he pulled you closer to him so your back was flush with his chest, the two of you watching the flurries as the lamplight refracted off the tiny ice crystals. “Happy first snow, Spencer Reid,” you told him, leaning your head back on his shoulder so the two of you could share a kiss.

He hummed affectionately, “Happy first snow, my love.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot

580 notes · View notes

cooking-thru-shortstack · 7 months ago

Text

Sweet Potato Biscuits - 5 Stars

Vegetarian

I can't overstate how wonderful these are, fresh out of the oven or leftover the next day. They're so simple and so, so satisfying. These aren't just one of my favorites from this book, but from the series overall.

Look at them! The sweet potato makes the dough a pleasant soft orange, and when you get a larger chunk of warm sweet potato....it's heaven. If you only make one thing from this book, make it this.

Ingredients:

1 cup roasted sweet potato flesh

2/3 cup whole milk

4 tbsp unsalted butter (1/2 stick) melted, plus 1 tbsp at room temperature

1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour

1 tbsp plus 1/4 tsp baking powder

2 tbsp plus 1/2 tsp sugar

3/4 tsp kosher salt

Adjust the top oven rack so that it is at the second highest setting. Preheat the oven to 450˚. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil or parchment paper and grease the foil or parchment with th e1 tbsp of softened butter.

In a large bowl, stir together the sweet potato flesh, milk and melted butter until combined. In a small bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt. Sift the flour mixture into the bowl with the sweet potato mixture and stir to combine. Using a soup spoon, scoop 12 mounds of batter, each about 2 inches wide, onto the baking sheet.

Bake the biscuits, rotating the pan after 10 minutes, until the tops brown in some parts and the biscuits sound hollow when thumped with a finger, 15 to 20 minutes total. Let the biscuits cool for a few minutes, then use a knife to release them from the liner. Serve warm.

#vegetarian #short stack editions #sweet potatoes #side dish #scott hocker #i make these so often #appetizer #biscuits

13 notes · View notes

partylikemajima · 1 month ago

Text

"She's going to kill you on sight" Stack laughed so loud it almost burst Smoke's ear drums.

"I don't care, I'll let her" Smoke mumbled, one hand resting along the car door, tapping it and the other on the wheel.

"And then I'd have to bury you like you did with old man? Hell naw" Stack patted Smoke's upper body, checking he had his guns. "Take protection, all those years, she might be carrying a rifle now" He hit the dashboard, laughing at his own comments. "S'what you get for teaching her how to shoot"

"Then she'll be the last thing I see before I die and go to hell" Smoke gripped the wheel with both hands and pushed down harder on the accelerator.

Stack continued to laugh, clapping his hands together. "Shit, don't forget we have to get Sammie before you race on home to her" He pointed his hand to the left towards the area where Sammie lived, as if Smoke had forgotten. He didn't. Stack was just reminding him as a joke.

"What if she tells you to leave? No chance to speak?" Stack took off his hat, fixing the fabric inside it. "You'll do as she says?"

Smoke looked to him with a raised brow. "Damn right"

No doubt about it. He'll deal with whatever happens. He just needs to see her.

Stack chuckled, placing his hat back on and patted Smoke's shoulder. "I hope she lets me know if she killed you, she always talked circles around me somehow" He shook his head.

<<<<>>>>>

When he heard her footsteps behind him, his earlier conversation with Stack rang in his mind like bells and Smoke turned his head slightly, asking how she was but he was really checking if she did indeed have a rifle pointed at him.

When she wasn't holding anything, he relaxed and rose to his feet, but felt like he was shot in the heart when he met her gaze, her eyes the only weapons she needed.

Wonder if she still carries that blade though.

It made him so excited.

~~~~~

I can't stop laughing its so short but @margepimpson put this idea in my head 😂Edit: If anyone wants more about Annie having a rifle (and multiple other shenanigans), i have an ongoing fic here

#ahahahahahaaaa AAAAHHHHH 😂😂😂😂😂😂#smoke x annie #very short but im running on barely any sleep #sinners 2025 #sinners #idk what to name this #look its a fic

203 notes · View notes

jacksabbotts · 24 hours ago

Text

. ᵒ .༄ JACK ABBOT x MORGUE TECH!READER CONCEPTS ! ࿔* ·˚ ༘ ┊͙ # 🥼 possible trigger warnings .' none ‧ 💉 ‧ ━━ WC 0.8k

series masterlist || inbox ━━━ request here!!! * ✷ ⊹ * ˚ ✷ dividers by @cafekitsune and @uzmacchiato !!!

⤷ ✵ ✧ . · * . · . COLD BLOODED COMPANIONS || requested!!! ( @titanessthemis123 )

the ride had been innocent. just two people clocking out at the same ungodly hour, the night air heavy with the kind of tired that settled in your marrow.

you hadn't even expected him to notice you waiting at the shuttle stop, hunched over in your oversized hoodie, fingers white-knuckled around the straps of your backpack. but then the familiar rumble of his truck had pulled up to the curb, window rolling down with a sigh.

"you're freezing," jack said, peering at you with furrowed brows, his scrubs rumpled and jacket half-zipped. "c’mon. you really think i’m gonna let you take the shuttle in this weather?"

you blinked at him, startled. "i—uh—i'm fine, i was just—"

"get in the truck, morgue girl. i won’t bite."

so you did.

and then, halfway to your place, you mentioned the turtle.

it just kind of slipped out. something about needing to stop by and check on him before heading home-home. you were babbling from nerves, already convinced jack probably thought you were weird, but when you hesitantly offered, "you can come up. only if-if you want to, of course. just for a second," he nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world.

you let him in.

and that’s how jack abbot—night-shift er god, stormy-eyed and intimidating and frustratingly hot—ended up in your tiny apartment, standing in front of sheldon the turtle’s tank while you awkwardly peeled off your backpack.

"his name’s sheldon," you said, like it explained everything. "shelly for short. you get it? like sheldon, shelly, shell. cause he's a turtle." you rambled.

jack leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees as he peered into the habitat. the turtle stared back, unmoved. "he’s judging me," jack murmured.

you smiled, just barely. "he judges everyone. he's not really a . . . people person." jack turned to you with a slow, amused grin that made your stomach twist. then his gaze drifted toward the dining room table—or rather, what was on the dining room table.

he stepped over, head tilting. "what’s all this?" you froze. "oh. that’s, um. just my work notes."

the table was covered in a symphony of color-coded madness. neatly stacked binders. post-it tabs in varying sizes. pastel highlighters, glittery gel pens, washi tape rolls, and a small bullet journal opened to a spread labeled : dr. howell’s autopsy queue: pre-prep checklist.

jack blinked. "are you… color-coding dead people?"

you flushed. "it’s more like organizing data about dead people."

he picked up a pen with a shimmering purple barrel. "this is a weapon."

"that’s a limited edition pentel energel in violet mist," you said automatically. then winced. "please don’t—"

he handed it back immediately, holding it between two fingers like it might bite him. "i was not prepared for how serious you are about your stationery."

"you joke, but i cried when someone walked off with my zebra mildliner last month."

"a what now?"

"highlighter. in ‘cool gray.’ it matched my toe tags."

jack stared at you. then, he laughed. actually laughed. not a condescending one, but the warm, surprised kind, like you’d cracked through something he didn’t even realize he was guarding.

and you—god, you felt seen.

you turned to sheldon, who had finally shifted slightly on his basking rock. you tapped the glass gently. "say hi, shels. this is the guy who sneaks down to the morgue to bring me coffee."

jack moved beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. "he doesn’t look impressed."

"he’s just needs to warm up to you."

"mmhm. must run in the family."

you blinked up at him.

he was close now. really close. his eyes were soft. his voice even softer. "i like seeing you like this."

you blinked. "like what?"

"happy," he said. "a little excited. not so nervous."

you looked down at your hands, fiddling with your favorite gel pen. "i’m always nervous." he nudged your shoulder. "not about this."

you risked a glance at him. jack abbot in your living room, grinning at your sticker collection like it was the most charming thing in the world. jack abbot, who’d seen you covered in formalin and still called you sweetheart. jack abbot, who was looking at you now like he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

and, weirdly, you believed him.

you reached into your bin of sticky notes and pulled out a neon pink one. you scribbled property of morgue girl and stuck it to his shoulder. he didn’t flinch. just smiled.

"i think i’ll wear that to work."

sheldon blinked slowly in approval.

and maybe—for the first time in a long while—you did too.

🔖 . @princesssunderworld @mayabbot @imherefordeanandbones @arigoldsblog @oldmanbunnylover @i-mushi @autumnleaves1991-blog @lovelexi717 @peggyofoz @qtmoonies @nfwmb-gvf @britt217 @babybatreads @cheekym8s @bitteroceanlove @spooky-librarian-ghost @dr-yapper @yutasgem @keseqna @gardeniarose13 @witchbitchlovesdilfs @sotragedynut @robbyrosierobinavitch @anglophileforlife @flyinglama @reignbooks8506 @kmc1989 @sillymuffintrashflap @letstryagaintomorrow @caterpillarskimono @maiamore @chuiisi @madzleigh01 @qardasngan @imightbeinsanebutwtv @Shadowfoxey @foolishseven @anxiousfuckupon @Lumpypoll @Coldmuffinbanditshoe @blueliketheseaa @Justfaefaeee @sweetdayme4427 @404creep @yourdaydreamerfan @ddrawers96 @m14mags @generalstarlightobject @twiddledeedumsworld @dlljdhsh @jetless @Thedamnqueenofhell @Topnerd03 @misshoneypaper @abllor @Loud-mouph @cannonindeez @nubecita040@Sabi127 @Coleground @sevenberry @idontcarenoughtonamethis @beebeechaos @cwzham @homebytheharbor @Sammiib444 @painment @namgification @Cherry_cosmos @catmomstyles3 @livingavilaloca @hello-lisa1026 @emma8895eb @thesnugglingduck @134340-cm @amindfullofmonsters @FloofMC @moonriseoverkyoto @alldaysdreamers @karavt @beefbaby25 @cruelchants @kiwikitty13 @faerykingdom @i-get-obsessed-fast @badwolfvexa @laerrynseelie @violetswritingg @braindead-raccoon @timeofmadness @bmoplanet @high-functioning-deadgirl @silas-aeiou @BxdBxtxh @rosellerinfrost @saidinpassing @alldaysdreamers @kaiaspapayas @concentratedconcrete @blackirisesinthesunlight @JillB12 @Emmyfairy @notgothenough @timeofmadness @valkyreally @narcolepticduck @hiireadstuff @dlljdhsh @beltzboys2015 @tealcelery @madprincessinabox @fairygardensss @ahleecollaborations @pope-codys * ✷ ⊹ * ˚ want to join the morgue tech!reader taglist??? click here!!!!

#jack abbot x morgue tech!reader #the pitt x morgue tech!reader #morgue tech!reader

151 notes · View notes

em-ontv · 11 months ago

Note

Hii, I was wondering if you could write something for Soldier Boy? Just something where he’s down bad and obsessed with the reader? Love your writing, thank you 😭

Honestly, thank you for this, I needed it to feed into my Soldier Boy delusions. Here you go, anon! Hope you like it <3

Guilty pleasure.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!supe!reader

Warnings: vulgar language/cursing, obsessive behavior, Ben is really down bad, no use of y/n, English is not my first language, mistakes should be present, apologies beforehand :)

Word count: 439

———————————————————————————

Ben was the fucking Soldier Boy, the All-American hero, the one-man army who could singlehandedly fight a whole battalion. He had the whole country eating out of the palm of his hand. But he had a secret — a guilty pleasure, if you will. And it was you.

You were more than just a supe. You were a sensation, neatly crafted by Vought to be the perfect girl. The kind that made men weak in the knees.

And Ben was no different.

Yeah, you had no fucking clue, but he had a serious crush on you. He was your biggest fucking fan, and he felt pathetic about it — Soldier Boy didn't do crushes, but here he was.

He had stacks and stacks of magazines of you, posters hung up on the walls of his room, and even some rare, limited-edition shit that he paid top dollar for. He'd never admit it, but he had spent countless hours staring at printed images of your face, tearing his way through Supe Weekly to find you in there. It was ridiculous, and he knew it, but that didn't stop him from acting like a totally obsessed fanboy every time he saw your face anywhere he walked.

America's hardest badass — hoarding fan memorabilia like a fucking teenager — what a joke. And he'd be damned if one of his teammates from Payback ever found out about his little obsession with you, he'd never be able to live it down, but he’d probably punch their skulls in.

So when the word came down that Payback had a working opportunity with you, Ben almost lost his shit. He'd practically jumped out of his chair when the news hit. But he wanted to keep it cool — be the stoic leader who didn't bat an eye at you. But inside? He was thrilled. A chance to meet you, to work alongside you? It was like someone had handed him Christmas on a silver platter.

When the day finally came, Ben stood in front of the mirror in his quarters, checking his reflection for the twentieth time. The thought of embarrassing himself in front of you made his stomach twist.

And the conference room.

He was fighting the urge to just bolt for the door. And then you walked in. Holy shit, you were even better in person. It made his brain short-circuit when you walked directly to him.

"Soldier Boy," you greeted, your voice smooth. "Been looking forward to this."

When Ben opened his mouth to speak, nearly no sound came out except for a voice crack. And it was at this moment that he knew. He was fucked.

912 notes · View notes

dovenskin · 1 month ago

Note

i luvv💕ur work

may u pls do a bill x reader with reader whos just as much as of an asshole as he is -- like they dont put up with his attitude, ignore him, block him whenever they feel like it, and force bill into pathetic actions for her forgiveness?? 💗💗

⋆

bill dickeyノ

cw : no warnings just bill being bill // bill x gn reader with feminine qualities

✦ Title: Let Him Suffer

an: yess!! omg i’ve prayed for a bill request and thank uu!! xoxo

Bill was always mouthing off.

That was nothing new. You’d gotten used to the endless stream of smug corrections, petty gatekeeping, and the incel-core commentary that tumbled out of his mouth anytime he felt challenged—so, constantly. He was basically a walking online reporter with a superiority complex and the emotional regulation of a wet sock.

The two of you were in a thing, sure—one of those “off and on, don’t ask questions” relationships that was somehow real and a joke at the same time. Not that Bill would ever call it a relationship without choking on the word or throwing up sarcastic air quotes like they were part of his mutant power set.

“Yeah, my ‘partner’,” he’d grunt at Pete or Jerry. “Don’t get used to it. Casual arrangement.”

And yet the second you wore a tank top out without checking in? He got possessive like you were his limited-edition signed ‘The Joker’ poster

You’d shown up to Free Comic Book Day dressed as a vampire hunter —tight leather, stylized thigh straps, and detailed sigils you’d painted by hand. Weeks of work. And before you could even enjoy the look, Bill peered at you from behind a stack of longboxes and barked:

“That skirt is two inches too short for any functional loadout. You look like a slut. And I’m pretty sure those sigils are a bad rip-off of the Bloodlines expansion. Try harder next time.”

You blinked once. Then turned and walked away.

Bill Dickey had never met anyone who could silence him with a look. He hated it. Hated how you rolled your eyes during his continuity rants. Hated how you blocked his number every time he called you a “poser bitch” for having an opinion that didn’t match his. Hated how you always came back when you felt like it—like his tantrums meant less than nothing.

He called you sensitive when you called him out for saying “female-led media is inherently weaker.” You laughed in his face and walked off.

He told Pete and Josh that the only reason you kept winning at Magic was because he “let you win to keep the peace.” You threw your drink in the trash and left mid-game.

And when he told Jerry—fucking Jerry—that your art wasn’t real fanwork because your posts got “thirst likes from brain-dead coomers”? You were sitting right there.

He looked you dead in the eye and said it.

And you? You stood up without a word, grabbed your bag, and left.

He didn’t follow. Not then

But that night? The spiral began.

First, texts:

““You know I was kidding.”

“Fine. Act like a bitch.”

“C’mon, don’t be so emotional. You females are always so emotional over nothing. Pick a new struggle.”

Blocked.

A day passed.

Then two.

On the third morning, you opened your curtains to find Bill Dickey in your front yard with a busted Bluetooth speaker duct-taped to a messenger bag, fumbling with wires like he’d tried and failed to play something from your favorite album—pathetic and obvious.

You opened the door an inch.

“I’m sorry, alright?” he shouted. “I’m not good at this relationship shit! I said stuff I didn’t mean! C’mon… s—sweetheart…” He hesitated like the pet name burned his tongue. “I brought the speaker!”

You slammed the door without saying a word.

Over the next week, he sent more emails than an ILOVEYOU virus

Subject: “Just read this???”

Subject: “I messed up—okay??”

Subject: “Say something. Anything.”

Subject: “I’ll delete the forum post about your ‘Bloodlines’ sigils. Please.”

He lurked outside the comic shop during your usual visits,flannel flared up, pacing like he knew he wasn’t welcome but refused to leave. You walked past him without flinching.

One night, as you stepped over the curb, he trailed after you.

“Okay—okay, I get it. I was a dick! But I miss you. I like you, alright? I—fuck—I love you. Is that what you want to hear?”

You didn’t even turn around.

Behind you, Bill stood frozen on the sidewalk, red-faced and hunched over like he’d just been hit by a boss fight cutscene. His backpack slipped down his shoulder. His mouth hung open, useless.

“…Please,” he called out. “I don’t know what to do without you.”

But that wasn’t your problem.

Because it was never about whether he liked you. It was about whether he respected you. And Bill Dickey?

He didn’t deserve shit.

Let him suffer.

#fem!reader #gn reader #eltingville bill #the eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #eltingville x reader #bill dickey #william alan dickey #bill my beloved #i’m gonna start writing for him more #that #pathetic loser #i need that cookie so effing bad #angel mail #dovenfluff #mercy letters

184 notes · View notes

pretentious-blonde · 5 months ago

Text

stay for dinner?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: a stupid conversation, past insecurities, and a boy who thinks he isn’t enough—until you show him he always was

warnings: steve self-sabotaging, crying

a/n: part 4, can be read as a standalone too. PLS give me ideas for these two if you liked them!! they currently have my heart <3 (may or may not write nsfw, if i get an idea for that, so be on the lookout!)

series masterlist

Steve set a freshly rewound tape on the countertop. The sign on the wall stating: Be kind: Rewind, clearly had not been making an impact on the general public. And if that wasn’t enough, he was desperately trying not to roll his eyes as a certain curly-haired boy to his left, perched on the desk as if it was a lounge chair.

Dustin had been pleading with him for the past ten minutes—some elaborate scheme involving a comic book store in the next town over. Steve had already told him “no” at least four times, but the word didn’t seem to register in the boy's vocabulary. He became aware he was fighting a losing battle as the kid refused to budge.

“Please?” Dustin implored again, swinging his legs idly as he watched Steve rewind the day’s returns.

“For the last time,” Steve muttered, eyeing a slightly worn Back to the Future case with mild dismay, “I already told you no.”

He was trying to figure out how he could make his declaration any clearer.

Dustin huffed, crossing his arms. “I can’t drive yet, remember?”

“Yeah, well, that’s not my problem,” Steve shot back, sliding the VHS into its designated slot behind the counter.

“I’m telling you, it’s only like a fifteen-minute drive. Tops.” Dustin glanced at the clock pointedly. “Plus, your shift ends soon. What else are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know—go pick up my girlfriend?” Steve flashed him a wry smile, letting the term roll off his tongue with pride.

Girlfriend.

It still felt new, but it also felt good. He thought it would take longer for him to assimilate to his new title as boyfriend, but he fell into the role as easily as breathing. Something that felt completely natural.

No longer was he the designated driver for his friends after work, he did the stuff that boyfriends do. And that included spending most evenings with you.

There were a few times you insisted he needed to spend time with his own friends, but he still wished you were there. Hopefully, you would be comfortable enough to tag along with them in the future. God knows he was more than willing to show you off.

“Oh yeah?” Dustin sat up, his posture straightening. “So it’s official now?”

A tiny grin tugged at Steve’s mouth. “Yeah.” He closed a drawer of tapes and rested his hands on the counter, staring at Dustin with a slightly smug expression. “It’s official.”

“Good for you, man. Seriously. That’s nice.” He said, seemingly out of obligation rather than pure interest. Then, snapping back to the real topic at hand. “But I’m not leaving until you agree to take me to the comic book store.”

“That’s like—” Steve glanced at the clock above the television sets for rent, “an hour from now.”

“Yep,” Dustin said, unabashed. “I’m persistent.”

“Look,” Steve sighed, massaging the tension in his temples. “She’s coming here once my shift is over. I can’t just bail on her to drive you around.”

Dustin’s face lit up. “Then bring her along! Maybe she’ll like it!”

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” A short laugh escaped Steve before he could stop it. “I’m not dragging her to a comic book shop just so you can blow your allowance on some special-edition nonsense.”

“Hey, it’s not nonsense!” Dustin protested. “They have the rare issues I can’t find anywhere else. And who knows, maybe your girlfriend’s into comics!”

“Why do I even argue with you?” Steve groaned to himself, returning to the stack of tapes in front of him—anything to have an excuse not to keep looking at Dustin’s pleading face. “You just keep going and going. It’s exhausting.”

“That’s because I know you’ll give in eventually,” Dustin quipped, flashing that self-assured grin that made Steve want to either adopt him or toss him out a window—possibly both.

“Yeah, well, not this time,” Steve insisted, though the conviction in his voice wavered slightly.

Dustin was right about one thing: Steve did have a tendency to cave when it came to the kids, especially the ones he’d practically helped raise. But, as he filed away the last of the returns, a pang of guilt rippled through him.

He didn’t want to let you down. Truly, he didn’t. You were swinging by just to see him. It was a Sunday after all, so he was finishing early, and he wanted to spend as long as he could with you.

Unfortunately, he did feel a little regretful about letting his friend down. Perhaps he was spending a bit too much time with you—which wasn’t a crime—but he was struggling to recall the last time he spent alone time with Dustin.

The kid must have caught the trace of hesitation in Steve’s expression. Finally, a crack in his armour.

“Look,” he said, in a rare moment of sincerity, “just ask her, okay? If she says no, I’ll drop it.”

Steve mulled that over, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Fine,” he relented, not hiding his exasperation. “I’ll let you pitch your case when she gets here.”

Dustin pumped a fist triumphantly. “Yes! You won’t regret this.”

“I regret a lot of things, Henderson,” Steve muttered under his breath. “Now let me finish up so I can actually clock out at a decent time.”

“Deal,” Dustin agreed, but he made no move to vacate the desk. Instead, he just kept swinging his legs, watching with interest as Steve tried to busy himself with the returns.

The kid was relentless—he had to give him that.

He was half-leaning against the counter when you walked in, the lazy Sunday light spilling through the windows, making him look almost golden.

You instantly spotted him, features slightly fatigued but nonetheless tender. The boy who inserted himself into your daunting new life, making you feel less alone. The boy who made you feel safe whenever your eyes met—warm, reassuring, sometimes bashful if you caught him at the right moment.

Your gaze drifted to the curly-haired kid perched on the front desk, chattering away while Steve fiddled with cases. You hadn’t met him yet, but had an inkling as to who it might be from you and Steve’s many conversations.

The second Steve caught sight of you, the slight crease in his brow eased, and a genuine smile lit up his face. He straightened, set the tapes aside, and practically melted as you approached, arms opening to fit you just right.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you into a warm hug. His vest brushed against your cheek. You tilted your head just enough to feel the soft press of his lips against your temple.

Even though the two of you were official, your cheeks still reddened at his action. It often seemed he didn’t mind that you had company, or maybe he just didn’t care. Or perhaps he didn’t realise how brazen he could be.

Either way, you weren’t going to stop his displays of affection. You enjoyed knowing he was proud to call you his.

“Hi,” you said quietly, relishing the way he lingered in that hug, not quite wanting to let go just yet.

“This is Dustin,” he turned, gesturing to the boy with the curly hair. “I told you about him, remember?”

“Right!” You offered the boy a friendly smile, glad your assumption was correct. “So great to finally meet you. Steve mentions you all the time.”

Dustin stared for a moment, then blinked like he was recalibrating.

“Um… hey,” he said, his tone surprisingly timid. “Yeah, you too.”

That made Steve grin even wider.

Dustin, rendered speechless? He never thought he would see the day. He looked at his awestruck expression and glanced over at you smugly.

Yeah, he did that. He isn’t quite sure how, but he did that.

“You ready to go?” you asked, glancing up at him over your shoulder. At your question, Steve let out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair nervously.

“Apparently, someone wants me to be their personal chauffeur,” he said, with a pointed look at Dustin. “Says I need to drive him to a comic book store.”

“A comic book store? But there’s one like four streets over, right?”

Steve spread his hands in exasperation. “Exactly what I said!”

Dustin threw his hands up. “That one sucks! Their selection is terrible and they get new shipments like once a month!”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. He sounds like a tiny professor with the fervour in his voice. Steve shot you a look of abject guilt, like he was already imagining leaving you hanging.

“Would I be the world’s biggest jerk if I did this?” he asked, the uncertainty evident in his tone. He hated to be the one to make decisions like this, picking sides and disappointing someone in the process.

“No, honestly, it’s fine.” Gently, you shook your head. “It’s still early, right?” You gestured to the clock on the wall—three o’clock, give or take a few minutes. “I’ve been all over the place today, honestly an hour or so just to get everything in order would be amazing.”

“I mean…” Dustin started, looking between you and Steve, not sure if you're just being nice or actually had something to do. “You’re welcome to come with?”

But you waved him off with an apologetic smile. “Thanks, but seriously, I’ve got a lot to catch up on at home. You two enjoy, please, don’t let me stop you.”

Dustin beamed at you, grateful for the positive turn of events. Steve, on the other hand, still looked torn, torn between not wanting to inconvenience you and also not wanting to bail on his friend.

“Alright,” he relented, exhaling in relief when he realised you were genuinely okay with this. “I’ll… yeah, I’ll drop him off, and we’ll probably poke around for a bit if they really have something he’s looking for.”

“No worries.” You leaned forward, reaching for his hand, not missing the smitten glaze in his eyes as you squeezed it. “Swing by mine after, okay? I should be done by then.”

Steve’s posture relaxed, gratitude colouring his eyes. “Okay,” he murmured, “deal.”

He leaned in, cupping your jaw and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips this time—a sweet, unhurried gesture that made your cheeks flush—again.

There was a shuffle behind him, and you could sense Dustin being extremely polite (or maybe just temporarily stunned) enough not to comment. Steve pulled back smiling, as you made your way to the exit.

“See you, Steve,” you said, backing toward the door. You cast a quick wave at Dustin. “Later, Dustin.”

“Uh, bye,” Dustin managed, raising a hand in farewell.

And with that, you slipped outside, leaving Steve to shoulder his shift into driver mode—though, judging by the fond look on his face, he wasn’t half as annoyed about it anymore.

He just got to rub it in Dustin's face, that yes, he had a sweet girlfriend. And yes, she really was that nice. All the time. Probably when she shouldn't be.

As far as he was concerned, if you needed it, he could haul Henderson around for an afternoon to give you some free time.

“You,” Dustin said, pointing at Steve once you were gone, “are one lucky dude.”

Steve snorted, but it came out more like an affectionate laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmured, casting a glance at the door you’d just left through. “Yeah, I am.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he cruised down the main road, Dustin rambling away in the passenger seat. The kid’s feet bounced on the floor mat, all brimming energy. Steve had to admit—it was nice to see him so pumped. But that didn’t stop him from cringing slightly at every new question that spilled out of his mouth.

Right now he was the subject of a very intense interrogation, and while he had mentioned he was seeing someone new, clearly that was not enough information for the teenager sitting next to him.

“So,” Dustin said, leaning forward, “this girl—your girlfriend—what does she do?”

“She’s writing for the paper in town.” He said, feeling a surge of pride in his chest as he got to gush about your achievements. “Gonna be a big-shot journalist someday. That’s what she wants, anyway.”

Dustin let out a short laugh, amused in a way that made Steve raise an eyebrow. “Why’re you laughing?”

“I’m not, I’m just—” Dustin shook his head, lips quirked in a grin. “You and your… type.”

Steve gave him a side-eye glance. “My type?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Dustin scoffed, half-exasperated, half-teasing. “Smart writer girls. You know—the go-getter, brainy ones.”

Steve’s initial instinct was to shrug it off, but something nagged at him.

He felt a twinge of déjà vu that he didn’t love.

“Yeah, okay, I can sorta see what you mean.” He spoke cooly, but the heat rising in his chest was anything but.

“Admit it,” Dustin pressed on. “You like girls that are just a little… out of your league.”

Steve bristled, tightening his grip on the wheel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, think about it." Dustin shrugged, apparently not noticing the defensiveness in Steve’s tone. "The girls you’ve dated. They’re super smart, super driven. It’s cool how you have managed to pull this off twice.”

Steve forced a laugh, though it felt hollow on his tongue.

Pull this off? That the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Right, yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence, Henderson.” He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping into his stomach. “Well, if they like me, then I must be doing something right.”

“For sure. No denying you’ve come a long way.” Dustin nodded, tapping the dashboard with one finger. “Remember how you used to act at Scoops? Man, you were just—”

Steve groaned, cutting him off as he steered into a small parking lot beside a rundown building with a neon sign advertising Comics & Collectibles. Not wanting to relive failed moments from his youth any longer than he had to.

“Alright, we’re here.” He put the car into park, his posture now rigid. “You’ve got thirty minutes, max. Then we’re outta here.”

“Thirty minutes?” Dustin repeated, eyes bulging. “But—”

“Non-negotiable,” Steve said flatly, giving him a pointed look, suddenly in a sour mood. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Fine.” Dustin grumbled under his breath but ultimately acquiesced, grabbing his backpack and popping open the door. “Thirty. Starting… now.”

He hopped out, the door slamming shut behind him. Steve exhaled, jaw still tense. He watched the kid dart across the lot and pull open the shop’s glass door with excitement.

Alone at last, Steve let his head fall back against the headrest.

Are you really that much out of his league? The question looped around in his mind like a broken record.

He could laugh it off—he had enough practise doing that—but he started remembering how he felt so inadequate around Nancy.

You made him feel needed, cared for, that much was certainly true. But how long would you need him, really?

The notion stirred up old insecurities he’d thought he’d buried.

The rational side of his mind told him he had nothing to worry about. If you liked him—chose him—that was enough, right?

Sighing, he pulled out his watch and glanced at the time. Twenty-nine minutes until he could drop Dustin off and head straight to your place. He suddenly wished the clock would run faster.

Because if there was one thing he couldn’t wait to do, it was lose himself in you. If only for the evening.

Your familiar doorstep was supposed to feel welcoming, as it had so many times before, but Steve’s mind was a bundle of half-formed worries as he stood in the familiar space.

He hated to admit when things got to him, but Dustin’s teasing—albeit lighthearted—had, indeed, gotten to him. The doubts clouding his mind like a soft static he couldn’t push away.

The one statement he kept circling back to was the whole "out of his league" idea. I mean, yeah, from the outside looking in, it could be the case. But he had something to offer, right?

If nothing else was true, he at least had a decent enough face, and his personality had come a long way from high school. Hopefully, other people could see that too.

He forced his mind into silence as he took a deep breath, knocking twice in quick succession.

When you opened the door, dressed in soft, comfortable clothes that looked unfairly adorable on you, he felt something in his chest unclench. Even on a lazy Sunday—one where you had every right to be tired from your own job—you still radiated a classic warmth, one that he was selfishly drinking up, grateful to be the one basking in it.

“Hey,” you said, smiling so easily that a bit of the tension in his shoulders melted.

“Hey, angel” he echoed, stepping inside when you ushered him through the threshold. The air hit him first—warm and fragrant, hinting at something savoury on the stove. “Wow, it smells amazing in here.”

Little did he know, you had already taken care of most of your errands that morning. Knowing you’d be spending the afternoon with Steve, you’d gotten up a little earlier than usual to make sure everything was in order. But when you saw the desperate look on Dustin’s face as he pleaded with your boyfriend to take him to the store, an idea sparked. A little surprise for him—one you hoped would land well.

“Figured I’d make dinner.” You gave a pleased little shrug. “We don’t always get Sundays like this, and I know you had to work, so…”

“Wait,” he said, blinking, “you made dinner?”

His eyes softened as he took in your words, letting them settle in his chest. He tried not to feel indebted—but God, he wished he stopped to pick up flowers or something.

“Yup,” you confirmed, leading him toward the kitchen. “Nothing fancy. Just has to reduce on the stove for a while longer, but I wanted it ready for when you came by.”

Steve’s heart twisted in two directions at once. On one hand, it was the sweetest gesture, and certainly one that should have put his mind at ease. On the other, his mind kept whispering to him. He questioned if he was even worth this kind of effort.

The bluntness of the thought shocked him a little, but he couldn’t render it completely false. He felt like he owed you something.

“You didn’t have to go all out for me,” he murmured, smiling at you in an almost apologetic manner.

“I know.” You reached up to brush a stray bit of hair off his forehead. “I wanted to.”

He swallowed, nodding. “Thanks, angel,” he said softly, the pet name rolling off his tongue with more tenderness than he intended. Like he wasn’t supposed to be using it. “Seriously.”

You tugged him gently into the living room, where he sank down onto the couch, exhaling a sigh of relief. The day had felt so long—the slow hours, Dustin’s energy, the drive out of town—but now, in the familiarity of your apartment, it all felt calm. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite right.

You curled against him, fitting neatly at his side as he draped an arm around you. The soft haze of a lamp cast a cosy halo over the bookshelf across the room, the very one he’d helped you build not long ago. He couldn’t help but notice the extra row of spines he didn’t remember seeing before.

“Hey,” he teased, nudging your head and gesturing to the neatly lined novels. “I thought you said no more books until you’d read all the ones you owned.”

You lifted your head to follow his gaze, a faint grin tugging at your lips. “I did read them. Which means I’m allowed new ones.”

“All of them? In, what—two weeks?”

He barely finished reading Salinger in senior year, and that took him months to work through.

“About that,” you said, sounding almost sheepish. “They were good, and I got on a roll. You know how it is when a book just sucks you in?”

He didn’t really, but now he felt as though he should.

“That’s…impressive.” He replied safely, not wanting to bring down your mood with his lack of literature knowledge. Especially when you seemed so pleased that he was there in the first place.

You used that moment to shift closer, your cheek pressing against the broad line of his shoulder. He felt the warmth you emitted, and if he allowed himself, he could imagine that maybe you enjoyed his company as much as he loved yours.

“So,” you said, glancing up at him with genuine curiosity. “How was work? How’s Dustin?”

Steve hesitated, momentarily tripping over the idea that you’d be interested in the mundane details of his shift or the kid’s comic book haul. But the way you were watching him—like you actually cared—made him sigh and lean into it.

“Pretty standard, y’know?” He ran his free hand over his jaw, trying to sound casual. “Dustin got what he wanted, as usual. He’s like a force of nature—hard to say no.”

You smiled, amused. “That kid seems unstoppable.”

“Definitely unstoppable,” Steve agreed, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Eventually, after his debrief of today's events, you got up to check on dinner, stirring the pot and releasing another wave of that delicious smell. He watched, heart clenching again with gratitude and guilt.

He could see how careful you were, minding the heat, adding a pinch of seasoning, taking the time to make something special just for him.

He wondered if he could do anything to help, something to be useful again.

It felt so domestic that for a second he let himself imagine a future where this could be the norm—where the two of you shared little traditions, teased each other about groceries, woke up side by side. Equally happy with what the other had to offer.

Soon enough, you both ended up at the small kitchen table, plates filled with a hearty meal that made him groan with delight after each bite. You just laughed, pleased by his genuine appreciation.

“Good?” you asked, grinning as he nodded enthusiastically, mouth still full.

It was good. Really good. Made only better by the fact that you made it for him.

Why didn’t he think of something like this?

At this rate, he was going to have to pull a screw loose from your bookshelf just so he could prove himself again.

When you’d eaten more than enough to satiate your hunger, you cleaned up together, bumping hips in the process, trading playful glances as you washed and dried the dishes.

He followed you back to the couch, happy to follow where you dragged him hand first. You spent the rest of the evening chatting aimlessly about books, random gossip from your workplace, and his occasional run-ins with Robin or the kids.

There was nothing particularly grand or momentous about it; just a gentle closeness. Though he was worried it was too mundane, if his crappy jokes were enough to keep this thing going.

All too soon, the clock on the wall struck a sober reminder: Monday morning was lurking around the corner, and you gave him an apologetic look.

“I hate to kick you out,” you said softly, “but I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He pretended to huff in annoyance, though the corners of his mouth twitched in a small smile. You were the one with a real job, after all. “Responsibilities and all that.”

At the door, you hugged him, chin hooking over his shoulder. He could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent on your jumper, mixed with the lingering aroma of dinner. It felt safe in your arms—safer than he’d felt all day.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your hair, voice thick with more emotion than he intended to reveal.

“For what?” you asked, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, sensing his unease.

“For dinner,” he shrugged, trying to hide the lump in his throat. “For letting me hang out… for, y’know, being you.”

A smile lit up your features, and you rose on your toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

It should’ve been reassuring, but that old worry nipped at him once again.

You gave him a playful nudge out into the hallway. “Drive safe, okay?”

“Always,” he promised, mustering a half-smirk. But the moment the door closed behind him, the warmth drained away like someone had shut off a heat lamp.

By the time he slid into his car and started the engine, he was already thinking about Dustin’s words, "girls out of his league."

Mentally, he scolded himself. But the thought stuck like glue, stubborn and unmoving. He glanced at your apartment window—light still glowing from inside—and his chest ached with longing.

You liked him. You even cooked for him, fully aware that he would have been just as content with a crappy pizza or diner fries.

So why couldn’t he let himself just be happy?

With a quiet sigh, he pulled away from the curb, leaving the comfort of your home behind. And as he drove through the sleepy streets of Hawkins, he couldn’t quite loose the hollow sense that he was missing something.

Good things always had a way of escaping him, and he couldn’t imagine how this would be any different.

You’ve never felt unsettled since moving to Hawkins—at least, not until now.

Work at the Hawkins Post can be demanding, but those pressures were somewhat tangible: deadlines, edits, the joyous feeling of being undermined for basic input. You can handle all that. But suddenly finding your supposedly devoted boyfriend slipping through your fingers for reasons you don’t understand?

That feels far worse than any work stress could ever be.

All week, you’ve told yourself not to overreact. Steve might just be busy or tired or dealing with something personal. You didn’t want to pry, and after coming clean about your own struggles, you assumed he would do the same thing. Take his own advice or whatever.

But the excuses keep piling up, and you can’t ignore the changes in his behaviour. It started with some half-hearted reasons to hang up the phone in the evenings—when he used to plead with you to stay just little longer—usually ending up with one of you falling asleep on the line, listening out for the others breathing to steady before ending the call.

The whole week he didn’t even mention spending the weekend together. Usually that was sacred time, with him arguing with Kieth and Robin to please let him have the evening shifts rather than the morning. He enjoyed waking up lazily next to you, not rushing out the door before he had his fill.

By Saturday, you decide you can’t wait for answers any longer. You head out, crossing the familiar street, eventually pushing open the door to Family Video. Robin’s face pops up from behind the counter, the bell signalling a customer.

“Hey,” Robin calls, stacking tapes. “If you’re looking for Steve, you just missed him. Morning shift—he took off like ten minutes ago.”

“I know.” You attempt a polite smile. You were already aware of his absence, watching his BMW speed away from the store, feeling even worse when it turned the opposite direction to your place. “I actually, uh… came to see you.”

“Me? Really?” She seemed half-surprised, half-intrigued.

“Yeah. I… I think I need your help.” The words spill out in a rush. You don’t realise how anxious you sound until Robin sets aside her tapes, giving you her full attention. “I’m sorry for springing this on you, but I’m kind of at a loss. You’re Steve’s best friend, and—” You pause, cheeks warming. “I don’t really know many people here yet.”

Robin’s expression softens. “Hey, hey, no need to apologise. What’s going on?” Her eyes narrow, the smallest spark of protectiveness lighting behind them. “Did Steve do something stupid? Because I can give him a good slap if—”

You lift your hands, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, it’s not that. Or… not exactly?” Your voice wavers. “I just—wanted to know if he still… likes me? Because he’s been distant, and I can’t think what I did wrong.”

Robin’s mouth opens on a short laugh, but then she sees you’re serious.

“Oh. Wait—you’re for real?”

Heat pools in your cheeks. It sounds so ridiculous when you say it out loud, but you press on. You were here already, so if she knew something, you would rather just get this over with.

“He’s barely returned my calls, and this weekend he hasn’t even tried making plans. Last week I cooked for him—nothing fancy, just dinner—and he acted so weird about it, almost like he wanted to be anywhere else. I keep replaying it in my head, wondering if I came on too strong or something.”

She watches you carefully, reading the tension in your posture, the way your hands keep twisting into your sleeves.

“Okay, okay,” she says, gentler now. “I promise I’m listening. You think you scared him off?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” You look at the floor, biting your lip. “This past week, he’s barely tried to see me at all. Usually he’s so—well, so Steve, you know? But now it’s like he’s ignoring me, except he’s still in town.”

Robin sets aside the tapes completely, leaning her elbows on the counter. Yes, she knew how Steve had been acting, practically besotted with you. So this fast turnaround was odd, but then again, Steve had his moments. Though they usually came with more of an explanation than this.

“That’s… not good,” she concedes. “But trust me, from an outside perspective, he’s been head over heels for you since day one. My guess is he’s the problem, not you. It might be in that thick skull of his, you know? It doesn’t help that it’s covered with all that hair.”

“I feel so stupid, but I didn’t know who else to ask." You let out a shaky laugh. "I’m just… worried I messed up somehow. I know it’s weird—”

“Hey, you’re not weird.” Robin shakes her head, reaching over to squeeze your arm gently. “You’re worried—totally normal. Let me talk to him, okay? I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Your eyes widen. “No, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to cause drama—”

She interrupts you with a wave of her hand. “Drama is my middle name, apparently, thanks to Steve. Let me handle him. I’ll be subtle. Trust me.”

A mischievous grin tugs at her lips. You have a feeling she’s never been subtle in her life, but you’re too tired to argue.

“Alright.” You sigh. “Only if you’re sure. And please, maybe don’t mention I… came here? I don’t want him thinking I’m this desperate, clingy girlfriend who needs constant reassurance.”

“Desperate? Clingy? He’s been the clingiest guy I’ve ever seen—until now.” She snorts. “Don’t beat yourself up. I know he adores you. He’s probably just… freaking out about something. He’s good at that. Self-sabotage is his specialty.”

The tight knot in your chest loosens just a bit, but her words set you on edge a little. You instantly think that you are the one freaking him out, coming on too strong. But you decide that silence is the best option here.

“Thank you,” you say, voice still unsteady. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She offers a supportive smile. “Hey, you’re welcome to drop by anytime, you know? If you wanted someone else to talk to or something, but no pressure.”

“I might take you up on that.” You tell her, relieved.

“Good. Now go home, put on some music, try to relax. I’ll handle the Harrington situation.”

You’re not entirely sure what that entails, but her confidence is reassuring. After one more grateful nod, you thank her again and head back outside. Not quite feeling relief, but certainly not feeling any worse.

Steve juggled a soda cup in one hand and a stack of tapes in the other. He had the evening off yesterday and had spent it binge watching crappy rom coms while trying to ignore the nagging feeling in his chest. Trying to find some solace in those mundane guys managing to snag the unattainable, popular girl. They never showed what happened after the whole kiss and get-together thing. Life imitates art in a way.

He also had the day off today—normally something that would have him beaming from the inside out—but he made the decision to spend it alone. A decision that had been laced with anxiety, which now leaked into a mild depression. His nerves overshadowed any relief he felt about his schedule.

He unlocked the door to Family Video, hoping he’d be able to stash the unchecked tapes and slip out before Robin noticed the cloud hanging over him. No such luck.

She was early for her shift, waiting at the counter, arms crossed, jaw set. Her eyes locked on him the second he stepped inside.

“You.” She spoke the word like it was a challenge. “Explain yourself.”

He paused, heartbeat picking up, not expecting this level of hostility.

“What did I do now?” he asked cautiously, setting the tapes down. “I planned to bring them back before opening, I swear, I just—”

Robin cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Not that. Your girlfriend came in here yesterday, totally distressed. She thought she did something wrong. Actually asked if she might’ve scared you off by, and I quote, ‘making you dinner.’”

Steve’s stomach flipped. A wave of guilt slammed into him, sharper than he’d expected. He swallowed, remembering how you’d stood in your apartment, smiling so warmly, how you’d carefully stirred a pot of sauce just for him.

God, he’d been such an idiot.

He thought that you would have been too busy with work this week to notice his silence. He thought he hid his emotions better than that.

“She thinks that?” he managed to say, voice tight. “She really asked that?”

“Of course she did.” Robin slammed her palm on the counter. “Now, are you freaking out, or what? Because if you are, just say so.”

“Me? Freaking out?” A shaky laugh left Steve’s lips. Freaking out was putting it mildly. “I’m fine, Rob.”

She shook her head. “You’re clearly not,” she persisted. “Last week you’re gushing about your new relationship, and now it’s radio silence. What’s up with you? Spill it.”

He knew there was no getting out of this, well, unless he literally turned and ran out the store. But that seemed a bit extreme and would likely only delay this conversation.

He dreaded this part. The whole talking about his feelings and his subsequent inadequacies.

“It’s going to sound dumb,” he muttered, gaze dropping to the floor.

“More so than usual?” She teased.

“Robin.”

“Right, no.” She muttered. “Wrong time. Sorry.”

She sighed and walked round the counter so she was standing directly in front of him. Both so she could gauge his reaction and bring him some semblance of comfort. “Talk to me.”

“It’s like…” He trails off, looking away from her pitiful expression.”She’s going places, you know? Really going places. I’m just… here.”

Her expression softened a fraction. “What brought this on?”

Steve felt the memories swirl—Dustin’s pointed remarks, the creeping sense of déjà vu reminding him how Nancy once left him behind.

“Dustin,” he admitted after a beat. “He said some stuff… about me only dating smart girls who are outta my league. It got stuck in my head, okay?”

“Henderson?” Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Steve, he’s a kid. A kid with zero concept of normal relationship drama. You’re really letting that get to you?”

He tried to muster a shrug, but his chest felt tight. No matter what angle he looked at it, it was a statement that he couldn’t disprove.

“He’s not entirely wrong,” he mumbled. “I don’t have a big plan or anything. My job’s okay, but it’s not exactly a career, and I’m certainly not saving big money—there’s no future path. Meanwhile, she’s got all these ideas, ambitions, everything.”

Robin stared, seeming torn between wanting to hug him and wanting to smack him upside the head.

“God, you’re self-sabotaging again.”

“I am not—”

“Yes, you are!” she insisted, stepping forward. “Textbook Harrington behaviour: good thing’s happening, so you panic and decide you don’t deserve it. I just watched her walk out of here looking like someone kicked her puppy. She literally thinks she scared you off.”

Steve’s gut twisted further. He pictured you, eyes glassy with worry, probably replaying every moment you’d spent together. After your heart to heart the other day it became clear that you tended to overthink, he didn’t realise you could be doing that because of him.

The notion that you blamed yourself made his chest ache.

“I… I didn’t mean to make her feel that way,” he said, voice hollow.

“So don’t.” Robin pressed her lips together. “Fix it. You’re good at that sort of thing.”

He exhaled shakily, setting the soda on the counter before he spilled it with his shaky hands. “How?”

“You have today off, right?” Robin asked, folding her arms.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“She does too,” Robin replied pointedly. “And it’s not even 10 a.m. yet. So do something nice for her. Show her you’re not running away. Because, believe me, if you keep pulling back, it’s gonna look like you are.”

Steve nodded, trying to will away the tightening in his throat. “What do I even plan? Something big? Flowers? Fancy dinner? She’s already done the cooking thing—”

Robin let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “You’re not exactly wooing the queen of England. Just do something that says ‘I appreciate you and want to be around you.’ Could be a picnic, a drive, a movie—whatever. Don’t overthink it.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “But that’s kinda my specialty these days.”

“Clearly,” Robin muttered, though her tone was gentler now. “Look, the point is, she’s into you. She made that super obvious. The only person doubting it is you. So cut it out.”

Steve paused, letting her words settle. A small seed of hope unfurled in his chest, reminding him why he’d fallen for you in the first place.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, gaze locked on the floor. Then he lifted his head, determined. “I’ll, uh… yeah, I’ll figure something out.”

Robin’s tense posture eased, and she gave a curt nod. “Good. Because if you break that girl’s heart over your own insecurities, I’ll murder you. In a loving, best-friend sort of way.”

Steve managed a small grin. “In a loving way, sure.”

“Get out of here before Keith shows up.” She smirked, waving him off. “And don’t forget to call her, for God’s sake.”

Snatching up his soda again, Steve headed for the door, heart still pounding but a faint sense of relief settling in.

From the moment Steve picked up the phone at ten that morning—voice shaky with nerves—he knew he was taking a gamble.

He could feel the cautious edge in your tone, the coolness that suggested you were bracing yourself. Still, he invited you over to his place for that evening, willing the dread in his stomach to subside. He told himself it would be okay, that he’d find the right words.

Robin had told him to talk, so talk he would.

Meanwhile, you spent your Sunday feeling a dread so heavy it threatened to pin you to the floor.

Why else would Steve have been so distant all week? The only logical conclusion was that he’d decided this wasn’t working. After all, you’d had that conversation with Robin—maybe she’d reported back to him, told him something that sealed the deal.

It made sense in a heartbreakingly logical way.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, you felt like you’d gone through every stage of grief. You dragged yourself to your car and made the drive toward the Harrington residence, a place that had once felt so exciting in its promise.

Now it loomed large in your mind as the site of an upcoming breakup. When you arrived, you saw plenty of parking space—his parents, you recalled, were almost never home. You turned the keys of the ignition and exited the vehicle.

At least no one will witness what’s about to happen.

You made your way up the steps, breath tight in your chest. Just as you lifted a hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing Steve, hair meticulously styled, smelling faintly of aftershave. The pang in your heart only sharpened.

Did he seriously dress up for this?

“Hi,” he managed, the word catching slightly, like he was just as nervous as you.

“Hi,” you replied curtly.

Steve cleared his throat, looking awkward in a way that tugged at your heart—no matter how resigned you felt. “Uh, I think you should come in.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “All right.”

Inside, the house felt cavernous, every footstep echoing. He led you to the living room, and you couldn’t help but glance around, remembering how you used to marvel at this place—huge, yes, but also warm with the potential of summer get-togethers, that pool you’d joked about wanting to try. Now, the thought made your stomach twist.

Guess you won’t be swimming here after all.

You both settled on the couch, an awkward space between you. Steve’s fingers twitched at his sides, and he couldn’t quite meet your eye. The hush was almost suffocating, until finally he spoke, voice low and unsteady.

“Look, um… I think we need to talk.”

Your heart thumped. So this is it. You drew a shaky breath, forcing yourself to sound calmer than you felt.

“Okay. Sure.”

He tried not to grimace at the coolness in your tone. You’d never sounded so distant before, and it killed him to know he caused it. Robin’s words about “explaining himself” rang in his ears, so he opened his mouth—only for you to beat him to it.

“Listen, Steve,” you began, voice thick with tension. “I… I get what’s going on here.”

Steve frowned, something twisting in his chest. “Huh? You do?”

“Yeah," you nodded. "I kind of guessed it.”

“Really?” A flicker of confusion passed over his features. “You did?”

Exhaling, you steeled yourself, trying to keep your composure.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Maybe you didn’t appreciate me crying about my job the other day, or maybe I was too forward cooking dinner for you. I get it. I just… I can’t think of anything else I did wrong.” You forced a hollow laugh. “So I assumed it must be that. Maybe I scared you off.”

Steve’s brows shot up, genuine shock colouring his face.

“What you did wrong?” he echoed. “Wait—what are you talking about?”

You swallowed.

Get it over with.

“Aren’t you… breaking up with me?”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. Every worst fear he had about you feeling hurt was now a reality.

“What? No! No, I’m not breaking up with you.” He spoke in quick succession. “Are you crazy? I’m not doing that.”

The wave of relief that swept through you was immediate but fleeting.

“Then what is this?” you asked, voice unsure. “It’s obvious you’re not feeling this anymore. You’ve been ignoring me all week, and I’m not gonna force you to stay if you don’t want to. I just… I figured there’d be a reason.”

He grimaced, running a hand through his hair and messing up that careful style.

“There is a reason,” he admitted. “But trust me, it’s not you.”

“Yeah,” you snorted, a weak attempt at humour that came out more sad than anything. “That’s what everyone always says when they break up with someone.”

Steve let out a frustrated breath. He had never been good at this. You were the one who was good with words, not him.

“No, really. It—fuck, just let me talk.” He paused, gathering himself. The realisation that you thought you caused this somehow made his heart twist painfully. If you only knew how not your fault it really was.

God, what a mess.

He stared at the floor, feeling the weight of all his insecurities.

“Listen,” he started, voice shaky, “I’m not good at this, so just give me a moment.”

You watched him, a pang of sympathy slipping through your self-protective shell. He looked… rattled, more so than you’d ever seen him. Despite your own heartbreak, you nodded, letting him gather his courage.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling slowly. “So, I don’t have the best track record with relationships. Or even friendships. I thought I’d gotten better, but apparently not.” He let out a short laugh, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second—only to dart away when he saw the concern there.

It was hard to think when you looked at him like that. Like he was something to be pitied.

“What I’m trying to say is… I always seem to get left behind. My first girlfriend left me for someone else. My old friends ditched me as soon as I wasn’t cool anymore. My parents ignored me because I sucked at school.” He swallowed hard, voice thickening with old wounds. “Then I met you, this super smart girl who clearly has the world at her fingertips—you’ve accomplished so much already, more than I ever could. It made me think: how could I hold onto that? How could I keep you interested in my life when I work at a video store and spend my free time with a bunch of teenagers?”

Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his words. For a second, you just stared, feeling tears prick the backs of your eyes at how wrong he was about himself.

Without thinking, you reached out and slid your hand into his, the contact gentle but resolute.

“Steve,” you whispered, voice unsteady but filled with honesty, “how can you think that about yourself?”

His gaze snapped to yours, confusion etched in every line of his face.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing, running a thumb along the backs of his knuckles.

“You really don’t see what others see, do you?”

He frowned, looking lost. “I… I’m not following.”

Blinking back tears, you gave a soft, exasperated laugh.

Of course he couldn’t see, your sweet, stupid boy.

“Steve, the first time we met, you literally lugged and built me a whole bookshelf—remember that? You practically passed out hauling the thing up the stairs.”

“Shit,” he muttered, cheeks tinging pink, “you noticed?”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said, remembering the moment you started falling for him. “And I saw you freaking out over the instructions, but you tried to act like you totally had it under control.”

“Damn…” he hung his head. “Not as smooth as I thought I was.”

Not in the slightest.

A weak smile tugged at your lips.

“Maybe not, but that’s overrated anyway.” Taking a breath, you tightened your grip on his hand. “Steve, you’re a giver—through and through. So you don’t have some swanky office job—who cares? You have something better. You’re selfless, you help people, you care. That’s worth more than anything else, trust me. Whenever you talk about your friends, it’s like a never-ending list of names. You’re rich, Steve. Richer than money.”

He felt tears burning behind his eyes. This was not part of the plan, for him to be openly crying while you praise him repeatedly. That should have been his job tonight. Making you feel better.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he croaked, “you’re gonna make me cry over here.”

“Me too,” you admitted, voice thick with emotion. “We’re both lame.”

“Yeah,” he managed, a watery laugh escaping, “the lamest.”

A heartbeat of silence passed, and then he lifted his eyes to yours with a shy, almost bashful smile, one you hadn’t seen all week. It looked like him, the real Steve you fell for.

“Come here?” he asked, sounding almost boyish in his nervousness.

You couldn’t move fast enough.

He leaned in, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the big house, the rolling ache in your gut. His lips pressed to yours, soft at first, hesitant, then deepening as relief coursed through both of you.

He couldn’t quite stop smiling against your mouth, which made the kiss a bit clumsy, but neither of you cared. The tenderness overshadowed any awkwardness. It felt like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. When he finally pulled back, he let out a shaky exhale, one hand still cupping your cheek.

“I missed doing that,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip.

“Me too,” you breathed.

He swallowed hard, glancing away as guilt resurged. “I’m really sorry I made you feel like you messed up. Like I didn’t—like I wasn’t into you anymore. I am. I really am. Probably too much”

“You should have told me,” you scold him, his brown eyes still glassy. “Aren’t you the one who preached about sharing problems?”

A choked laugh tore from his throat. “Yeah, well… ‘do as I say, not as I do.’”

“You’re impossible,” you teased, though the affection in your voice was unmistakable.

Suddenly, a shrill beeping noise cut through the charged atmosphere, making you both jump.

“What is that?” you asked, pulse still fluttering from the kiss.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Oh, crap, the timer!” He scrambled off the couch, practically tripping over the coffee table. You followed him with a bemused smile as he disappeared into the adjacent kitchen.

Seconds later, you found him shutting off the buzzer, cheeks flushed.

“I, uh… made dinner,” he confessed, looking adorably sheepish.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You cooked?”

“I mean, I stole your idea,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Rob said I should do something nice, so… here we are. My parents were never around much, so I learned a few things. It’s probably not as good as yours, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

A laugh rose in your chest, part delight, part lingering emotional exhaustion. “Robin told you to do this? I gotta thank her.”

He set a potholder aside, shrugging with an embarrassed smile. “She said I had to make it up to you, so… yeah. I guess I’m returning the favour.”

“You’re full of surprises,” you said softly, stepping closer.

Steve let out a quiet breath, a small, relieved grin curving his lips. As you moved into his space, he reached out, fingers ghosting along your arm before settling at your waist.

“And you, deserve it.” He murmured, voice brimming with affection. “Really sweetheart, you deserve the world.”

Something in his tone made your heart clench. Before you could respond, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow, tender—altogether mesmerising.

He cradled your face like you might vanish if he wasn’t careful, as though keeping you close was the only way to convince himself that this was real. You tasted the faint salt of his earlier tears, felt his almost giddy smile against your mouth, and the mix of sadness and relief and overwhelming softness made you cling tighter to him.

It was the kind of moment that made the ache worth it, the kind you knew you’d replay in your head a thousand times.

You finally broke apart, just enough to catch your breath. Foreheads touching, you could see the hint of a shaky grin still hovering on his lips.

“I guess this means we’re not breaking up?” you asked playfully.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head vigorously. “But hey, you might change your mind after you try my cooking.”

“Hey!” you protested, giving his shoulder a playful shove—no malice behind it at all. “I’m not that cruel. Even if it was terrible, I’d never tell you.”

“And there you go being way too good for me,” he chuckles, but this time it feels more like the joke he was aiming for.

One that he knew deep down was not true.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine

308 notes · View notes